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postmoe · 4 months ago

Note

Moe im absolutely DROOLING at capitano 😵 May I request yandere! capitano preeety plees with a cherry on too 😫😫 U CANT TELL ME HES NOT JUST AHHXJSNSNSN HES SO FINEEEE

im sorry it's been so long life is just UGH i think we all need a bit of capitano rn-

i think i made the yandere a little too subtle but I hope it's still okay-

When you first fell to this world, no one believed you to be an outsider. You were just crazy, a patient who escaped the asylum.

It happened when you were out on a job, your last year of med school and you were doing your practical part, following along in ambulances and assisting paramedics. There had been a building collapse, chaos everywhere, dust surrounding the scene. You weren't supposed to stray too far, it's only when you heard a young voice calling from help did you separate, calling out your intentions to your colleague before rushing through the door with your bag of equipment held tightly to your chest. As you began through the doorway, it was as if an earthquake struck, everything trembling and crumbling. You couldn't believe your eyes, the way the ground turned blocky, a red and black colour eating the sides of your world like an 8-bit transition. Gravity hit hard as you fell through, the broken, wooden floors turning into a faraway city, canopies of trees, rivers, mountains - before you fainted.

When you awoke you couldn't find any injuries that would result from a free fall from the atmosphere, namely death. If anything, you were a little tender in the muscles. You found your med bag not far from you before awkwardly making your way, searching for help.

One lonely night you had approached a group of soldier-like people. They were part of the 'Fatui', which people seemed to fear but what other option did you have? You told them your story, begged for food, and out of pity some had helped you. A lot of laughs came your way, but even so, you sat at a table with drunken fatui and got a nice bowl of stew and bread.

Just as everyone was leaving, you felt a large hand on your shoulder. It was their Captain, who the party under his command conveniently referred to him as 'Capitano'. He holds out a small, woven bag once he gets your attention, dropping it in her hands when you hold them out. It feels like coins - Mora, if you remember correctly, the currency of this world - and regards you with only a few words, "I believe you. However, I cannot help you."

It was the little glimmer of hope you needed. You stored some leftover bread in your paramedic jacket, running after him and calling him to wait, to have a conversation but, he was a busy man. He retreated into a nice looking motel on the outskirts of the city, leaving you to sit outside.

So you did. You waited all night on the side of the road, resting until he eventually came back out.

Granted, following an 'evil' organisation wasn't the smartest thing, that's only if the words of the people you've met are to be believed. As of now, they're the only people who have reached out a helping hand, and Capitano, the only one to make you finally breathe and remember that you aren't insane; that this is real.

Still, you keep your distance, following diligently like a lost puppy. "Leave her be," Capitano had said when one of his men asked about you, "She is no threat." Later he would say he was hoping you would get the message to journey on your own, to find your own way.

On a cold night he had saved you, though to anyone it appeared as nothing more than an easy kill. Two hilichurls, you were half asleep, focused more on keeping warm than any dangers. It wasn't until you heard the slash of his blade did you even notice he was there, the monsters leaving behind blood and dust in their wake.

Capitano drapes a blanket over you, "Come." You follow him into the camp, beyond the guards and closer to a fire. He points to a sleeping mat, "If you're going to follow me then stay within the group." With that, he retreats to his tent. You can't help the tears of gratitude as you bathe in the warmth, your sleep the best it's been in weeks.

You make friends with the fatui, it's unanimously agreed that everyone in Capitano's ranks are morally... adequate, compared to other Harbingers. "Don't even get me started on Il Dottore's..." one mentions, and you think as a 'doctor' yourself, you couldn't handle hearing his horror stories.

Eventually, you become part of their medic team, showing them all the fun tools and medications from your world. Even if they don't believe you, they pretend to, and they show interest. You've only cried twice when reminiscing.

A few times you've seen Capitano enter the medic tent, he grabs some bandages and some ointment before retreating to his tent. "Would you like some help?" You ask, not for the first time, and it won't be the last.

His usual response is what comes, "No, thank you."

It's a routine, you like to think he appreciates it.

You're not a stranger to violence. During your schooling you saw a lot of gore, it never phased you in the ways it would others. Of course, it was sad, seeing children who needed to have a leg amputated, people being victimised by a violent stranger, you could only do your best to give them the rest of their lives.

War, however, was another thing. Footage does nothing compared to witnessing it, the people you eat dinner with being ripped apart by monsters, other factions of the land getting burnt to death by the power of their gods, or frostbitten and forced to watch their comrades suffer until they themselves succumb.

Capitano scared you, in a way. He was always so strong, so willing to give his all to anyone who had the courage to fight back. It was his way in honour. You're lucky he had a sense of justice, apparently anyone else could have killed you and be done with it. Sometimes you imagine what it would be like if he drew his sword against you, or used his large hands and wrap them around your neck, suffocating you until he saw the whites of your eyes...

He was a monster, but maybe compared to the other, real monsters out there, he was the better option.

Tonight he got hurt, enough to show the blood spreading through his clothes. Wounds and scars were normal but this made your stomach churn. You see a glimpse of a monster claw that he's tried to hide with his cloak. There's a tear in his sleeve as well, showing his long glove underneath.

Nope. You can't just sit by as he struggles, you signed a contract saying that you would help anyone, no matter the circumstance. As he walks back to his tent, you follow him closely behind, your bag in hand. He stops, the flap partially open as he turns to you and says in a strained voice, "I'm fine. Go tend to the others."

You shake your head defiantly, staring into the dark abyss of his helmet with conviction.

He huffs, entering the tent and murmuring, "Do as you please."

His tent is much larger than any of the others, perhaps the medical one only being marginally bigger. There's a fireplace, a desk with a multitude of papers, scattered, used bandages and a large pile of bed wrapping and furs. He takes a seat on the chair near the desk, removing his coat and grabbing the claw, about to yank it out when you slap his hand away.

You waggle your finger at him, crouching to get a better look at the wound, "You're only going to make it worse. Honestly, if that's how you treat yourself it's a wonder you're still alive. Help me get your shirt off."

There's a hint of hesitation in him, though you're only a little sure you see it. Your focus is on pulling it over the claw without moving it too much, it had gone through bandages around his stomach as well, wrapping over his chest, the rest of his body... Look over him, taken aback. His flesh isn't normal, what you thought were gloves was actually the decay of his arms. No, decay doesn't seem right either but even so, there's no life. He lets you take it in, waiting until your eyes look to his mask. "My body is rotten, rotting, still," he clarifies, and you realise that perhaps decay is the right word, it's just a different meaning in this world. "I'm fine," he says again, as though expecting this to be too much for you, "You can leave."

You wonder why the smell isn't so bad, the sweet tinge mixing with a sour after scent. It wasn't the most pleasant but if you're being honest, it wasn't horrible. You put this aside and give him a dead stare, "You're so aggravating. Are you just allergic to help? Shut up and let tend to you."

He sits still after that, leaning back in the chair as you get to work. You tell him when it might hurt, he doesn't even flinch when you're prepared to extract the claw. Even the inside of his body isn't normal, his blood seeming to pulse out than continuously flow, the colour off in a blackish way. You had removed the bandages before, so the feeling of his leathery skin was odd, there was an odd sense to it that you couldn't describe. Darkness? How could you feel darkness?

You're priority is the claw wound, which you diligently tend to, cleaning and stitching it until you were satisfied with the result. You have a gauze left that you wrap onto him, sitting back on your heels to admire your work. "I'll have to check on it twice a day. If you need help bathing let me know, or I can instruct one of your men how to assist you without infecting the wound," you tell him, expecting him to blatantly deny any outside help.

Instead, he changes the topic entirely, speaking lowly, "I still can't help you."

"What?" You ask, mind still on the topic of his wellbeing.

He rolls his shoulders and looks to his tattered shirt, reaching to put it back on, though leaving it open, "To get back home, I still can't help you. You're wasting your time here."

Oh, so that's what he meant. You haven't spoken about it with him at all, and you did have questions you wanted to ask but you're not even sure if you have the mindset to discuss your fate immediately after learning the man you've been following is rotting before your eyes. It feels kinda shitty to bring up your trauma over his. You reach forward, fingertips grazing against the damaged skin above his stomach, wishing you could do something more than than bandage a wound, "Does it hurt?"

"I've had worse, at least it didn't come out the other side," he tilts his head to the claw, and you can imagine he might have a disinterested look by the sounds of his monotone voice.

You laugh, and you're not sure if he's saying that so you don't bring up his skin but you honestly can't believe what you're seeing, "No no, your body. Your flesh. Does it hurt?" You distantly wonder if that little vial of morphine you saved would alleviate it. Would it be a blessing of reprieve or a torture since it won't last?

Capitano sighs, probably the first sign of true emotion you've heard from him, "Yes, it's very painful. I'm used to it, however."

"Does the ointment help, the one you get from the medic tent? God I wish I could just," you frustratingly clench your fist before opening your palm to him, exhaling in sombre, "Take your pain away. I'm a medic in my world, but here I feel really useless sometimes."

You sit in comfortable silence, still crouched down before him. He hasn't removed your hand, you're not sure why but perhaps the cool touch it soothing to him? His muscles tense underneath you, and you only open your eyes when you feel him relax again. You're face-to-face with a strange light from your palm, a swirling breeze like a vortex coming inwards. You freaked out, retracting your hand fast but only getting a fraction of a distance before Capitano grasped your wrist, forcing you to press back against him. It's too late, whatever concentration you had fades, as does the light.

The way his shoulders sag gives a sense of disappointment. "What was that?" You practically whisper, a little scared of whatever just came from you.

He finally relents your hand, leaning back in his chair, "I believe... It's an ancient power. I shall do some research."

Capitano is curt, his head turned to the side and away from you. You get the hint, knees cracking loudly as you stand, causing you to laugh anxiously while you dust off the imaginary dirt from your thighs, "Y-Yeah, okay. Thank you. I'll check in on you in the morning."

Your goodnights are brief, the flap of the tent closing gently behind you.

There's a pyroslinger skirmisher standing guard at his tent, you give him a pointed finger and declare, "If you see him take off his bandages without me, you let me know! I won't tolerate my patients disrespecting my orders."

He gives you a salute, playing along, "Yes ma'am!"

Capitano's body is corrupted by the abyss, he's been stuck in a torturous torment of decay for over 500 years. Your heart aches at this, a condition your mind struggles to comprehend but there is one saving grace you both had realised:

You have the power to ease his pain.

It's a form of light that counters his darkness, and whilst you can never truly cure him, you can certainly take the edge off and allow him to rest. Physical touch works the best, a few times now as you're focusing on his ailments has he fallen asleep. Now you provide mandatory rest, it had taken a lot of complaining and arguing but you finally managed to get him to take off his helmet.

"I've seen the aftermath of a person's skull from a violent car crash, I don't think it could be worse," you had told him.

To which he responded, "What is a car?"

Seamless to say, you were correct. If you were honest, you were expecting some sort of Freddy Krueger look, though he certainly didn't meet those expectations. What caught you off guard were the piercing blue of his eye. Sometimes, you had thought you'd caught a glimpse of them through the mask, whenever raw emotion truly shined from the Captain. Now, you know you weren't imagining things. One eyes was scarred shut, though he could open the lid, the eye itself was pale and sat naturally closed. The scar across it took up almost half of his face, his skin partially remained its true colour, though he says its faded over time. The blight that covers most of his body travels up his neck, like twisted vines growing along his cheeks and forehead. His long, black hair remained neat, only a few strands falling forward once the mask is removed.

The tent remains securely closed at the time, your back facing it as you both rest in the furs of his bed for extra security. You hum a song that doesn't exist here as you caress your fingers through his hair and down his neck, circling around his shoulders and along his spine. He rests comfortably in your lap while the light from you absorbs his pain. One of his hands reaches out, grasping your left hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, his own hand enveloping yours like a delicate treasure, "I'm not sure I could ever let you leave now. You should have turned around when you still had the chance."

You laugh, because you know Capitano and you know his values. Even as the alarm bells ring from the way he squeezes your hand, like he'll never let you go, you ignore them in favour of your naivety, "If I left then I would have been torn apart by monsters."

He grunts and rolls so he's on his back. Your smile is awkward from the position he's put himself in, your chin tilting up to lessen the double chin from looking down. His hand now reaches up to your face gently stroking your cheek as he thinks aloud, "So as long as I stay in dangerous areas, you won't run away."

His words are making you feel too uncomfortable, so you flick his forehead and scold him, "Stop being so weird. You've kept me safe this far along, right? As long as I'm here, I'm going to help you." You hold his hand against your cheek, hoping to comfort him with a smile, "Besides, who would I follow if not my Captain? Anyone else would just be a downgrade."

Capitano's stare is as piercing as ever. He takes his time sitting up, shirtless and uncaring of the cold temperature. You much prefer this angle, looking slightly up so you can still meet his gaze. True to Capitano fashion, he hits you with a curveball and says something that catches you off guard, "I want you to sleep with me tonight."

Your face goes red, eyes avoidant as you stammer, "F-For the comfort, right? To keep your pain at bay?"

You think this is the first time you've seen him smile and, if this is his joking tone then... What was everything else? "Of course, for the pain. Why, was there something else you had in mind?"

#yandere capitano x reader #capitano x reader #il capitano #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #x reader #il capitano x reader #isekaiied #genshin impact capitano #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader

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novaursa · 5 months ago

Text

The Veil of Fire (1/3)

- Summary: Your twin sister, Helaena, had her dreams, but you were gifted with something else. Something akin to a terrible purpose.

- Pairing: aunt!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Helaena's twin sister, is bonded with Cannibal (whom she named Morgoth after she claimed him). This is a request made by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❤️

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

You awaken with a start, the remnants of the dream clinging to your senses like the lingering taste of copper in your mouth. It is dark in your chamber, the only light coming from the embers in the hearth, glowing faintly. But the darkness does nothing to dispel the vivid images seared into your mind. The dream—it had been more than just a dream. You had felt it in your bones, deep in your very marrow. The wind tearing at your scales as you soared through the sky, the scent of earth and sweat and blood sharp in your nostrils. The primal rush as you descended upon the stag, powerful legs pumping beneath you, muscles rippling as you gave chase.

The terror of the creature, so swift and yet so hopeless in the face of your overwhelming might, fed the fire in your belly. You could almost feel the earth quake beneath you as you landed, talons digging into the soft flesh of your prey, the crack of bones as they gave way under your weight. You remember the feel of the stag's fur against your tongue, the rich, metallic taste of blood flooding your senses as your teeth sunk deep into its flesh. It was alive in your mouth, a creature of warmth and life, and you were devouring it, piece by piece, savoring every ounce of its struggle, every pulse of its weakening heart.

The taste of victory, of dominance, of absolute power was intoxicating. As the last breath of the stag left its body, you were filled with a sense of completion, a satisfaction that was both yours and not yours, a feeling of wholeness that was almost too much to bear. It wasn’t just a dream—it was real. You had been there, felt what Morgoth—no, Cannibal, as you still sometimes thought of him—had felt. His hunger, his pleasure, his savage satisfaction as he fed. And now, even awake, you can still taste the blood in your mouth, feel the last echoes of the stag’s death rattle through you.

You shudder, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream as you sit up in bed. Your hand instinctively moves to your lips, as if to wipe away the lingering blood, though you know there is nothing there. The room is cold, and you pull the blankets tighter around yourself, your mind still reeling from the intensity of the vision.

Your twin sister, Helaena, is already awake, sitting up in her own bed, her pale eyes fixed on you. There is an odd stillness to her, a knowingness that unnerves you, even after all these years.

"I had a nightmare," you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep, and something else—something darker, more primal.

Helaena tilts her head slightly, her gaze never leaving yours. "It was not a nightmare," she says softly, her voice almost a whisper. "It was a transfer. You were not here with me."

Her words send a chill down your spine, colder than the night air. "A transfer?" you repeat, confused. "I don’t understand, Helaena. I was dreaming, nothing more. Perhaps you had your own troubles sleeping?"

Helaena’s eyes narrow slightly, her lips curving into a faint, enigmatic smile. "You were not here," she insists, her voice taking on a strange, faraway quality. "You were flying, far away, with Morgoth."

You shake your head, trying to dispel the unease that her words are stirring within you. "It was just a dream, Helaena," you say, though even as the words leave your mouth, they feel like a lie. You’ve always known your twin to be different, but this—this feels like something more. "You must have had a vision of your own."

She doesn’t respond, just continues to look at you with those unsettling eyes, as if she’s peering into the very depths of your soul. Finally, she lies back down, turning away from you, but her words linger in the air like a specter. "You were not here," she repeats, her voice a mere whisper now. "You were with him."

You lie back down as well, but sleep doesn’t come easily. Your mind is too full of the dream, of Helaena’s words, of the feeling that something has shifted, that a line has been crossed that cannot be uncrossed. You close your eyes, trying to will yourself to rest, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Jacaerys.

Jace, with his warm smile and kind eyes, always so patient with you, so different from the court’s intrigues and serpentine whispers. You’ve missed him terribly since he left with Rhaenyra, Laenor, and the boys. The court has been quieter without them, yet the air is heavier, thick with rumors and distrust. The question of Jace’s parentage has always loomed like a dark cloud, and now it has become a storm, too dangerous for him and his family to weather here.

You think of the last time you saw him, his eyes lingering on yours as they said their farewells. The way his hand lingered a moment too long on yours, the way he looked back at you just before he left, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. You had always been close, closer even than you were with your own brothers at times, and now, with him gone, there is an emptiness in your heart that nothing seems to fill.

You turn onto your side, curling into the warmth of your blankets, trying to hold onto the memory of his touch, his scent, the sound of his laughter. But it’s not enough. The dream still lingers at the edges of your mind, dark and unsettling, reminding you that something has changed, and there is no going back.

As sleep finally begins to claim you once more, your last thoughts are of Jacaerys, of the feel of his hand in yours, and of the unsettling certainty that you will see him again, sooner than you think.

The morning sun bathes the corridors of the Red Keep in a golden light as you walk beside your grandsire, Otto Hightower. The stone walls are cool to the touch, yet the warmth of the day is beginning to creep in, making the air heavy with the scent of the sea and blooming flowers from the gardens below. Your steps echo in the hall, the only sound that accompanies you and your grandsire in this moment of relative peace.

Otto’s face is a mask of calm, but you can sense the sharp mind working behind his serene expression. You know this walk well; it is not merely a stroll for him. This is his opportunity to nudge, to guide, to mold. He has always tried to draw you into the labyrinth of court politics, eager to make use of your sharp mind and keen understanding of people. But you have learned to navigate these conversations with him, dancing on the edge of engagement without ever fully stepping into the web he so carefully weaves.

"My dear," Otto begins, his voice smooth and measured, "you have a gift, one that could be put to great use in the service of the realm. You see things others do not, understand the currents beneath the surface. The court could benefit greatly from your wisdom, if only you would take a more active role."

You smile at him, the kind of smile that is both warm and guarded. "Grandsire, I am flattered by your confidence in me. But you know well that my talents are better suited to other pursuits. The court is a place where serpents nest, and I find I have no desire to dance with them."

Otto chuckles softly, though you catch the slight tightening around his eyes. "You underestimate your ability to navigate those waters, my dear. You could influence so much, bring about changes that would secure the future of our house."

"And yet," you say with a lightness that belies the weight of the conversation, "I prefer to leave the dancing to others. I fulfill my duties, attend the necessary events, but beyond that, I find little joy in the games played at court. I would rather debate philosophy with Aemond than trade barbs with courtiers."

Otto regards you for a moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of wavering. But you meet his gaze steadily, unwavering in your resolve. He knows this is not a battle he can win today, and so he shifts tactics, as you knew he would.

"Very well," he concedes with a graceful nod, "but remember, the tides of power are ever-changing. One must be ready to act when the moment calls for it."

"Of course, grandsire," you reply with another smile, "and I shall be ready, should that moment come. But until then, I am content with the life I lead."

With that, you part ways, Otto heading off to attend to his duties, and you, seeking out a quieter corner of the Keep where the air is less thick with the weight of expectations. Your feet carry you towards the gardens, the place where you often find solace amidst the chaos of court life. As you turn a corner, you spot Aegon lounging lazily on a stone bench beneath the shade of a flowering tree, his usual air of indifference more pronounced today.

"Aegon," you call out lightly, drawing his attention. "Enjoying the morning sun, or simply avoiding whatever task you’ve been assigned?"

He looks up at you with a lazy grin, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "A bit of both, I suppose. Though I’m more inclined to say it’s the latter."

You chuckle, making your way over to him. "If Mother knew you were hiding away here, she’d have you by the ear and back to your duties in no time."

"She already did," Aegon replies with a huff, his grin fading as he turns his gaze to the ground. "And now I’m banished to the gardens, like some sulking child."

You take a seat beside him, the cool stone of the bench pressing against your legs through the fabric of your dress. "What did you do this time?"

He shrugs, the motion casual, but there’s a heaviness to it that you don’t miss. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Just being me, I suppose. That’s enough to earn her wrath these days."

You study him for a moment, the way his shoulders slump slightly, the way he avoids meeting your eyes. There’s a sadness there, one that he tries to hide behind his usual carefree facade. "Aegon," you say gently, "Mother’s harshness comes from a place of worry, not disdain. She sees the weight of the crown on Father’s head, and she fears for all of us. But she does love you, in her own way."

He scoffs, though it lacks real bite. "Love. If that’s what it is, it’s a cruel kind. Always pointing out my flaws, my failures. It’s never enough."

"It’s because she knows you’re capable of more," you counter, your tone soft but firm. "You’re not as lost as you think, Aegon. You’re intelligent, resourceful. You just have to find your own path, not the one others lay out for you."

Aegon finally looks at you, his expression softening as he lets out a long breath. "It’s hard, you know? Everyone expects so much. And I…I just want to live my life, without all the expectations and responsibilities."

You reach out and place a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "I understand, truly. But there’s strength in you, even if you don’t see it yet. You don’t have to be what they want you to be, but you can be something even greater, something that’s truly yours."

He seems to mull over your words, his gaze drifting to the horizon. After a long silence, he nods slowly. "Maybe you’re right," he says quietly. "I don’t know what that is yet, but…I’ll try to find it."

You smile, a genuine warmth in it that you hope reaches him. "That’s all anyone can ask, Aegon. And when you do find it, I’ll be here to support you."

He offers a small smile in return, the first real one you’ve seen from him today. "Thank you," he murmurs, the words carrying more weight than usual. "It means a lot."

You sit together in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of the Keep. In this moment, it feels as though the weight of the world has lessened, if only a little, and you’re glad to have been the one to ease it for him.

The heavy gown slips from your shoulders with a soft whisper of fabric, pooling at your feet like a dark river. The rich, embroidered silks and velvets, so carefully chosen to display your status, now lie forgotten as your maids bustle around you, their hands quick and efficient as they assist in your transformation.

You step out of the pile of fabric and lift your arms as one of your maids, a young woman with deft fingers and a quiet disposition, helps you into your dragon riding attire. Unlike the gowns you wear at court, this garb is practical, made for both protection and ease of movement. The underlayer is a tightly fitted tunic of black leather, reinforced at the shoulders and elbows, molded to your form to allow freedom of movement while still offering protection. The leather is soft, well-worn from many flights, and carries the faint scent of smoke and salt.

Over the tunic, you wear a jerkin of thicker, darker leather, fastened with a series of silver clasps shaped like small dragon heads. The jerkin is adorned with subtle stitching along the edges, a nod to your Targaryen heritage without being ostentatious. It is practical, yet elegant, a reflection of the dual roles you play as both a princess and a dragonrider. Your legs are encased in fitted breeches, made of the same durable leather, allowing you to move with agility. Your boots, worn and scuffed from years of riding, reach up to your knees, their soles thick and sturdy, perfect for gripping the saddle as Morgoth soars through the skies.

The final piece is a cloak of deep, midnight blue, clasped at your throat with a small, intricate pin in the shape of a dragon. The cloak is lined with fur to guard against the biting wind at high altitudes, and it flares out behind you as you move, a dark shadow that mirrors the wings of your dragon.

As your maids finish securing your attire, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Gone is the elegant lady of the court, replaced by the fierce dragonrider you truly are. There is a spark of excitement in your eyes, a fire that matches the one that burns in Morgoth's belly. You can feel the pull of the sky, the need to be aloft, to leave behind the walls of the Red Keep and the stifling confines of court life.

"Is there anything else, my lady?" one of the maids asks, her voice pulling you from your thoughts.

You shake your head, offering her a small smile. "No, that will be all. Thank you."

The maids curtsy and quickly leave the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Your hand drifts to the small, secret pocket sewn into the lining of your cloak, where the letter from Jace is hidden. You had read it only once, the words burning themselves into your memory, but you still find comfort in its presence. The letters you exchange are a lifeline, a connection that spans the distance between you. Each one is a reminder of the bond you share, a bond that goes beyond mere affection.

Tonight, you will see him again, on that small, isolated island halfway between Dragonstone and the Red Keep. It’s a risky endeavor, but one you would undertake a thousand times over just to be near him. The thought of it sends a thrill through you, a heady mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. The world fades away when you're with Jace, and in those stolen moments, nothing else matters.

A knock on the door pulls you from your reverie. "My lady, the escort is ready," a voice calls from the other side.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself, and stride to the door. The servant outside bows as you step into the hallway, and you nod in acknowledgment. The corridors of the Red Keep are quieter now, with the court winding down for the evening. Only a few guards and servants move about, most paying little attention to you as you make your way towards the exit. You’ve done this before, taking lone flights on Morgoth to clear your mind, so it raises no suspicion.

As you exit the Keep and step into the crisp evening air, you are met by a small escort of guards, their armor gleaming in the fading light. They bow respectfully as you approach. Ser Arryk, a knight who has always been loyal to your house, steps forward.

"Princess, the city is quiet tonight," he reports, his voice steady. "We should reach the gate without incident."

"Thank you, Ser Arryk," you reply, your tone composed. "Let us be on our way."

The streets of King’s Landing are already beginning to empty as the last rays of sunlight give way to dusk. The city is alive with the sounds and smells of the evening—vendors packing up their wares, the distant laughter of tavern-goers, the occasional cry of a child being called home. The guards flank you as you move through the city, their presence deterring any who might think to approach. You walk with purpose, the letter in your pocket a constant reminder of where you are headed.

Morgoth, too wild and too large to be kept within the confines of the Dragonpit, dwells outside the city walls, beyond where the common folk dare to tread. He is a creature of the wilds, as much a part of the untamed lands as the mountains and the sea. His presence near the Red Keep has always been a subject of whispered fear, his black wings casting long shadows over the city whenever he takes to the skies. But to you, he is a part of your soul, a living extension of your own fierce spirit.

As you near the city gates, the guards step aside, allowing you passage into the wild lands beyond. The air grows cooler, crisper, as you leave the city behind. The path to Morgoth's lair is one you know well, the ground beneath your feet familiar with every step. The distant roar of the sea fills your ears, the wind tugging at your cloak as you make your way to the clearing where Morgoth waits.

The last light of day fades as you approach, the sky deepening to a dark indigo, dotted with the first stars of the evening. The clearing comes into view, and there, amidst the ancient stones and gnarled trees, lies Morgoth. His massive form is a dark silhouette against the twilight sky, his eyes glowing like green embers as he senses your approach.

He is truly a beast of legend, larger and more fearsome than any other dragon, his scales the color of a moonless night, his wings vast enough to blot out the stars when fully spread. The ground trembles slightly as he shifts, his long neck arching as he watches you, a low, rumbling growl vibrating through the earth.

You step forward, your heart pounding with anticipation, the thrill of the night’s secret mission pulsing through your veins. "Morgoth," you call softly, your voice steady despite the excitement thrumming in your chest.

The dragon's head lowers, his massive eyes locking onto yours, and you feel the bond between you flare to life. It is a connection deeper than words, a shared understanding that transcends the physical. Morgoth is wild, untamed, but with you, he is something more—a partner, a companion, an extension of your very being.

With practiced ease, you approach him, your hand reaching out to touch the warm, rough scales of his snout. His breath is hot against your skin, smelling of smoke and ash, a reminder of the power he holds. You climb onto his back, settling into the saddle that you alone are permitted to fasten, your hands gripping the reins made from his own shed scales, as strong as they are rare.

The world around you falls away, the concerns of the court and the whispers of the city fading into nothingness. There is only the sky, the wind, and the thrill of the flight that awaits.

Morgoth shifts beneath you, his muscles bunching as he prepares to take to the air. You grip the saddle, your heart pounding with anticipation as you give the command. With a powerful leap, Morgoth surges forward, his wings unfurling as he takes flight, the ground dropping away beneath you.

The Red Keep, the city, all of it becomes a blur as you ascend higher and higher, the cool air rushing past you as Morgoth climbs. The exhilaration of flight fills you, and a smile breaks across your face as the stars begin to twinkle above.

Ahead of you lies the sea, vast and endless, and beyond it, the small island where Jace waits. The excitement in your chest grows, and you lean forward, urging Morgoth to fly faster, to close the distance between you and the one who holds your heart.

As Morgoth soars through the night sky, the wind whipping past you, your thoughts drift back to the dream that haunted your sleep not long ago. The memory of it is still so vivid, so real, that it feels as if it only just happened. You can still feel the weight of the stag beneath Morgoth's talons, the warm gush of blood filling your mouth as you tore into its flesh. The primal satisfaction of the hunt, the raw power, the unrestrained hunger—it had all felt too real to be merely a dream.

You tighten your grip on the reins, leaning forward slightly as you speak to Morgoth, though you know he cannot answer. "Was it real?" you murmur, your voice barely audible above the wind. "Did I truly see through your eyes? Did I feel what you felt?"

Morgoth’s only response is a deep, rumbling growl, a sound that resonates through your very bones. His wings beat powerfully against the cool night air, carrying you both further away from the Red Keep, further from the world of politics and courtly intrigue, and closer to the freedom that you both crave.

You gaze down at the world below, the dark expanse of the sea stretching out like a vast, endless void. The moonlight reflects off the water, casting silver trails across its surface, guiding you toward the small island where you know Jace is waiting. The thrill of the flight, the rush of anticipation in your veins, mingles with the lingering unease from the dream. Was it merely a manifestation of your bond with Morgoth, or was it something more? Some deeper connection that you had only begun to glimpse?

"Do you see me in your dreams, Morgoth?" you ask softly, your words carried away by the wind. "Do you dream of me as I dream of you?"

There is no answer, only the steady rhythm of Morgoth’s wings and the distant sound of the waves crashing against the shore. But you can feel his presence, strong and unyielding, as if he understands you on some level beyond speech, beyond even thought. The bond you share is ancient, primal, and it is moments like these that remind you of the power and mystery of the Targaryen blood that runs through your veins.

As the island comes into view, you spot Vermax, Jace's dragon, already perched on the rocky shore. His bronze and green scales glint in the moonlight, his eyes glowing with an inner fire. And there, standing beside him, is Jace. Even from a distance, you can see the way he searches the skies, his gaze sharp and eager as he waits for you.

Your heart swells at the sight of him, and you urge Morgoth to descend, your excitement growing with each passing second. Morgoth dips his wings, angling downward in a graceful arc as he begins his descent. The wind rushes past you, carrying with it the scent of salt and seaweed, the coolness of the night air mingling with the warmth of the dragon beneath you.

As you near the ground, Morgoth lands with a heavy thud, his powerful legs absorbing the impact with ease. The ground trembles beneath you as he settles, his wings folding against his massive body. You waste no time in dismounting, your feet barely touching the ground before you are running toward Jace.

"Jace!" you call out, your voice filled with the joy of seeing him again.

He turns at the sound of your voice, his face lighting up with a smile that warms you to your core. "You’re here," he breathes, his voice thick with emotion as he strides forward to meet you.

The moment you reach him, you throw yourself into his arms, and he catches you effortlessly, pulling you close against him. The feel of his body, warm and solid beneath your hands, sends a wave of relief and happiness coursing through you. It has been too long since you last held him, too long since you felt the safety and comfort of his embrace.

"Gods, I’ve missed you," Jace murmurs into your hair, his voice rough with longing. He holds you tightly, as if afraid that you might slip away if he lets go.

"I’ve missed you too," you reply, your voice muffled against his chest. You can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, a reassuring rhythm that calms the storm of emotions inside you.

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. "Are you all right? You seem…troubled."

You hesitate, the memory of the dream flickering at the edges of your mind. But in this moment, with Jace holding you, with the warmth of his gaze and the solidity of his presence, the fear seems distant, almost insignificant. "I’m all right now," you tell him softly, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. "Now that I’m with you."

Jace leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment as if savoring the feel of your skin against his. Then he opens them again, and you can see the resolve in his expression, the determination to protect you, to keep you safe.

"I worried about you," he admits, his voice low and earnest. "The court, the whispers, everything happening back at King’s Landing… It’s dangerous for you there."

You shake your head, smiling up at him with a tenderness that only he can bring out in you. "I’m safe, Jace. I know how to navigate the court. And besides," you add with a playful glint in your eye, "I have Morgoth to keep me safe. No one would dare cross me with him by my side."

Jace chuckles at that, his grip on you tightening slightly as he pulls you closer. "That’s true enough. I just wish you didn’t have to be in that vipers' nest at all."

You sigh softly, resting your head against his shoulder as you let yourself relax in his arms. "We all have our roles to play, Jace. But right now, none of that matters. Right now, we’re here, together."

He leans down, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head, then your forehead, and finally, your lips. The kiss is soft at first, a gentle caress that speaks of all the longing and love you’ve both held inside for so long. But as the kiss deepens, it becomes more intense, more urgent, as if you are both trying to make up for all the time you’ve spent apart.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as you lose yourself in the feel of him, the taste of him. He responds in kind, his hands roaming your back, holding you as if he can’t bear to let you go. The world around you falls away, leaving only the two of you, locked in this moment, in this kiss, in this shared need for one another.

When you finally pull back, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting together as you catch your breath. Jace’s eyes are dark with desire, his gaze roaming over your face as if committing every detail to memory.

"Come," he whispers, his voice husky with emotion. "Let’s not waste any more time."

You nod, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you take his hand, allowing him to lead you away from the dragons and toward the secluded spot he has prepared for you. The night is yours, and in the quiet stillness of the island, away from prying eyes and the weight of duty, you find a peace and happiness that you can only share with Jace.

The secluded spot Jace leads you to is a small, hidden grove, shielded from the wind by a cluster of tall, ancient trees. The moonlight filters through the leaves, casting dappled patterns of silver on the ground. The soft rustle of the leaves in the breeze is the only sound, a gentle backdrop to the intimacy of the moment.

Jace pulls you close again, his hands warm on your waist as he gazes down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of affection and longing. "It feels like a dream," he murmurs, his voice soft as if afraid to break the spell of the night. "Every time I see you again, I wonder if it’s real or if I’ll wake up and find you gone."

"It’s real," you assure him, reaching up to brush your fingers along his cheek. His skin is warm beneath your touch, the faintest hint of stubble rough against your fingertips. "And I’m here, with you. That’s all that matters."

He leans down, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one slower, more tender. It’s a kiss that speaks of promises, of the love that binds you both together despite the distance and the dangers that surround you. You lose yourself in it, in the feel of his lips against yours, in the way his hands hold you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world.

Time seems to stretch, the moment lasting an eternity, yet passing too quickly. When the kiss finally ends, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Jace’s arms wrap around you, holding you close, his chin resting on the top of your head.

"I wish we could stay like this," he whispers, his voice filled with a wistful longing. "I wish the world could just disappear, and it could be just us, here, now."

You smile softly, the sentiment echoing in your own heart. "Me too," you admit. "But we have our duties, our roles to play. As much as I’d like to, we can’t escape that."

Jace sighs, his breath warm against your hair. "I know. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it."

You chuckle softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. "Neither do I. But we’ll see each other again. We always do."

He nods, though the reluctance to let you go is clear in the way he holds you just a bit tighter. You stay like that for a while longer, savoring the warmth of his embrace, the peace of the moment.

Eventually, you pull back slightly, your gaze drifting to a small patch of moonlit grass where something catches your eye. A tiny insect, its wings shimmering with iridescent colors, flutters by. Your instincts kick in, the familiar habit born of your bond with your twin sister, Helaena. You reach out quickly, your fingers deftly capturing the insect before it can fly away.

Jace watches you curiously, a smile tugging at his lips as you carefully place the insect into a small wooden box you carry with you. "What are you doing?" he asks, amusement lacing his tone. "Collecting insects now, are we?"

You grin up at him, closing the box gently to keep the creature safe. "It’s for Helaena," you explain. "She loves them, you know. This one’s new, I think—she doesn’t have one like it yet."

Jace raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "You brought a box just for that?"

"Of course," you reply with a playful glint in your eye. "You never know when you’ll find something she doesn’t have. It’s like a game between us. I find them, and she studies them."

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. "You really are the perfect sister, aren’t you?"

You shrug, a smile still playing on your lips. "She’s my twin. We’ve always been close. It’s a small thing, but it makes her happy."

Jace’s expression softens, and he reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re a good person, you know that?"

You roll your eyes, though his words warm you. "I try," you say lightly, though you know he sees the sincerity behind your words.

But as the moment stretches, you both become acutely aware that your time together is slipping away. The reality of your separate lives looms ever closer, and the weight of the impending farewell presses down on you.

"I hate saying goodbye," Jace admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "Every time, it feels harder."

You nod, feeling the same ache in your chest. "I know. But we’ll see each other again, Jace. We always do. Until then, we have our letters, and our memories."

He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing your cheeks. "I’ll write to you as soon as I can," he promises. "And the next time we meet, I won’t let anything keep us apart for so long."

You smile, though it’s tinged with sadness. "I’ll hold you to that."

For a moment, you just stand there, your foreheads pressed together, breathing in the same air, holding on to the last remnants of your time together. The world around you is silent, as if it too knows the gravity of the moment.

Then, with a quiet resolve, Jace pulls you into one last, passionate kiss. It’s a kiss that sears itself into your memory, filled with all the love, longing, and unspoken words between you. His arms wrap around you, holding you as close as he can, as if trying to fuse you together so that you’ll never have to part again.

When the kiss finally breaks, you’re both breathless, your hearts pounding in unison. You rest your forehead against his, your eyes closed as you try to hold on to the feeling of his lips on yours, the warmth of his body against you.

"I’ll see you soon," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly with the effort to keep the tears at bay.

He nods, though you can see the same struggle in his eyes. "Soon," he agrees, his voice thick with emotion.

With great reluctance, you finally step back, your fingers lingering on his for just a moment longer before you let go. The distance between you feels like a chasm, but you know it’s only temporary. Even so, the ache in your chest remains as you turn and make your way back to Morgoth.

Jace watches you go, his eyes never leaving you until you’re back at your dragon’s side. As you mount Morgoth, you take one last look at him, committing his face, his expression, to memory.

With a final nod, you signal Morgoth to take flight. The powerful dragon launches into the sky, his wings beating against the air as he carries you away from the island, away from Jace.

The night sky stretches out before you, the stars shining brightly above, but your thoughts remain with the boy you left behind. You clutch the small wooden box in your hand, a token of your love for your sister, but also a reminder of the love you share with Jace, a love that will bring you back to him, no matter the distance or the dangers that lie ahead.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #jace velaryon #jace x reader #jace x you #jace x y/n #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jacerys x reader #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x y/n

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satoruhour · 2 years ago

Note

RIDING JJK MENS ABS

a/n: thinkin’ bout dbf! jjk men bc of the toji drabble….. ouuuuhhhh im cooking

warnings: ab riding / humping & clit stimulation & pet names for all, implied phone sex, implied m! masturbation, somnophilia, cum eating, praise, implied second round (gojo), orgasm denial, implied overstimulation, calls you ‘slut’, a little mean, slight brat-taming, consensual recording, fingering from the back (geto), nipple play, soft sex, praise, brief unprotected p -> v penetration (nanami), toji is ur dad’s best friend, age gap (reader in uni, toji is in his 40s), calls you ‘whore‘ once, implied unprotected sex, implied creampie / breeding kink, lots of dirty talk, slight degradation, he smacks ur ass once (toji), n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

your eyes flit between gojo’s and his pants, hanging low on his hips as his chest heaves in even breaths. it’s more often now that the strongest sorcerer wakes up after you, feeling so safe in your arms, but today you have other plans.

you feel a little sorry for him when he’s completed a gruelling mission last night, but the throbbing of your core and the twist of your stomach is uncomfortable enough when that gruelling mission lasted three days. you’ve sent him risqué photos, along with texts of needing him bad but the most comfort he could provide was late phone calls with the sound of him stroking his cock.

the real thing was always better, though.

your resolve hardens when your mind wanders to satoru’s moans you heard on the line just last night, dragging yourself off the warmth of the sheets and onto him, not before taking off your pants, freezing in place when he shuffles just a little. you’re awfully cautious especially when you‘ve been caught before from your output of cursed energy and his six eyes.

so when you settle down on him, you’re already grinning at your triumphant feat until your clit bumps along his abs and you’re sitting up straighter. oh.

you abandoned your original plan of pulling down his pants, instead dragging your pelvis against the hard muscle there, the ridges of his core feeling absolutely divine against your cunt. the only thing you can do with your hands is to hold them up, careful not to put any force on his chest while your hips move against his front and you’re moaning, softly. it feels too good to stay silent, letting out short breaths and wanton pleas of his name.

within a few rocks of your hips, you can feel your high already approaching, a little embarrassed at how wet his skin was from your dripping cunt but the feeling of it all makes you lost in pleasure, not even realising how, now, there was a pair of blue eyes staring back at you.

“wow.”

“satoru!” you jump at the sudden voice interrupting your deep spell of pleasure, not surprised when all he does is sneak a peek at his torso and just smirks, taking a finger and swiping at the soaked skin of his abs. he pops it into his mouth, humming, satisfied with the taste and you can feel your body heating up from the need and the desperation for gojo after being away from him for three days.

you’re just unaware he’s also missed you like a dog misses a bone, and he’s so goddamn hard it hurts, but he’d do anything for his pretty baby to get off first.

gojo grins, “why’d you stop?”

“i— uhm, just— ah!” you know that grin only ever holds sinister thoughts when he flexes his torso and stimulates your clit, enjoying the sudden moan you let out, “’t-toru…”

you start moving unconsciously, body sagging over his as your hands find their place on his chest and you press hard, gojo’s breath being taken away both literally and figuratively when you grind down onto his naked skin with the attractive bend of your body, the ridges of his abs making your pussy feel so good.

“sato— oh, f-fuck!” you whine out as he places his hands on your hips to help you, leaving trails of fire hot touches along your ass and waist. his hands are so big, too, the simple movement of his hands on you is enough to make you clench around nothing.

“that’s it…” satoru is entranced by your cunt, dragging up and down his middle while your whimpers taint his ears and he’s hoping you’d cum soon just so he can see your trembling thighs and beautiful voice. “that’s right, ride me like a good lil girl— shit, clenching ’round nothin’.”

“g’na cum?” nodding, your pelvis moves desperately on his torso as gojo’s words make you mewl out for him, the burn in your core finally releasing when his hands spread on your plush ass that it has your clit pushed up all against him and your hips stutter in cute little jerks.

“satoru, satoru, satoru, oh my god—!” and you cum loudly with chants of his name, cunt leaking more and more cum that all he can do is watch, asking you with a sweet voice to lie back on his legs while he spreads your pussy to see just how wet you are, a glistening shine on your folds. gojo just grins, licking his lips with a glint in his eyes and a throbbing cock — the morning’s just started.

✶ GETO

sometimes geto was a professional at hiding what he was really feeling — at how annoyed he gets when someone brushes your opinion off, or the anger when gojo accidentally had smacked you hard while explaining something. but because he was so adept in this skill, you never really know what he’s thinking until you’re teasing him in public.

you whine when your hands are slapped away from his pecs, an aht aht leaving him when all you want is some balance. but geto is mean when he wants to be, and he’s not entirely happy after the stunt you pulled in the high-end fashion store today. a show of brattiness and teasing, asking him to come into the dressing room just to bend over with your ass right on his cock. this photo would look so cute as my wallpaper, suguru!

you were right, even if geto didn’t want to admit it, but it’s the last thing on your mind now when you’re been denied your orgasm twice already, forced to ride your boyfriend’s abs with no one to help you.

“su’,” you mumble, going delirious from how much your clit ached, and yet you weren’t allowed to cum until he thinks you can, hands going everywhere from your hair to your face just to have some sort of ground. “w’nna cum, p-please… ’m sorry sugu—”

a high-pitched moan leaves you when geto tenses his torso, enjoying your show as he leans back comfortably with both arms behind his head. you look so stunning like this, begging for release while your body contorts in all sorts to grind your clit into him with more friction. it’s so cute, and while geto doesn’t enjoy being tested in public, there’s a thrill in denying it and then giving it all to you later until you’re begging for him to stop.

“what was that?” he makes an act of putting a hand to his ear, “didn’t hear you, baby.”

“’m sorry, suguruu— s-shit,” your hips speed up when you find a particular spot, apologies continuing to spill from your lips until they’re cut off but geto grabbing your hands, being a little lenient as he lets you use his chest. your moans turn into thankful whimpers paired with the lewd sounds of your pussy against skin, fingers feeling all around him from his neck to his hair and unaware of how geto could cum just from how you use him like a fucktoy.

maybe he should capture this.

“dirty little slut, hm?” you only could hum and agree, babbling out some yes’s aimlessly as you continue to grind your puffy clit on his front, a yelp sounding when geto prods at your entrance which is sopping wet. “look at you soaking my tummy, naughty girl.”

“yea— yeah, yeah, ’m your naughty girl haah—” as his finger nudges into your hole, you mewl and your mouth hangs open, thick finger already stretching you out nicely and he smiles, watching you amused while as your expression melts into rolled back eyes and thrown back head.

“yeah, you are,” geto mutters breathlessly under his breath, making haste to grab his phone with your photo on the screen to open the camera and presses record — something he loves documenting for a folder named ‘my eyes only ♡’ that’s full of you getting ruined.

“smile for the camera, pretty darlin’,” and your drunken state is captured right up to the moment suguru inserts another finger and he’s so glad he’s got it on camera — your whines, your faltering hips, your hooded eyes, your wet pussy �� his cute baby smiling so brightly at the camera while you ride yourself into oblivion on geto’s abs, absolutely loving the attention.

because even if geto swears he loves putting you in your place, he loves seeing you in pleasure more, especially when it’s all just for him.

✶ NANAMI

“kento, can i try something?” you mumble, a little shy at the idea that popped up randomly in the outing with your friends earlier. you couldn’t wait to get home right after to try it out only to find that your boyfriend was still on his mission. a cold shower, your favourite show couldn’t distract you one bit, practically jumping up when he comes through the door at ten o’ clock.

nanami who never misses a night to read a few pages of his book, puts it down, a curious tilt of his head that’s got your heart full and pumping fast, both at the cute gesture and the thing you were about to suggest.

“in what way, baby?” he gives you his undivided attention, glasses pulled off his face and you suddenly don’t want to say anything until you remember the aching pulse of your cunt and you think that it would be worth it.

“uhm—” you stutter, taking his reading glasses from his hand and the book as well, setting them down on the bedside table. in a second you’re straddling him, being the victim of a knowing slight smirk and wandering hands on your waist.

“if you had this in mind, you should’ve just told me, dear,” nanami smiles at your flustered state, but is dumbfounded when you pull up the fabric of his nightshirt and move up just an inch from his hips to his torso, sighing softly to yourself when your pelvis meets the dips of his abs.

and before nanami can ask, you’re moving slowly, experimentally and it’s a little humbling when you’ve got this hot blonde guy across you staring at you with a raised eyebrow, but he eases it into it immediately, cooing at your unsatisfied cravings, no doubt getting hints from the message he got from you earlier, multiple messages of i miss you’s and what time are you coming home?’s

“need some help, darling?” you whisper a small yeah, letting him tug your underwear off one leg and then the other, not missing the way his eyes follow the wet spot on the fabric before tossing it to the side.

“if you wanted to grind on me, you could’ve just said so,” he says matter-of-factly, like it‘s just another day at work but nanami’s also been thinking of you the whole time, too, eyeing the way your nipples start to harden. he chuckles at the twitch he immediately feels in your cunt, teasing her a little but rubbing a thumb over your clit and a soft moan leaves your lips.

“’s embarrasin’,” you hum, lowering yourself against his body to hide and your elbows wrap around his head, soft blonde hair tickling your arms. but at that point it’s invitation for nanami to nudge the thin shirt up your body and effectively disrobing you before he latches his mouth onto your hardened buds, sending a choked whimper past your lips.

“k-kento, baby… ohh my god—” the feel of his tongue flicking against your nipples and sucking hard on them prompts your hips to hump faster, panting and moaning like a dog in heat while you start to soak his torso. nanami groans when he feels the wetness of your pretty pussy, unconsciously tensing his core.

“kento… f-fuck—!” he’s preoccupied with your tits, moving to the other one and repeats the process and your back arches in his hold, a pornographic whine going straight to his ears and right down to his cock.

“s’good for me, my love, doing so w-well…” nanami trembles when he feels your pussy contract and clamp around air, pulling away to look at your tear-filled face and knitted eyebrows and he feels a little guilty from being away the whole day.

“can you cum for me, hm?” nanami asks breathlessly, hands squeezing the fat of your breasts before they glide down to your ass, helping your tired hips. “cum for me, baby girl.”

you’re closer once those words leave his mouth and his lips capture yours in a harsh kiss, both groaning and moaning into each other’s mouths until you announce you’re cumming, hard. your hips move erratically, whining into nanami’s hair as your juices seep from your folds, leaving his torso dripping wet and soaking. but you’re so high from the orgasm that you squeak when his tip prod at your entrance.

it feels so good and soon you’re wiggling down to get his fat cock into you, pussy fluttering when his length stretches you out.

“’m gonna make it up to you, darling,” nanami grunts at the way your cunt feels around him, “been missin’ you so damn much today too.”

✶ TOJI

“baby, don’t think we should do this—” toji grunts when he feels you push him down onto your bed, headboard creaking just from how long you’ve had it. he would know, anyway, especially since toji had seen the bed in your room ever since he’s met your dad a few years ago when you were still in college. but now you’re bolder and older, clad in a short skirt with no panties and toji’s shirt.

because even when toji mumbled things like that in fear of your father finding out, you know he couldn’t resist you and your pussy.

“then how come you’re hard, toji-san?” he groans when you straddle his body that has a tight shirt on, the juices of your cunt leaking through. his hands immediately feel you up, palms going under the skirt and fondling your ass and he thinks that maybe he should let loose for once. toji isn’t sure when you had gotten so mesmerising, admiring the way you always helped your dad selflessly, contributing to his paperwork and bringing him coffee.

but until you’ve started dressing more provocatively around toji, he’s never noticed the way you grow into your features either, until one day you’re coming home after your second year of university in a tight pair of yoga pants, talking about joining some sports club to your dad while toji can’t take his eyes off of you.

it was so wrong of him, he knows, but when you’re confessing that night how you’ve recently been thinking about him, he loses all restraint he had, swallowing your cries of his name as he fucked you so good that night.

toji tsks, “dirty girl. grinding on your dad’s best friend like a whore. none of the boys at uni can fuck you good?”

you grin and shake your head, lifting your hips to pull the shirt off his body while he props himself up on his elbows to make it easier; the sheer size of shoulders and torso makes you lightheaded every time, toned in every area, albeit a little less years ago.

“y-yeah, toji-san, love it s’much…” your hips move on their own accord, eyes meeting his hooded ones as you drag your pussy up and down his middle, gasping when the hand that was caressing your ass lands a loud smack! that resonates throughout the room. you burn with shyness after, a pout making its way to your face before you bend down to hover an inch to his face.

“don’t wan’ dad to hear, toji…” you mumble, loving how you had so much effect over him by the way his chest heaves. It’s not often you see him, a normally cool-headed person, in this state, and toji’s equally enamoured by you as he smirks, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“what if i want him to hear, pretty girl?”

you mewl, hips starting and halting every few times from the way toji stares at you. “what if i want your father to hear how my cock stretches your little pussy, hm? or how you’ll bring coffee to him with my cum leaking out your cunt?” his green eyes are unwavering, hand guiding you on his abs that flex and contract, making pleasurable contact with your needy clit.

“maybe then he’ll know what a little slut his sweet, sweet girl is,” toji voice mutters with a lilt and a rasp, drunk on the way your whimpers turn needier and sluttier, hips moving picking up their speed.

“wan’ you to ruin me, toji,” you drag out his name, the wetness of your cunt making obscene noises in the quietness of the room while your dad watches a football match downstairs, and you hope he doesn’t notice how his best friend and you have left the living room for too long.

“i’ll do that after you cum on me, angel,” toji grunts, rocking his body with you as your juices stain his skin, pleasantly surprised when you take one of his hands and stick his fingers in your mouth, sucking on it like how you usually would with his cock; the other swears he might just cum from that, and how you’re clenching around nothing, finally cumming hard with widened eyes and a slack jaw.

“cumming— cumming, cumming, toji…!” toji coos as you continue to ride out your high with cum dripping down your thighs and his body, a sly grin spreading across his face when he hears you say that they’ll be having another important football match after this and your dad wouldn’t miss it for the world.

you giggle as he places a gentle kiss to your lips, hands making quick work of his pants, “glad i get to have more time with my good girl, then.”

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sashi-ya · 8 months ago

Text

𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑭𝑭𝑬𝑫 　「part 3」 soshiro hoshina x f! officer! reader

a/n: i wasn't expecting the amount of love I've been receiving for cuts of freedom and かんぱい！and because you all been so sweet and requested for a next part on this story, well... here it is! I hope you enjoy 🥺💖 tw: mdni! sex explicit scenes. shower sex. creampie. breeding mentioned. nipple play. soshiro being soshiro. wc: 1.3k // part1: cuts of freedom // part 2: かんぱい！// masterlist

Praying for no Kaiju appearances while this night lasts, you sit with your legs crossed and your cheeks on fire. He ordered you to keep it all inside of you, and all you wanna do is to please the slanted eyed demon in front of you.

Oh, he seems unbothered. Nothing has changed from the time he stood up as everybody was having fun and the time he returned to the table.

“I want you to sit back at the table with my cum still inside you… would you be able to hold it in for me?” “Ye-yes, Hoshina fuku-taichou…”

Soshiro takes quick snaps with his burning irises from time to time, never watching you for longer than a couple of seconds… however, it’s enough for you to understand, to feel as if he was making sure you were still holding it with all your will or if his warm seed has started to ooze down your legs.

Truth is, you are squeezing your folds with all your might to obey the vice-captain. Guilty of enjoying such impure act, perhaps also guilty for wanting that release to reach deeper, to make you his, to impregnate you even though the consequences.

“(Name)-chan!” you listen your name being sung by his sweet playful voice.

Shaking your head, you turn back to reality as you were not only lost in the memory of him cumming inside you but also the lack of energy you are experiencing.

“Y-yes, vice-captain Hoshina? You chime, with your back straight but your legs still crossed to the side.

You can see a little smirk on his lips, the little white of one of his fangs protruding… hungry, still, for your flesh.

“You seem tired; after all you’ve been through you should go to rest” he comments, but in reality he is doing nothing but ordering you to leave. And you know, exactly, why that is.

Again. And again. And again. He wants you all day, all night. Desperate, as if, perhaps, you were part of his training routine. Like the oxygen he breathes, and the water he drinks.

You are ready to object, but he is right. Even if he’d told you so because of real concern, you are absolutely tired.

You stand up, rather quickly and nervously. Your eyes open big, bigger. You shouldn’t have. Immediately, your hand reaches for your leg, stopping there by pure instinct. Were for you not realizing on time to stop, you could have use your hand to keep his seed from coming out.

Soshiro’s eyes slightly open in the menacing way that leaves you both trembling and needy. He knows what just has happened. He knows your already wet panties, now have become wetter and by far a lot more stickier.

“Y-es, I’m going to sleep. Have a good night everybody!” you salute, feeling your throat absolutely dry.

Everybody waves you goodnight as you walk with clear discomfort on your pace, ready to reach the showers before going to sleep.

It doesn’t take much for you to reach the community bathroom. Despite the base being huge, everything is at reach within the perimeter the soldiers move. And so, leaving the clothes you are sure should be burnt instead of cleaned on the ground, you hop into one of the shower units.

Drop by drop, lukewarm water cleans you from sins… but for how long?

In silence, he is so stealth and fast. Scared, but not surprised. You already know how he feels, how he smells and how he tastes.

“I thought you were going to sleep” Soshiro murmurs, entering the shower with you. “I- I couldn’t go to sleep with… you know” you whisper back, scared of anyone else coming.

His eyelid twitches.

“Didn’t I order you to keep it all inside, officer (---)?” he scolds you, pulling you against him by your waist.

You look down, eyes fixing on the perfectly sculped pecs, on the pale skin that is so easily bruised, so tempted to bite and mark.

“But- I tho-“ you wanna say something, excuse yourself, but your lips become sealed with his.

Those kisses he gives, scratching a little bit whenever he opens up with his sharp fangs… the way his hand squeezes your ass, the feeling of his hardness getting pressed in between your belly and his.

“You thought what? That I would fill you up again before sleep?” he asks, with his lips against yours.

You gasp. Not only he is good when fucking you, he is also good with words.

“This brings me memories… that day I’d have fucked you until you dropped if it wasn’t because you were hurt” he continues, reaching your breasts, pinching your nipples in between his fingers.

Soshiro inhales your moaning, going harder the more you do.

“Don’t say that, I know you we- were worried- fuck- for me” you giggle while his fingers are now deeply inside your folds.

Soshiro’s cheeks turn blushed, not because of the hot water but because of those words. In fact, you were absolutely right; he almost lost his mind when he saw you being a victim of your anti kaiju suit. Soshiro acts tough, but he is indeed the most gentle of them all.

“Shut up…” he embarrassed exclaims while picking you up from your thighs, making your back hit the shower wall behind you.

Snaked your legs around his tiny waist, both bodies eliminate any space in between them. Is it love or lust? it is both perhaps.

Probably a couple of seconds are what it takes for him to bury himself inside of you; there is nothing he wants more than that. Even if sore, even if drained. You, as well, don’t mind if your body asks for a rest.

Jumping rhythmically to his thrusts, with water pooling on your eyelashes; with your fingers interlocking with deep purple tufts of hair. All of him, all of you.

Your shoulder experiences sharp little cuts, that’s both painful and delicious; like the jaws of those monsters you fight, Soshiro bites your flesh to muffle the moans he can’t control.

The closer to ecstasy you both go, the louder the whimpers. And the louder the whimpers, the dangerous it gets for you. What would they say if Hoshina fuku taichou and an officer gets caught in such impure, unproper acts?

None of that, however, represents a worry for him nor you. There is no space, nor time nor brain capable to think of the rest right now that Soshiro has attacked your nipples. He pulls, he bites and sucks. Your core feels like exploding, the way his dick reaches for the perfect spot as if he was made for you, the way he stimulates your breasts.

No air is left to be breath, the humid atmosphere of the shower makes it even harder for the two of you. And his eyes, electrifying and deep, burn holes into yours as he looks up to see the expression on your face.

“Beautiful” he murmurs, with his tongue playing with your right extra sensitive button.

You brush his wet hair back, unable to think, unable to resist the urge to burst.

“Soshi..ro, I-…” you need to express what you heart aches to reveal. As if he didn’t know, as if he didn’t feel the same.

“Sh.. I know, me too” he shuts you up, this time before plastering a deep kiss on your lips.

This time, he doesn’t order you what to do with his needy release. Instead, he definitely knows you will keep it inside once again. Is it that he wants to breed you?

Oh, what a dangerous game you both are playing… What a risky kink of yours, Soshiro Hoshina.

The sound none of you wanted to listen has just took over the whole squad: Emergency Kaiju alert. “bet it will feel weird to fight with all of that inside, huh?” he laughs, rather loudly. “AH…. SOSHIRO T-T”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ Next part?

#kaiju no 8 #kaiju no. 8 #kaiju no 8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 fluff #kaiju no. 8 smut #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soushirou #hoshina soshirou x reader

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monstersholygrail · 8 months ago

Note

*rolls into chat*

Hi. I'm sharing this because of your last post btw

Firefighter centaur!

Reader has to help him get all the gear off after a long tiring day because that's a LOT of hair for someone who works with fires and accidents.

*welcomes into chat with open arms*

And omg this is so good!! (I went off, my bad!) I also had to re-write this entire thing when I was almost done because my tumblr crashed and I’m absolutely devastated but worth it for firefighter centaur.

Imagine firefighter centaur works in forest fires so it’s all the more dangerous and on such a bigger scale when he does get called in. Which of course makes reader even more nervous whenever there’s a fire.

Constantly pacing the living room of your shared home, biting your nails, with your eyes latched firmly on to the tv. Not being able to look away for even a second. Just waiting to hear any news about the crew of centaur firefighters as they come in and out of the blazing flames.

Your heart drops heavily into your stomach as you catch sight of him, being able to recognize him anywhere. You find yourself unable to breathe as you watch your partner jump over a burning trunk with ease. All while carrying a handful of nymphs to safety. A couple in his arms and a few riding his back.

Watching your partner be so heroic like that takes your breath away. Or maybe it’s just because you’re relieved he’s alive. Either way it sends a violent need to thrum through your body. A need to go to him and be near him, no matter the risk. You don’t hesitate for a moment and you’re out of the house before you can even turn off the television.

There’s barricades all over the place when you arrive at the scene. Your eyes search frantically around the area, looking for just one feature that you’re familiar with to find him. But your heart is hammering within your chest and your mind spins with more horrible ‘what ifs’ by the minute.

Given your state, it was no surprise to you that he found you first, calling out your name. You whirl around till your eyes fall onto him. Both of you immediately start heading toward each other. You meet in the middle, arms wrapping tightly around each other. Your firefighter centaur smells so thickly of smoke you want to choke. But none of that matters because he’s in your arms and in one piece. No matter how much of his fur is singed.

“What the hell are you doing here? You could have been hurt!” Your partner shouts, sounding almost as frantic as you feel. He leans back enough to cup your face in his hands, looking as though he’s wondering if this is real.

“I saw you- I saw you come through the fire. And there’s so many things on you that it could’ve caught onto. I had to. I had to come. I had to see you and make sure…” you ramble on, words spilling from your mouth. Your mind unraveling now that you know he's sate. "You're alive."

His face softens considerably and he brings you back into his arms.

"Well you got here just in time. I think the fires coming down anyway." He holds you tight and you clutch onto him just as fiercely. Using his strong hold to assure yourself he's really here.

After you both get back to the firehouse you slowly and gently help him take off all his gear. You can tell he's seriously exhausted. Eyes drooping, shoulders slumped, and tail swooshing lazily.

You let him relax as you get started on cleaning up and preparing his gear for washing. It's a rigorous ritual all on its own and you know he's in no state to take care of it right now. But when he blinks his eyes open and realizes what you're doing, it doesn't stop him from trying to do it anyway.

“Hey, stop that. I can do it fine,” he sluggishly tries to interrupt, not wanting you to do his work for him.

All you have to do is shy away from his mindlessly wandering hands, bringing his gear with you. Unintelligible grumbles leave his lips in response.

“I know how to do it. Watched you so many times it would be an insult if I didn’t. I got this,” you assure him.

After all he went through he doesn’t have the energy to fight you on this. When he doesn’t reply you go back to helping situate his gear. You hear the heavy clops of his hooves and a moment later his arms are wrapping around you from behind, his head resting comfortably on top of your head.

“Thank you,” he says softly, those two words alone dripping with appreciation and love for you.

The firehouse is empty, you two being the last ones left to finish up for the night. It’s in that moment, his body curled up around you as you help him in a way that means more than he can describe, that it was as if neither of you had ever felt safer.

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 year ago

Text

Goddess — Cassian x Plus-size!Reader

Summary: Just Cass worshiping his gorgeous, gorgeous mate.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Pretty much pwp. Adult Content, 18+, minors dni. 🫶🏻

You can hear him, scent him, from down the hall.

He approaches your shared bedroom with firm, purposed footsteps. His shoes slam against the wooden floor with every great stride he takes. He’s not graceful like some males are. There’s a raw ruggedness to every movement; the swirling storm of somebody who will never be light nor lithe on their feet. But the charged, almost frantic energy with which he does everything is, undeniably, one of your favourite things about him.

The door bursts open, and Cassian enters.

He’s flushed and sweaty like he always is after training, strands of hair hanging down from where they’ve ripped free from the knot at the nape of his neck. He brushes them back with a large, callused hand, and takes in the sight of you sprawled on your bed, an open book perched on your lap.

He’s always a little wild and frenetic, an animal that can’t be tamed, but this morning — this morning, it seems…extreme. A fire burns in his hazel eyes, and he licks his lips and rolls his shoulders as though there’s too much tension in them.

“How was training?” You ask casually, thumbing through your book.

“Fuck training.” Is all Cassian offers, and then he’s clambering onto the bed and folding his body over yours. “C’mere.”

He dips his head, clearly intent on capturing you in a kiss. But before it can land, your palm is in his face, pushing him away.

“Take your shoes off before you get on the bed, Cass.” You complain. “You’re all sweaty, too.”

A wicked grin tugs his lips up. He kicks his shoes off without sparing them a glance, and then he’s prowling back towards you. “You love it.”

Before you can respond, his mouth is slanting over yours in a deep kiss. His tongue immediately probes your mouth, and a deep groan rumbles in his chest.

“I couldn’t concentrate.” He huffs onto your mouth, hands moving up to your breasts. He gives a gentle squeeze. “I kept thinking about these.”

Immediately, your back arches into the touch. You tug your mouth off of his and cup his face, forcing him to look at you. “I’m not sure that’s part of the regime.”

“No it absolutely is not. But it still didn’t stop me thinking of them. Of everything I had waiting for me back here. This,” he moves down, pressing a kiss to the soft, pudgy flesh of your belly, “Mother above, I love this. And these,” his palms slip under your thighs, “I could spend all fucking day kissing these.”

He loves your thighs — has a real fascination with them. He loves touching them, stroking them, kissing them. Loves slotting himself between them. And fuck, he loves — is obsessed, even — with watching the way they rub together through your breeches while you walk. The way fabric hugs them and outlines their shape. The silvery stretch marks that create patterns in your skin and — rather conveniently — draw a path that snake up right to the creases between your legs. Yeah — he really, really loves those.

“I can’t imagine Azriel was all too impressed with your distraction.” You smile down at your mate, raking your fingers through his hair.

He growls softly, gently nips the flesh of one thigh, exposed beneath the shirt that you shucked on to lounge in — Cassian’s shirt. “I don’t want to hear another male’s name on those pretty lips right now.” He murmurs. “Only mine.”

“Jealous, jealous male.”

“Always.” His fingers are finding their way under the shirt, and he’s tugging it up, exposing more of you as you allow him to peel it from your skin. He chucks it behind him without giving it another thought, and then his eyes are devouring you.

Naked, now, except for your undergarments, Cassian can see everything from your full breasts to your soft tummy to your chubby thighs, and every dip, swell and crevice in between.

It’s taken you a while to make peace with the fact that you do not have the figure of the other females in Rhysand’s Inner Circle — and to realise that that is in no way a bad thing. That having a different body to them doesn’t mean having a lesser body than them. That yours is just as beautiful as theirs are — in a different way.

And having Cassian, the brilliant Illyrian general, worship you from head to toe every. single. day, most certainly helps.

Such heat flares in his gaze, now, as he drinks you in, that it’s almost too much to watch.

“You’re unreal,” he pants, despite no real exertion — yet. “I am so not worthy of you.”

“You’re more than worthy—”

“You’re a goddess. An actual fucking goddess.”

His mouth meets yours again, but it isn’t staying there long. He slots himself between those thighs he loves so much, his fingers biting into the generous flesh as he kisses his way along your jaw and down your neck, over your chest, down to the swells of your breasts. His tongue immediately flicks over one of your nipples, and you sigh at the sensation.

“I’ve never needed anyone or anything like I need you.” His mouth closes over your breast, a harsh suck puckering the flesh. “All,” he moves to the other breast, “the damn,” another suck, “time.”

“Cass,” you breathe, pleasure rolling down your spine. You need…something, anything — him.

“On it, sweetheart.” He says, and his kisses continue downwards.

They pepper your stomach, your hips, your pelvis. And his hands roam your body as they do, grasping at anywhere he can touch. He’s utterly obsessed with you, and he groans and ruts against the bed as he inhales slowly, breathes in your scent.

“You ready for me?” He grazes his teeth against your hip, dipping his fingers just past the waistband of your underwear. “My filthy mate. I can smell how ready you are.”

“Yes,” you sink back into the pillows, “please, Cass.”

“You never have to ask twice.”

He’s yanking your underwear down, and the stronger your scent becomes, the less he’s able to tamp down on those carnal noises that sound almost like animalistic snarls. He kisses one thigh, the other, and then tugs your legs apart with a hiss through his teeth.

“This is what I was thinking about during training.” He eyes your sex hungrily. “Getting between these incredible thighs. I couldn’t stop myself, and everyone knew it.”

“So get between them, General.” You drag a hand down your body, stopping between your legs. Your fingers mop up the wetness gathered there, swirling around your clit. The action dangles in front of Cassian like a toy. “Look how wet I am for you.”

The poor male is damn near salivating, his eyes almost rolling into the back of his head. He growls, moving your hand out of the way, and he can no longer stop himself from lowering his head to that sweet, dripping pussy he’s spent all morning fantasising about.

He licks right up the centre of you, tongue diving between your folds. At the first lick, you give over to the pleasure, the moans, pressing your hand to the back of Cassian’s head.

“Taste so good, my girl,” his tongue flicks your clit, “all this for me?”

“All of it, Cass. Always.”

“Yeah? You going to come for me?”

“Yes.” A moan escapes you as you tug at the strands of his hair. “Gods, yes.”

“That’s my girl.”

Your head falls back as he simultaneously sucks at your clit and flicks it with his tongue, and you feel fingers sinking between your folds. The sensations Cassian manages to wring from you never lessen in their impact. There’s something about having this brilliant male kneel between your legs and paint you with stunning pleasure. He calls you a goddess, and he treats you like one.

“Fuck,” you breathe, canting your hips up in time with the strokes of his tongue. “Cass…I want you inside me.”

“I want you to come for me first.” Without warning, he pushes a finger into you, and you moan. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“Gods—yes,” you’re rocking against his hand, gasping as he adds a second finger. His lips smile against you.

“Go ahead — fuck my fingers and take what you need. Come for me, my girl.”

The two of you work together, him thrusting his fingers and continuing the strokes at your clit, and you taking it all so, so well. And you can tell he loves every moment of your pleasure — the way it builds up in your bones, your veins, and readies itself to implode.

And then your mate curls his fingers deep inside you, and it does exactly that. Release bursts through you at an unstoppable force. The impact of it surges to every corner of your body and has you shaking, gasping, screaming.

Cassian moans as if the climax is his own. He drinks and drinks and drinks, not letting a drop of you go to waste. He takes the clenching of your walls around his fingers and the harsh tugs of his hair. Takes it all, happily.

You’re not sure how long your head is spinning for, but you’re eventually coming down, just in time to see Cassian press a kiss to your belly. You tug his hair again and breathe, “Want you, Cass.”

“My beautiful,” he kisses your belly again, “beautiful mate.” As he pulls back, his hands drag down your thighs. “My goddess.”

He jumps up from the bed, and never have you seen him rid himself of clothes so quickly. Clothed, Cassian is stunning. Naked, he’s breathtaking.

Your eyes study him in utter awe, and you wonder — not for the first time — what you did so right in a previous life to have Cassian as your mate in this one. Every inch of him is firm and honed. Tan skin nicked with scars; bold, beautiful wings; rippling muscles and sharp edges. And his cock—

His cock has you swallowing.

It stands to attention, hard and proud and leaking at the head. Cassian wraps his hand around it and pumps a few times, his eyes still intensely on you. He grits his teeth.

“When you look at me like that,” he says, “you make me feel like a god.”

“You are.” Your chest rises and falls heavily. And you mean it — to you, he is. A god and goddess together.

Stark heat crosses his face, and he jerks his chin in signal. “Come here. I want you on top.”

He’s told you time and time again that having you on top of him is like having his prayers answered. Feeling you rocking on him, riding him, your thighs at his sides…a feeling like nothing else in the world. And you’re more than happy to oblige.

So you’re swapping positions. He’s sprawling back on the bed, wings beneath him, and you hover above him. You’re eager to feel him inside you, but you stop short at the weighty gaze that follows your every move.

You do not balk from it, though. This confidence is a stark difference from the early days of yours and Cassian’s sex life, when you’d do everything to avoid him staring at you for too long, when you’d insist on fucking in the dark. Cassian watches you approach like you’re the last meal he’ll ever get to have. He looks…lost for words.

You reach down, cupping his face between your palms. “You’ll give me an ego.”

“You should have an ego.” He turns his head, kissing your hand. “Fuck me, you’re exquisite.”

With a smile, you’re dipping down and slanting your mouth over his. And as Cassian kisses you back, he takes your hands, gently, slowly pulling you down, until you’re straddling him.

“Did you think about this during training, too?” Your voice shakes as the head of his cock brushes your entrance. “Being inside me? Having me ride you?”

Cassian kisses you so deeply, it leaves you breathless. A loud, wet kiss with his lips moulded to yours, his tongue and your tongue dancing. He pulls away only to tell you, “I think about being inside you, and having you ride me, all the fucking time.”

You smile, reaching behind you to palm at his cock. And a soft groan breaks from him as you pump his length gently. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, moving his hand down to grab your thighs.

“Put me inside you,” he shudders, his callused thumbs sweeping your skin. “Need to feel your cunt around me.”

You can’t wait any longer, either. You steady his cock at the base, and the second it’s brushing through your soaked folds, you’re both moaning.

And even louder, still, as you sink so, so slowly onto him.

The more his cock slides into you, the harder Cassian grips onto your thighs. He grits his teeth, watching closely as you pause, allow yourself to adjust to his size, and sink down to the hilt.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” His hands smooth upwards, skating over your hips and round to grab at your generous ass. He squeezes, and then he’s lifting you, and you’re moving on his cock.

You could do this forever — have his long, thick length sliding in and out of you. In seconds, you’re slick enough, drenching him enough, to bounce on his length. You roll your hips, bracing your hands on the headboard and throwing your head back at the pleasure that skitters through you. Cassian leans down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth.

“So full,” you whine, grinding against him faster.

“Yeah?” He breathes. “My cock fills you up nice and good, doesn’t it? I know exactly what this pretty cunt needs.” He lifts you up by your ass, growling, “You want it hard, my goddess?”

“Fuck, Cass, yes.”

“You gonna scream for me? Make sure those lot training on the roof know that I rushed away to fuck my mate like she needed me to?”

“Yes—gods.”

“Scream for me, then.” He grips you hard, and he gives you no choice but to scream.

He slams up into you, again and again, the angle so desperate and deep that your control utterly slips. You can’t pull it back. You can’t grab the upper hand and pin him down to ride him — and you don’t want to. Not as he hits a spot so deep inside you that another climax knocks the breath out of you, and you’re screaming, moaning, clawing.

A deep, smug chuckle breaks through the haze of your orgasm, but Cassian doesn’t falter once. His brow furrows more and more with every thrust. He’s holding you closer to him, burying his face into your neck, and you know he’s not going to last much longer.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses, bracing himself, “how do you feel better and better every damn time?”

“Because I’m yours,” you pant, and Cass chokes on a groan, “and you are mine.”

“Always.” His mouth finds yours in a deep, unforgiving kiss, and he doesn’t pull away as his body begins to tremble beneath you, his thrusts faltering and becoming sloppy.

He slumps down, lying your body flush against his, and just like that, he’s on the home stretch.

“Give it to me, Cass,” you watch the pinched pleasure on his face, “I want you to spill inside me.”

Your mate throws his head back, a shout escaping him. His hips still as you feel the explosion of his orgasm deep inside you, painting your walls with his come. Spurt after spurt, it feels never ending, and Cassian groans gutturally through it all. He well and truly fills you up.

He stays inside you for a while after — while you catch your breaths. But when you’ve both calmed a little, he’s pulling back to meet your gaze, and a dazed laugh leaves him. “Fuck, that was good.” He breathes.

“Mmhm.” You smirk, leaning in to kiss him. “Better than your fantasising?”

“My fantasies can be pretty elaborate, but even this brain couldn’t conjure up anything as brilliant as you.” He kisses you back, his hand gently patting your ass. “My delicious little mate.”

You can only smile against his lips. And you’d be content to stay here all day, wrapped up in him, his mouth on yours. But you grin and snake your arms around his neck. “Cass?”

“Yes, my love?”

“You really need a bath.”

He jumps up without a word, your combined wetness spilling down those thighs he loves so much, as he carries you with him to the bathroom.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

cassian tags: @brekkershadowsinger @wandas-dream @nightscourtt @luna-1-3-5 @ruler-of-hades @chocolatecakelargeshake @asemkta @lucyysthings @a-frog-with-a-laptop @iammichellekocwin @illyriansimp @azrielsbabyg @brookeduggann @toohardtoforgetcth @gmey11 @historianscalledusfriends @basicbittywitty @koemi-kimo @sadiebluewin @angelatinasstuff @eos-princess @theunforgivingsworld @lysjeonsworld @aaronwarnerswifereal @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @str4vvberry @lxnoluvr @moron-says-what @korol-lantsov @evabalexeeva @imaginethat16 @aoibhinnslater04 @kennedy-brooke @magnoliamermaid @winchestersister55 @carrxttcake @shannonsaid @ladylunavoodoo13 @glitterforashes @misslunatic1655 @basicbittywitty @bbycowboi @mel-wcst @amieinghigh @acourtofidiots @scooobies @grunchwench @glitterypirateduck @wallacewillow0773638 @jjlevin @siriuslyslyslytherin @supernatural99 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @loglady00 @bbycowboi @tastydewdrops @waywardcasbutt @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thereadefofsmut @padfootsvixen @donnadiddadog

#cassian #cassian acotar #cassian x reader #batboy x reader #batboy #cassian fic #cassian oneshot #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar fandom #acotar writing #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanon #acotar smut #acotar series #smut #cassian smut #cassian x reader fic

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stevie-petey · 21 days ago

Text

i lied

The air is sweet between you, tender, though there’s a homesickness to it that neither of you can shake. “Do you think we were doomed from the start?” You ask Peter as you continue to look up at the stars. You can’t take your eyes off of them. They’ve finally decided to spare you their beauty, their final dance just for you and Peter. You feel him shrug. You’re both drunk and open and vulnerable.

Summary: you and peter were drunk when you first fell in love at the edge of a rooftop. it was always going to end this way.

Rating: mature, slight cursing, suggestive themes but no real smut

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, underaged drinking, mentions of burns and scars, reader has boobs

Words: 14k

Before you swing in: who wouldve thought that itd take me over a year to write my first peter fic ?? me ! anyways, here she is and she was inspired by an absolutely evil playlist that my beloved val (@southelroy) made for me specifically to write to. the songs are very sad so pls blame her ! please enjoy, this one is long n bittersweet <3

Sticky July air clings to Peter’s skin. The dampness of it leaves everyone else’s skin slick with sweat as their bodies knock against his. Music reverberates the apartment walls and Peter’s senses are going haywire.

He never attends parties for this very reason. They’re an overstimulating nightmare full of people who make him want to scream.

Peter’s skin vibrates uncomfortably as he’s surrounded by a haze of drunken teenagers and sloppy movements. His eardrums sting when a girl next to him screeches something about needing another drink. The back of his fingers burn when said girl drops her new drink and he finds himself catching it before it can spill.

“Woah,” the girl giggles, breath reeking of alcohol as she presses against Peter and paws at the drink he’s saved. “My hero.”

All Peter offers her is a tight lipped smile. The flashing of the lights are making him nauseous and he really doesn’t understand why he allowed Ned to drag him here tonight. He hands the girl her drink and shoves his way through the crowd, anxious to find his friend before he has a complete meltdown.

In the time it takes to find Ned, the guy is already incredibly drunk, and Peter has to take several deep breaths to calm himself down.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t drink tonight,” is all he says to Ned, ducking his head down so that he can be heard over the music.

Ned’s head almost knocks into Peter’s and he gives him a wide, messy smile that matches his glassy eyes and slurred speech. “Peter! What’re you doin’ here?”

“You dragged me here, remember?”

“No way!” Ned laughs gleefully, as if this is all some silly instance that warrants amusement. “That’s-that’s crazy, man. You’re like. Super strong! How’d I drag you?”

Peter runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “By guilt tripping me with us going to different schools soon, Ned. You made a whole deal about it.”

“Wait,” Ned’s eyes widen. “We’re goin’ to different schools?”

“Alright, that’s it.” Peter grabs the teen’s shoulders and forces him to look in his eyes. He knows that whatever he’s going to say to Ned will be long forgotten tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. “We’re going home. This is stupid–”

“Peter!” Ned groans his name, long and child-like. He would stomp his foot if he could, but in his drunken state all he can manage is a slight wobbly step and pout. “We jus’ got here. Loosen up! Someone brought this yummy pink flavored drink and it’s–” he hiccups, startling himself, before continuing with his ramble. “It’s really good.”

“I don’t want to drink anything that’s ‘pink’ flavored.” Peter tries to push Ned through the crowd and out the front door, but the tiny apartment is overflowing with people and it’s damn near impossible to even take a step.

Cursing under his breath, Peter looks around wearily. “This is definitely a fire hazard.”

“The obscene amount of alcohol or the sheer volume of people?” A voice from behind him says. “Either way, this apartment is definitely a fire hazard.”

Peter spins around, heart beating in his chest. For years now he’s relied on his senses to tell him where everyone is around him, but now, as he stands in front of a girl he’s never seen before, he’s disarmed.

“Then again, it seems unfair to disqualify the fact that this building is in no way up to the city’s fire code. I mean, did you see the broken sprinkler system in the hallway?” In your hand is a bright blue solo cup, its color vibrant against the dark. You bring it to your lips, eyes never leaving Peter’s, and smile from above the brim as you drink.

You’re waiting for him to say something, Peter realizes.

“I, uh. Didn’t.” He breathes out, overwhelmed already with your presence. You’re standing really close to him now, almost as if you recognize him by the way you’re so familiar with his space, yet Peter is sure he would remember a face like yours in every lifetime he came across it.

“Not a man of words, are you?” You say, stepping even closer to him.

Peter swallows heavily. His heart is racing and he forgets that he’s supposed to be taking Ned home. Distantly he wonders where his friend has slipped away to, but for now, with you in front of him, all Peter can think about is how strongly the scent of your perfume invades his senses in a dizzying manner.

“I–” He can’t breathe. You’re so close and there are bodies everywhere and Peter is convinced that this is some type of purgatory because he’s in hell where your face resembles an angel that the gospels wail over.

“It’s okay,” you step even closer to Peter, and now he can smell the woody undertones of your perfume. He has to stop himself from inhaling too deeply. “I can do all the talking for us. I’m Y/N, and no, I don’t come here often. This is my first time, actually.”

“I-I’m Peter,” he manages to laugh, small and amused as he unravels before you. “Do people really use that line on you?”

“Hello, Peter.” You smile even wider saying his name. “And you’d be surprised. It’s awful, so I figured I’d spare you the embarrassment.”

“Seems you’ve saved me, then.” Peter isn’t sure where this comes from or why talking to you puts him at ease. Your voice almost seems to dull the roar in his head.

He can’t get enough of it.

“Why don’t you repay me by getting me another drink?” This close, Peter can see flecks of glitter that line your eyelids. The movement of light behind you rains incandescent blues and reds across them.

“Well?” You tilt your head at him, expecting an answer, and he knows he’s already lost.

Peter’s hand lands on your waist. The flesh there is exposed, your shirt having ridden up slightly during your conversation. You’re warm, soft. Peter can’t help but squeeze the skin beneath his fingers and when you shiver, his heartbeat finally settles.

“Let’s get you that drink.”

–

Peter has spent a lot of time on rooftops. It’s a part of the job description, hanging around the tops of deserted buildings as he patrols. Senses on high alert. Waiting for a scream or a lonely passerby to trail home and ensure they remain safe.

On every rooftop Peter has been on, he’s always felt a sense of unease. Even with his webbing and ability to stick to surfaces, he’s never been able to get past the feeling that one day he will slip and there won’t be anything to catch him. He would simply fall; there wouldn’t be anything he could do to save himself.

Yet tonight, drunk and infatuated with you, Peter is on a rooftop dangling over the edge with a security he’s never felt before.

“God, I hate rich people.”

Peter’s head turns to you, his movements slow and messy. He’s lost count of how many drinks you’ve both had. “Why’s that?”

Your hands motion towards the sky, your movements also uncontrolled and childish. “The stars, dude. They’re all gone and it’s all their fault.”

Peter laughs, looking up as he lays on the ground with you next to him. Originally the plan had been to sneak up onto the rooftop and lay down together and stargaze. In your drunken states, it had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. Romantic, even.

Both of you forgot that you live in New York and that the stars always remain hidden behind clouds and smoke.

“I don’t think they deserve all the credit,” Peter lazily responds. The July heat makes the night air thick and warm, but the alcohol in his system makes everything more tolerable. Especially with you next to him. “I mean, didn’t society doom the stars from the start?”

“That sounds very philosophical,” your head lands on his chest, and he curls into you. “And normally I love philosophical-ness, but I’m drunk and you smell good and it’s making my head all fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy?”

“Fuzzy.” You’re giggling now and Peter finds himself giggling with you.

One of your hands rests against your chest and Peter reaches for it, the itch of being closer to you driving him insane. His fingers interlock through yours and your palm is flush against his and Peter thinks his hands were made to hold yours.

You hum at the contact, moving your body against his. You link one of your legs over Peter’s and angle your body so that you’re practically laying on him and his heart thumps every time you move.

“‘Doomed from the start’,” you murmur Peter’s earlier words, lips dragging across his t-shirt. “Think everythin’ is like that?”

The numbness of the alcohol suddenly wears off. Peter stiffens slightly at your question and every cell in his body constricts. The reaction far exceeds the question, he knows this, but he’s reminded of everything he was trying to forget tonight.

In a lot of ways, Peter does think his life was doomed from the start. The loss he’s experienced, responsibility he never asked for, an entire city to look after. All before the age of fifteen.

“Peter?”

He doesn’t look at you, and you think he hasn’t even heard your soft questioning. When you first saw him lost in the crowd, it had been his naivety that drew you to him in the first place. How delicate Peter’s face was, the way his eyes seemed to hold lifetimes unbeknownst to anyone.

Now, staring up at him after his body has gone cold from your mindless question, all that you see is a hardness in Peter’s face. Stone-like and secluded. A hurt and loneliness that sculptors yearn to replicate.

“Is everythin’ okay?” Your hand comes up to his face, gently coaxing him to look at you. “Did I lose you over there?”

The tender way you hold his face rattles Peter’s ribcage. He exhales shakily, shyly, and to ease the worry that’s creased your brows, he places a kiss on your palm. “I’m fine… Still here.”

It isn’t enough for you, though. “Did my question offend you?”

“No,” he’s quick to reassure you, kissing your palm once again. “No, ‘course not. Just… caught me by surprise. That's all.”

“Too philosophical?”

The adorable way your eyebrows scrunch in concentration lessens the remaining sting in Peter’s chest. He draws you in, wraps you around him so that he can feel all of you. “Not at all. I don’t think everythin’ is doomed from the start. Do you?”

Your head falls back against his chest. He feels you exhale deeply, yawn, before wrapping your arms tighter around him. “No,” you say sleepily. “I like to think this isn’t doomed.”

Peter pokes your nose. “What isn’t doomed?”

Your smile melts into his bones. It’s mischievous and teasing, holding the vague words to your chest, and you don’t let him in on your secret. Instead, you admire how pretty Peter looks under the moonlight.

“What’re you starin’ at?” He asks you, voice hoarse and quiet.

Your eyes roam the length of his neck, down the angle of his nose, across the moles that line his face and the eyelashes that fan his eyes. They’re a warm, deep brown. Almost black in the dim lighting. Youthful, trusting, yet guarded.

Alcohol blurs your vision and yet you know that Peter is the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen.

“I kinda like your face,” you breathe out, hands coming up to cup his cheek.

Peter leans into the touch with an almost embarrassing air of vulnerability. You’re warm. He forgets what the two of you were even talking about in the first place. “You like my face?”

You hum. “It’s charming. You’re charming.”

His face burns from your words. Something within him screams at him to run, to make up an excuse and leave you and the blurred lines alone. But he can’t. He finds that he doesn’t want to ever leave you alone.

“Handsome,” your breath fans his face now, lips ghosting over the edges of his cheek. “Really handsome.”

Peter doesn’t breathe. He’s worried that if he does, he’ll scare you away.

“I like your face,” your entire body rests on top of his. Your shirt rides up again and Peter has to bite his lip at the urge to grab the exposed skin. You notice this and you press your face against the base of his neck. “It’s a good face.”

“Yeah?” He’s overwhelmed with the possibility of you.

“Can I kiss it?” You ask him sweetly, honeyed and warm. You’ve never kissed anyone before. No one has ever left you wondering how their lips would feel against yours until tonight.

Peter swallows hard. His ribcage threatens to crack open. He’s never kissed anyone either, but he really, really wants to try with you. You’re staring up at him with open and wide eyes and it’s over before it’s even really begun.

He grips the back of your neck and you taste like the sweet strawberry daiquiri he’s poured for you all night. The taste of it emboldens Peter, craving more of it, and his hesitancy morphs into something deeper, darker. He holds your face between his hands and drinks from your lips as you take everything from him.

The kiss is a combination of every contrasting conjunction Peter can think of. Rushed and slow. Soft and hard. The kiss is perfect in a way that only something messy and needy can create.

Your hands find their way under Peter’s shirt, nails scratching the sensitive skin kept hidden. He shivers, kisses you harder, swallowing the laughter that pours from you. The sound of it makes Peter’s head spin. He squeezes your ass, creating a dizzying pressure against his jeans, and soon your teasing laughter turns a breathy moan.

“There you are,” he sighs against your open mouth. He rolls his hips up, hisses when you land right where he needs you. “Stay right there for me, sweetheart.”

You muffle a moan against Peter’s neck, biting at any skin you can reach. “I’ll stay,” you whisper over and over again; a promise that won’t be recognized until it’s broken.

The rest of the night is spent exploring each other’s skin and drawing sweet sounds from parted mouths. In the early morning sunlight, something sacred is formed. When your head lands against Peter’s chest for the final time that night, the finality of it is lighter than the weight of everything else that sits within it.

Neither of you knows who ends up falling asleep first. Peter thinks it was you, he remembers playing with the strands of your hair for a while before his eyelids became too heavy. You swear that it was him, remembering the steady heartbeat beneath you slowing to a quiet rhythm.

Regardless, when the two of you do wake up the next morning, you greet the other with laughter and teasing. There is no awkwardness from the night before; only something delicate.

“Thank you for sacrificing your back for me,” your arms stretch above your head, the muscles pulling taut. Peter can hear something crack and you wince under your breath. “I obviously already have enough back problems as it is.”

“Who said I willingly served as your pillow last night?” Peter tries to fix his hair, though he knows it’s no use. “You could’ve tricked me into it.”

“I’m trying to praise you here, Peter.”

“Horrible mistake on your part.”

You laugh, and the way you do so is still as open and carefree as Peter remembers it being from the night before. His chest warms, everything is so easy with you. Gentle and lovely.

Before he can convince himself not to, Peter grabs your hand and kisses the back of it, and in doing so, he laces his fingers through yours. In the daylight, he sees how pink your cheeks get when you blush.

“C’mon,” he stands up, arms instinctively wrapping around you to help you stand. “I’m sure whoever owns this rooftop will kill us if we stay up here any longer.”

You roll your eyes, though you accept Peter’s help and allow him to guide you back downstairs. “As if Veronica’s landlord even remembers that he owns this building.”

“Veronica?”

You frown at Peter. “Veronica Haynes?” When he shrugs helplessly at you, your frown deepens. “The girl who threw the party? The one we literally attended last night?”

“No idea who she is.” He’s sheepish, desperately hoping that he isn’t insulting a girl who might be your friend. “I-I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, buddy.” You pat Peter’s shoulder sarcastically. “I’m just really confused as to how you even got into the party if you don’t know the host.”

He opens the building’s door, revealing the summer morning heat as the two of you start walking down the block. “My friend Ned invited me. Said he knew a girl who attended Rockefeller High through his AV club who was throwing a party. Guess that was Veronica?”

“AV club,” you snort. “Bringing people together since the dawn of nerds.”

“Hey, I used to be in the AV club.”

“And my point still stands.”

Peter shoves you lightly, causing you to stumble into him, and he laughs when you shriek in terror. You whip around to face him, eyes alight, before he holds his hands up in surrender. “Easy, now. I was just defending my honor.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you knock your shoulder against his. “Otherwise we’d have some serious problems.”

Peter sticks his tongue out at you, throwing an arm over your shoulders and pulling you close. He’s sure May is expecting him home soon, but he doesn’t want to say goodbye to you.

“So,” Peter says, kissing the top of your head. “Where am I taking you?”

“Ideally? France. Realistically? Home.”

“Home I can do,” he sways your bodies side to side, zigzagging across the sidewalk playfully. He tries to ignore the disappointment of walking you home. “I’ll need an address though, sweetheart.”

Even though Peter is a stranger with a last name that is unknown to you, you tell him where you live. He walks with you the entire eight blocks. Not once are either of you quiet. Reminiscent of the night before, you talk about everything and nothing as his arms remain around you.

Peter asks about where you went to school, how Rockefeller compared to Midtown. You ask him what his favorite word is, if he’s ever regretted a haircut that he couldn’t hide. The two of you gossip about shared classmates and the colleges they’ve chosen, and inevitably you realize that come fall, you’ll both be attending Empire State University.

“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, then.” You’re at your apartment building now, though you linger, not wanting to let go of Peter just yet.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He raises an eyebrow at you, not wanting to let go of you, either.

“Never said it was.”

Peter smirks at you. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Your nose brushes his before you kiss him. Unlike last night, this time he tastes slightly salty, earthy. His lips are chapped, rough around the edges, and you can’t get enough of it. But you have to leave, soon your mom will be wondering where you are.

You finally pull away, lips tingling. “I’ll be waiting.”

Peter smiles wide, and unable to help it, you kiss him one more time, then two more, then three, before you’re lost in it all over again.

“Just…” Pulling away again, you look at Peter and find the hesitancy in his eyes has returned. “Don’t make me wait too long, okay?

But almost as if you’ve imagined it, the hesitancy is gone. Instead, Peter smiles wide at you. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

–

When Peter first revealed to May that he’d been accepted to every college he applied to, she hugged him tightly and rambled about how proud she was for five straight minutes.

Then, when he told her that he’d be choosing Empire State over MIT in order to continue being Spider-Man, May hit the back of his head.

“Patrolling every night while balancing chem labs and papers?” She had laughed right in Peter’s face. “You’ll be wishing you were dead before the first semester even ends.”

Unfortunately, as usual, May had been right.

“Drink up,” a steaming mug gets placed in front of Peter. Its warmth seeps into the air and tickles his face, lazily coaxing his exhausted eyes to open.

You wink playfully at him when you see that he’s finally opened his eyes. Setting down your own mug, you join Peter at the kitchen table. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Guessing I fell asleep at the table again?” Peter rubs his eyes, yawning. He isn’t surprised that you’ve let yourself into his dorm. He gave you a key the same day you gave him his.

After spending the night on the rooftop in July, the two of you became inseparable. Dinner excursions, museum hopping, movie nights at your apartment, anything to stay together in the wonderfully intoxicating world you built together.

Nothing changed when school began. If anything, the close proximity to one another and shared classes only made the two of you more unbearable. You joined the same clubs, befriended the same classmates, and now spend every waking second with the other.

“Found you face down when I walked in, so.” You laugh at him, flicking his ear. “We’ve been in school for a month and you’re already falling apart.”

“Don’t remind me.” Peter drops his head back down onto the table. Peter’s roommate, Jude, is out of town for fall break, so at least he was spared the embarrassment of anyone else seeing him like this. “I just wanted to finish my lab report.”

“And did you?”

“No.”

Though he really did mean to get work done last night. Peter had gotten back from patrol early specifically so he could at least format the report. Instead, his exhaustion won in the end. Again. For the fifth time this week.

Peter should really start listening to May.

Your fingers tangle in his hair. “Poor baby,” scratching his scalp, you slowly begin to massage the tense skin. “If only you came to my dorm instead like I so graciously offered.”

“Y/N.” Peter tries to sound stern, but he finds himself sighing into your touch. Your words leak into his bones. He doesn’t want to give them a response, knowing that if he does, then he’ll spend the rest of the morning in bed with you.

“All I’m saying Peter is that you could’ve spent a sleepless night with me instead of orgo.”

“I told you I couldn’t,” he winces, turning his head to look at you. “I’m convinced my professor is trying to kill me with this report.”

Which isn’t a total lie. He really does think he’s going to die at the hands of organic chemistry one way or another, but truthfully the reason Peter turned you down was because he had to patrol.

You hum, stroking his cheek. “I’d admire your devotion to academia if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

“Finding me passed out on the kitchen table is a turn off?”

“Utterly so, lovely.”

Peter’s cheeks burn deeply at the pet name. You started using it the second week of sleeping together, whispering it against his ear so softly that he wasn’t sure he had heard you at first. As if he wouldn't be able to hear you over everything.

You aren’t together. At least, not really. Sure, Peter spends most nights with you on his tongue, but he doesn’t stay. The moment he’s done, the moment you pull apart, he kisses your forehead goodbye and is patrolling thirty minutes later. He doesn’t tell you where he goes, and you don’t ask.

The space Peter places between you in his life and Spider-Man is deliberate. It’s how it has to be. Even if neither of you are willing to talk about it.

“I’ll make it up to you later,” he grabs your hand and kisses it, silently apologizing for the lies you’re unaware of. “Scout’s honor.”

“Please don’t reference the Boy Scouts while flirting with me.”

Peter laughs and it’s the first time he’s done so since leaving your dorm yesterday afternoon. He tries not to think about how he only ever seems to smile these days because of you. Everything is easier, lighter, with you.

After finishing your coffee, Peter helps you make breakfast. There isn’t much in his fridge, always inexplicably empty, but it’s become a sort of tradition between you. Quiet mornings at Peter’s dorm, using Jude’s coffee machine and toaster to make misshapen eggs and toast. The two of you work smoothly around the other, working together without saying anything. Synched and harmonious in a way only old habits can create.

“Gwen asked about you again yesterday,” you say, cracking an egg onto the pan Peter has already warmed up. “Says she expects you to be at her party tonight.”

“Is that so?” Peter hums, not really paying attention as he grabs his own egg to crack.

“Yup.” Hot oil bubbles and move your hand quickly away. “I think she has a small crush on you.”

Peter looks at you, unsure how to gauge what you’ve just said. He finds that you aren’t even looking at him as you say this. Instead your gaze is focused on the eggs, watching to make sure they don’t burn. Your expression is cool, body relaxed.

“Oh.” He stupidly says. It’s all he can come up with.

It’s not like Peter didn’t suspect Gwen’s feelings for him. He met her through his physics lecture and thought she was interesting enough. Similar to you with cunning eyes and a quick mouth. He had invited her out to coffee with you after class, figuring the two of you would get along, but the tension that followed told Peter that he had made a grave mistake.

“You sound like I’m holding you at gunpoint, Peter.” You hit your hip against his, laughing. “Relax. I think it’s cute that she thinks has a chance.”

Peter nearly drops the egg he’s holding, making a pathetic squeaking sound when he scrambles to save it. You watch his reaction with interest in your eyes, lips turn upwards in amusement.

He coughs, hitting his chest to try and dispel everything unspoken that gets stuck in his sternum. “She-uh. She doesn’t?”

You brush your hair over your shoulder, perfume invading Peter’s senses. Neck exposed, you tilt your head to the side and stare up at him. Eyes dark and wanting, Peter’s body draws to you without being commanded to.

When you have him right where you want him, head dangling down to try and kiss you, you whisper. “She doesn’t stand a chance, Peter Parker. Want to know how I know?”

He shivers. “Yes.” Voice weak and wanting.

You lean in close, lips poised to his ear as if about to tell him a secret, before suddenly the warmth of you is gone. Peter is left grasping at air, and you’re across from him once again, giggling at what you’ve done. Cheeks flushed, pleased with yourself, you go turn the stove’s burner off and grab a plate for you and him to share.

“That wasn’t funny, sweetheart.” Peter complains, helping you set the table.

“You’re right.” Setting down the plate, you hand him a fork and sit. “It wasn’t funny. It was hilarious.”

Peter throws a napkin at you and you erupt into giggles again. He sits down next to you and nudges his fork against yours. You retaliate, stealing the piece of egg he’d been trying to get. It goes on like this for a while, eating together and sharing the small plate that has become a battle ground.

“Do you really think Gwen doesn’t stand a chance?” Peter asks you, shoving the final bite of food towards you. He isn’t sure why he’s brought the conversation back up, or if he even wants to know your answer.

Yet, as you always do, you answer him with a quick thought and clever smile. All you ever seem to do is leave Peter standing at the edge of a cliff, holding his breath, anticipating a fall.

“Lovely, orgo is going to kill you before she can ever sink her claws into you.”

It isn’t the answer Peter is expecting. There’s a slight sense of disappointment, but it gets masked behind his amusement as he snorts at what you’ve said.

“Don’t jinx it, please.” Peter kisses your forehead, getting up from the table to start the dishes. “I’ve grown rather fond of annoying you.”

“I think you’ve just grown fond of me.” You murmur, catching his hand before he can walk away. Your touch burns his skin, the hidden meaning behind your words chokes him.

You understand Peter in a way that seeps terror into his bones. There are things you don’t know, that you can’t know about him, and yet you seem to always welcome the secrets with a warm embrace. Never questioning them. Never leaving.

It’s this warm embrace that first drew Peter to you. The solace in case he falls. Sometimes he wonders if this acceptance and way of seeing under his skin will hurt you in the end.

“I’ll wash, you dry?” You spare Peter the trouble of admitting anything to you, grabbing the plate from him and turning the faucet on.

Your face is neutral, content. As if you haven’t just toed the line. Hands under soapy water, you hum to yourself, the acknowledgement of Peter’s presence gone.

–

That night the two of you do end up attending Gwen’s party. Peter finishes his lab report earlier than expected and you end up outlining an essay a week ahead of schedule.

Gwen’s apartment is huge, a penthouse in Chelsea that is almost impractical for her to have all to herself. All your friends will be there, alcohol is always provided, and the music is bearable. In all honesty, the only downside of attending would be the host herself.

“It’ll be fun.” You straighten Peter’s shirt, delaying the inevitable of ringing the doorbell and seeing Gwen’s delicate face.

“Famous last words.”

You hit his chest and he clutches his heart, feigning pain. Rolling your eyes at him, you breathe through your nose and finally ring the doorbell. Music can be heard through the thick walls already and you think you can hear someone shriek in excitement when the bell rings.

“Y/N!” Lily screeches when she opens the door. Suddenly she throws her body around you and Peter has to grab your hips to prevent you and the girl from tumbling over. “We missed you!”

“Hi, Lily.” You wheeze out with a laugh, touched by her sincerity. “How many drinks have you had already?”

“Only two.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m just excited to see you!”

“I’m here too, you know.” Peter playfully glares at the girl. “Not that you seem to care.”

“Oh, I couldn’t care less,” Lily looks at him, smug. “But you know who might care a bit too much?”

“Is that Peter?” Gwen’s shrill voice cuts through the conversation. The music immediately gets turned down and the click of her heels announces that she’s already on her way over.

Lily sighs. “She’s found you.”

Peter gulps and you laugh at his misery. Looping your arm through Lily’s, you spin her around and leave him to fend for himself. You flee the scene just as Gwen arrives, perfume heavy as she clutches at Peter’s shirt.

“What took you so long?” She purrs, ignoring you entirely as you leave.

Peter cranes his neck, nervous to let you out of his sight. He only came here tonight because you asked him to, and now you’ve abandoned him to deal with Gwen all alone.

He should’ve seen it coming, honestly.

“Y/N and I had some work to finish up.” Explains Peter, forcing a smile on his face. “Actually, she’s the only reason I’m here right now.”

Gwen’s seductive smile drops, quickly replaced with a scowl. With a huff, she turns around, not even bothering to say anything else to him. She leaves just as suddenly as she came, and Peter is left exhaling deeply, longing for you once more.

He finds you with Lily and Harry, head thrown back mid-laugh as rum spills down your hand. Lily is saying something and Harry is looking at you with fondness in his eyes that makes Peter’s stomach twist.

“Harry, back me up here.” Lily begs him, forcing him to look away from you. “You agree that Y/N should email her hot TA, right?”

“Sounds pretty unethical to me.” He knocks his drink with yours. “Isn’t he like, twenty-five?”

“Which would mean he has money, Harry.”

“You do realize my last name is Osborn, right? If you’re looking for money–”

Peter rushes to break up the conversation. “Okay!” He wraps a protective arm around you, exchanging a silent glance with Harry. “What are we talking about?”

Lily stifles her knowing laughter with her drink, but you don’t bother to hide your amusement over Peter’s poorly hidden motives. Sending Harry an apologetic smile, you lean against Peter’s body and offer him your drink.

“According to Lily, I should ask out the TA I was telling you about,” then you point your drink at Harry. “And this one over here is yet again bragging about his rich father.”

He shrugs. “Isn’t that the whole point of generational wealth? Being able to brag about it?”

“Some would say it’s donating money to those who need it.”

You elbow Peter’s side. “Ignore him. He’s just upset that I’m not giving him enough attention tonight.”

Harry snorts seeing the blood drain from Peter’s face and Lily cackles into her drink. You raise your drink towards them, laughing as well, and all Peter can do is shake his head at you fondly and tug at your side.

“C’mon, you little menace.”

“Where’re you taking me?” You try to resist, wanting to spend more time with your friends, but Peter’s hands are warm and his cologne is addicting. You leave without really meaning to, missing the pointed looks Harry and Lily share.

Peter grabs your hand. “To the rooftop. Apparently you haven’t given me enough attention tonight?”

Your breath catches, stomach alight with desire, and you nearly stumble in your haste to follow after him. Rooftops have become something only for you and him. Whether it be at a party, inside the university’s library, or bored in your dorms, you always end up on a rooftop together. An homage to the night that started it all.

The second the October air kisses your face, Peter is already kissing yours.

He inhales you, lips aching and fast against your wanting ones. He doesn’t waste any time having you all to himself. His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, squeezing your thighs, cupping your breast. Anywhere he can touch, anywhere that elicits soft moans from you that he adores.

You let Peter do whatever to you. Allowing him to set the pace, to swallow the sounds he draws from your lips, to hold your hips against his and grind. When his hair gets caught in your fingers, every tug causes him to push harder against you.

Peter uses his senses to find the nearest wall, desperate for more friction. He’s needy, he can’t get enough of you, and the moment your body lands on the wall Peter is moaning against your mouth.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he sighs into your neck, your entire body moving with his. He rolls his hips, feels the sweet heat between your thighs that he craves. “Fuck.”

Teeth graze your neck as Peter places his knee where you need it most. You throw your head back, moving even faster against him. He pinches your nipple through the fabric that traps it, sucking your lip with every gasp.

“Stars,” you tug Peter’s hair harder, forcing him away. “The-the stars.”

He makes an offended noise. “What?”

“There are stars.” Your heartbeat hasn’t slowed down yet.

“Okay…?” Peter looks up, confused as to why you’re focusing on the stars when he has you throbbing underneath him.

But then he sees it. Everywhere, across the entire sky, there are stars. Millions of them, more than he’s ever seen in his entire life. More than New York has ever had enough room for in its smoke infested skies. They glow bright. Winking down at Peter as if to say, about time, right?

“Oh, my God,” Peter can’t believe it. He’s spent endless nights patrolling under a dark sky. “Where’d they come from?”

“This might sound crazy, but I think stars are from space.” Peter pinches your waist in retaliation. You twist your body away, trying to avoid his attack. “Hey!”

“You know what I meant.”

You don’t respond, choosing to rest your arms around Peter’s neck and play with his hair; your eyes trace the sky. “We never did get to stargaze that night.”

The night you met.

Peter draws you into him. Your head is against his chest. He kisses your forehead, staring up at the sky above as well. “Maybe the stars aren’t so doomed after all.”

He feels your laugh more than he hears it. The earlier desperation is gone. Your touch doesn’t burn Peter’s skin anymore and his lips don’t tempt you to open them. Instead, the two of you relish in the quiet together. A moment alone with only the stars as a witness.

After the cold has set in and you ask to go inside, Peter finds that he no longer fears the rooftop’s edge.

–

Your parents announce that they’re spending Thanksgiving in Hawaii the day you’re supposed to go home for break.

The announcement doesn’t necessarily surprise you, nor their lack of remorse for leaving you alone during the holiday. What surprises you in the end is the fact that they actually inform you before deserting you.

Seems there’s a first time for everything.

“Have you packed yet?” Peter asks you while he digs through his closet for clothes to bring home. “You leave in like an hour.”

You sit on his bed. “Nope.”

“Don’t you think you’re cutting it a little close?”

“Not really.”

“So you’re just going to pack when your parents get here?”

“They aren’t coming here.”

Peter pauses. He pokes his head out the closet and looks at you. “Are you taking the train home, then?”

“No.”

Your shoulders are drawn in. You avoid Peter’s concerned eyes, but he joins you on the bed anyways. You’ve never really talked about your parents, but beneath the indifference you’ve always presented, Peter has pieced together the hurt that keeps it in place.

“You’re not going home for Thanksgiving.” He doesn’t say it with any pity or accusation.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Thanksgiving in Hawaii. Who knew that was a thing?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Peter’s parents died a long time ago, but he can’t imagine the pain of losing parents you never really had in the first place.

“It’s fine.” Your voice doesn’t hold its usual confident cadence. “I mean. Guess now I have time to start prepping for finals. We have to present a case study for physics, remember?”

Peter can’t believe that you’re trying to spin this into some academic advantage. “There’s no way I’m letting you spend Thanksgiving break alone.”

“Not really much of a choice, buddy.”

He laughs at you. When you try to ask him what’s so funny, Peter shushes you and pulls out his phone. “Watch this.”

“What–”

“Hey, May!”

You don’t move from the bed, terrified of the scene before you. Peter paces the room, chats with his aunt about his packing progress and when to expect him, before he turns to you with an evil grin. “By the way, May. My friend doesn’t have anyone to spend Thanksgiving with. What are your thoughts on that?”

Twenty minutes later you’re in a taxi heading to Queens with Peter’s smug grin bearing down at you.

“Stop looking so amused.”

He flicks your forehead. As if he was going to let you win. “You’re so naive. It’s cute.”

May Parker is what you can only imagine the word “warmth” would be if it were a person. She’s soft, maternal and lovely, but there’s also a bite to her that cautions you to do as she says without argument.

You fall in love with her the moment she shoves past Peter to hug you first.

“It’s so good to finally meet you!” May squeals, still holding you in one arm while she snaps her fingers at her nephew. “Peter, get her bags. Don’t just stand there.”

“Yeah, Peter. Get my bags.”

You stick your tongue out at him, pleased, and he rolls his eyes. Peter isn’t upset, though. If anything, he’s missed being commanded by May. He enjoys it even more now that she has you to help her order him around.

“Yes, dears.” He says dryly, leaving you and May to talk as he gets the rest of your things and his.

“You raised him so well, May.”

“Oh, he’s only being nice to me because you’re here.”

Peter sighs. He’s already resolved himself to a long week. He takes your things to his room, figuring that’s where May has planned for you to go anyways. There isn’t a guest room in their small apartment, and she knows that you’re special to him. While he hasn’t told his aunt the specific details, she understands that Peter really likes you.

“Peter Parker, don’t you dare unpack your things in your room.” May’s stern command causes Peter to jump. She stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest with you next to her. “You’re not sleeping here.”

He blinks slowly. “I’m… not?”

“No. Y/N, honey, you can take his bed.” May turns to Peter. “As for you, you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

Peter looks at her as if she’s crazy. “May!”

“I can take the couch, Mrs. Parker–” You also jump in, struck by a sense of intruding. You feel bad enough for barging into their home, but kicking Peter out of his bed feels extreme.

“I don’t want to hear it.” May holds her hands up at the two of you. “Like you said, I raised my nephew right. He’ll sleep on the couch, you’ll sleep in the room. There will be no sharing of beds so long as you’re under my roof.”

You cover your mouth, terrified of her implications. Peter’s face is on fire and he coughs awkwardly. “Mrs. Parker, Peter and I aren’t–”

“This conversation is done.” May claps her hands together. “Now, who wants to help me bake some cookies?”

–

Unknown to you, the Parker apartment regularly hosts a Thanksgiving feast for all of Peter’s friends. It’s tradition, and there’s a warm tug in your stomach at the idea that you’re now a part of it.

You meet Ned first. He’s a sweet guy, a bit shy, and he spends the entire time talking to Peter about the latest Star Wars installment and stories from MIT. His girlfriend Betty is a sweetheart who asks you nonstop questions about who you are and what you do. Flash is loud and obnoxious and you have to throw a roll of bread at him to get him to shut up, but eventually he grows on you and you offer him some advice regarding his girlfriend back home. MJ is quiet, but interesting, and towards the end of the night you end up sharing analyses regarding your favorite poets together.

As for Peter, his eyes don’t leave you the entire night.

He watches how easily you get along with the people he loves the most. How you’re patient with Ned’s stammering shyness, how you entertain Betty’s journalistic interests, that you manage to defend yourself against Flash, and how MJ opens up to you within minutes.

Peter has never let anyone see into this part of his life so intimately. Without fear and unease. Everyone falls in love with you that night, and, one night years from now, Peter will realize that this is the night he fell in love with you, too.

“She’s great,” May hands him a plate to wash, looking over her shoulder to admire you as you talk to everyone in the living room.

“She is.” Peter smiles down at his hands, shy.

May grabs another plate, clearing any leftover food on it before handing it to her nephew. “Are you going to patrol tonight?”

“I have to,” he sighs. “It’s a holiday. You know how people can get.”

May doesn’t give him a response. She only hands him more dishes to wash so that she can store leftovers for tomorrow. They work quietly together side by side, neither disrupting the silence. Peter knows that May is still uncomfortable with Spider-Man, and she knows that he will never give it up.

“Does Y/N know?”

Peter’s body freezes. He doesn’t look up at May, afraid that if he does, he’ll collapse.

“No.” He coughs slightly. “She doesn’t.”

“She’s smart, Peter. You have to know that she’ll figure it out eventually.” She isn’t disappointed in him. Not really. May understands that there are aspects of being Spider-Man that she will never agree with.

Peter drops his head. “I know.”

“Then why haven’t you told her?”

He doesn’t know how to answer his aunt. How can he explain to her that the reason Peter kissed you that July is because you quelled the roar in his head? That being with you is easy and nothing in his life has ever been easy. That when he’s with you, Peter can pretend that he’s normal. That death doesn’t hang over his head every day.

There’s a quiet that comes with being with you, and all Peter’s life there has only been excessive noise and thunder.

If Peter tells you who he is, he’s terrified that the quiet will fade and all that will be left is blinding sound.

“It’s too dangerous for Y/N to know.” And it isn’t a lie. The more people who know his identity, the more people Peter is putting in danger.

His aunt pinches the bridge of her nose. “And what about me? Ned and MJ? Why do they get to know, but not Y/N?”

“That’s different.” It isn’t. Not anymore. But his hands are shaking and Peter has to remind himself to breathe.

May sees his loss of composure and she finally backs down, placing a comforting hand on her nephew’s arm. She rubs small circles, rhythmic and soothing, just like she used to do when he was a little kid.

“I only want what’s best for you, Peter.” She kisses his hair, though he’s grown since she’s last seen him and it isn’t as easy to do anymore. “There’s a spark in Y/N that I admire, but she also seems very prideful. I’m worried that hiding who you are will only jeopardize your relationship and hurt you both in the end.”

“We aren’t in a relationship, May.” The words are bitter on Peter’s tongue. “She’s just a friend.”

May finally looks at him, pauses slightly as she takes in the boy she raised. For the first time tonight she sees the exhaustion in his eyes. Bruises that line his knuckles, the scar on his eyebrow. The slouch of his shoulders from the weight he always seems to carry.

“That’s why you haven’t told Y/N.” She whispers, eyes softening in understanding. Peter wants to ask her what she means, but when her gentle hand touches his face, all he can do is lean against it and rest his tired eyes.

“I hope one day you allow yourself to have everything you’ve ever wanted, Peter.”

Someone calls May’s name, forcing her hand to fall from his face. She leaves Peter standing alone in the kitchen with nothing but her words to bear witness to his self destruction.

He thinks of slow mornings spent with you. The curve of your neck. Coffee stained mugs. Your cold fingers through his underneath the covers. Late night study dates. Chasing one another through empty alleys. Rooftops and the buzz of something deeper than lust.

Peter already has everything he’s ever wanted. Even if it isn’t really his.

–

As long as the bullet doesn’t hit any major organs, Peter can heal from a gunshot wound in roughly eight hours. Sure, he’s sore for a while and it leaves a faded, silk-like scar, but he still thinks it’s pretty cool.

If he’s stabbed? Peter is up and running again in less than six hours. Unless he needs stitches. Then it gets a bit trickier. Overall though, he can’t complain.

But a fire that takes out six entire blocks in the east village that the mayor is calling the worst incident New York City has seen since 1990? Currently, Peter is on day two of laying in soaked t-shirts and aloe oil.

“Have you changed your wraps yet?” May asks him over the phone. She’d seen the fire on the news and wasn’t surprised when Spider-Man appeared.

She also wasn’t surprised when the newsreel catches him crashing into a wall of fire five seconds after saving a little girl.

Peter shifts in his bed, wincing when the fabric rubs against his raw and burned skin. “Changed them an hour ago, May.”

“And you’ve been icing?”

“If you count a bag of frozen peas as ice, then yeah. I’ve been icing the burns.”

“Peter.”

“It’s a little funny, May. C’mon.” Peter hears her sigh. He closes his eyes and softens his voice. “Look, I’m fine. No need to worry about me, okay? I’m just… a little warm, right now.”

May doesn’t dignify what he’s said with a response. Instead, she reminds him to apply a fresh coat of aloe before hanging with an exasperated goodbye.

Peter tosses his phone down, ready to go back to staring at the ceiling because that’s all he can physically bring himself to do right now, but then a message appears on its screen.

earth to peter?

Suddenly his entire body is cold. Your name accompanies the text and your face greets him. Peter hasn’t seen you since the night of the fire. He hasn’t spoken to you, either.

Half of his body is burned to shit and he inhaled so much smoke trying to get everyone out that it sounds like he’s smoked twenty packs a day for five years. How the fuck is Peter supposed to explain any of that to you without revealing everything he’s worked so hard to mask?

peter?

anyone there?

The influx of messages only further constricts Peter’s chest and doesn’t know what to do.

it’s been almost two days, dude. answer me or die.

unless you’re dead. in that case: please come back to life. i miss you :(

Cursing under his breath, Peter carefully picks the phone up and types what he hopes is enough to satiate you.

I’m alive! Just sick right now. Bleh.

But, predictably, this only makes everything worse because you immediately call him. Peter tries to hit decline, but with burned fingers and sore bones, he answers, and he really wishes the fire had knocked him into a coma instead of singeing his eyebrows.

“Peter?”

He holds his breath.

“Peter, I can hear you holding your breath.”

“Can you?” He cringes at how broken his voice sounds. He clears his throat, ignoring the sting of smoke still lingering. “I-I mean. Hi.”

“Jesus.” On the other end of the line, you sit up in bed, worried. “You sound horrible.”

Peter fake coughs, though it then turns into a very real, very painful cough. “Sick.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Wait–”

“I think I have all the ingredients for chicken noodle soup, and I remember seeing celery in your fridge a few days ago. Is it Jude’s? Actually, he’ll probably let me borrow some if I offer to make him some soup as well–”

Peter manages to raise his voice slightly, desperate to get your attention. “Y/N. You can’t come over.”

You’re silent for several long moments. This is the first time he’s ever denied you. “And why not?”

“I’m… sick?”

“And?”

“I’m contagious?”

You laugh, short and slightly endearing. “Lovely, are you forgetting that we literally swapped spit at the New Years party? I’m probably already contaminated. It’s fine.”

Peter really, really hates how stubborn you are sometimes. “But why risk it?” He coughs again into the phone, emphasizing how rough and disgusting the fake illness is. “Hear that? You really want to see the consequences?”

“I really want to see you, Peter.” You pause again. “Why are you being so weird about this?”

She’s smart. You have to know that she’ll figure it out eventually, May’s voice echoes in his head. He really needs to start listening to her.

“I take respiratory health very seriously, Y/N.”

Both you and Peter know that he doesn’t, but you’ve been spiraling over his silence these last two days and at the very least, you know he’s okay. Taking whatever you can get, you give in. “Fine. But can I at least drop the soup off on your doorstep?”

The sincerity in your voice, the willingness to still take care of Peter despite his insistence not to, is what makes him give in, too. “Of course, sweetheart.”

He hears you smile, a sound he loves, even if he doesn’t know the name for it yet.

“Hey, Jude!” Peter calls through the wall after you’ve hung up the phone.

A thud. “Yeah?”

“Y/N is bringing me some soup and leaving it on the doorstep. Do you think you could bring it in?”

“Depends,” Jude has long become familiar with your presence in the dorm. “Can I have some?”

Peter rolls his eyes at his roommate, though he isn’t surprised. Jude adores everything you make for him and Peter. He’s even made it a rule for you to not make lasagna without him.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Wait, is it tomato soup? I don’t like tomatoes, they taste too red.”

Peter drops his head in his hands. He doesn’t have the energy to respond. Instead, he shifts in bed and carefully re-wraps the bandages that litter his body. When he crashed into the literal wall of fire, his suit luckily took most of the damage, but not without Peter’s skin searing and losing all body hair.

Not that he had a lot of body hair to begin with, but still. Tough loss.

Peter is about to call May to ask her if he should take an ice bath when his phone rings. He looks down at it, confused, and his confusion grows more when he sees your name flashing once again.

“Y/N? Did you finish already–”

“Cut the shit, Parker.”

His blood drains at the ice in your vocal chords. “I-I’m sorry?”

“You’re sick, correct?” You sneer at him. This is the most venom Peter has ever heard drip out of your plush mouth.

Even without his spidey-sense, Peter would know that he’s on the precipice of a trap. “...Yes?”

“Funny. When I called your aunt to see if I should bring you anything else, she was touched that I was helping you take care of your sprained ankle.”

He’s so unbelievably fucked.

“I, uh. Forgot about that!” Peter laughs nervously. “Sprained my ankle real good. And got sick. At the same time.”

“And how did you sprain it?” You don’t miss a beat.

Another trap. Peter wracks his mind, tries to think of what May could’ve possibly told you, but he’s in the palm of your hand, ready and wilting.

“Riding a bike?”

“Go to hell, Peter.”

His heart jumps in his throat. “Y/N, let me explain–”

“You know, if you didn’t want to see me, you could’ve just told me.” The anger in your voice dissipates, slowly replaced with something akin to hurt. Peter can hear the slight tremor as you speak. “But lying to me is fucking pathetic.”

“I do want to see you,” Peter rushes out, practically begging. He hasn’t felt your touch in days and his skin misses yours. “God. Of course I want to see you, sweetheart.”

You want to believe him. Silence stretches over the phone, hesitancy that longs for solace. With every breath you take, every second that passes between you and Peter, he can feel you trying to hold onto the idea that he’s yours and good and whole.

“Then why did you lie?” Whispered and raw. Everything that there’s left to give Peter.

“Y/N…” But he’s a coward.

You take his silence as absolute. “Goodbye, Peter.”

The line goes dead.

–

Peter doesn’t hear from you for the rest of the day.

The next morning, he checks his phone before his eyes have even opened, but there’s nothing. By the afternoon, Peter starts to lose his mind. His skin itches at the loss of your voice, he can’t sleep, his stomach is in knots, and all he wants to do is whisper apologies down your spine as he traces your back with his lips.

I’m sorry.

Peter’s thumb hovers over send. He rereads the message over and over again, convinced somehow that the words are blurring together.

He deletes it, types something else.

Can we talk?

You hate it when he grovels.

Just call.

Too demanding.

I miss you too.

Too vulnerable.

Peter has never been good with words. He’s never had to be when it comes to you. You’ve always been able to read him, handing him water before his body can even recognize the thirst. In the six months he’s known you, you’ve become intertwined in the webs that surround him.

It’s this worry for you and intertwinement that leads Spider-Man to your windowsill.

This isn’t Peter’s proudest moment, he’ll admit. Using his masked identity to crouch in front of your window, hidden in the dark of the night, aching to catch a glimpse of you. He tells himself that he’s only doing this because he cares about you and that the burns that still mar his body aren’t healed enough for you to see him yet.

But really Peter knows there’s something else behind why he’s doing this; he just isn’t ready to face it yet.

You’re in your small, cramped kitchen. The university dorms are hardly big enough for one person, let alone two, but your roommate Emma is gone for winter break and it’s only you home tonight.

Peter’s heart lodges in his throat when he realizes that you’re wearing one of his old Midtown High hoodies. You stole it months ago, claiming it was vindicating to rep a school that your soccer team won against when you were sixteen, but Peter catches your nose buried in the collar when you think he isn’t looking.

A dog barks and the screech of car tires force Peter’s attention elsewhere. He narrows his eyes, ears ringing trying to locate the source of the sound, but the night falls quiet again. He sighs, turns back around, only to find your window open, staring directly at him.

Peter yelps in surprise, nearly slipping on the lamppost he’s on.

“You’re smaller than I imagined,” you watch him trip over his feet in a desperate attempt not to fall. “I figured you’d be broader.”

Peter catches his breath, unsure what to do in this situation. You’re leaning out the window, hair falling over your shoulders, and the moonlight illuminates the apples of your cheeks. Your eyes don’t leave him, curious, amused, but tired.

Your eyes are tired.

“What, are you just gonna let me imply that you’re scrawny?” You laugh at your own joke. “Thought you were known for your quips.”

“It’s ‘thwips’, actually, ma’am.” Instinctively Peter deepens his voice as he speaks, but the fact that he’s even responded at all, on top of his horrible joke, makes him want to slam his head into the lamppost.

Your eyebrows scrunch together, though they do so as you smile. “‘Thwips?’”

“My webs, they make this…” Peter shrugs helplessly, thankful his mask hides the embarrassment. “Thwip sound? And I’m known for–well. My webs, I guess?”

“You didn’t plan this joke out very well, did you?”

“Not at all.”

The admission is quick, he doesn’t hesitate to confess to you that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and the stark difference between Spider-Man’s response and Peter’s is a harsh reminder of everything you still don’t understand about him.

“Well, at least you’re honest.” You laugh, the edges of the sound tinged with bitterness. Nails picking at the window’s frame, you swallow hard. There’s always a lump stuck in your throat these days. “How heroic.”

Peter closes his eyes. The words are aimed at him, and yet you have no idea who you’ve revealed this to.

He swallows hard as well, reflects your own uncertainty. “Do you, uh. Want to talk about whatever is on your mind, ma’am?”

You tilt your head. “I didn’t know Spider-Man had an emotional touch to him.”

“Oh, trust me. Everything about me is emotional. I cried the other day saving a mouse from a glue trap.” Peter risks jumping onto the ledge of your window, landing softly with your body now inches from him. You gasp, surprised, and he smirks down at you. “I can be very cathartic to talk to.”

You don’t move away, the hum of his body next to yours is familiar, as if the skin underneath the suit remembers you, but in the years you’ve spent living in New York you’ve never encountered Spider-Man before. His skin has never met yours.

“Was the mouse okay?”

Peter knew you’d ask him this. “He was fine. Bit my hand, but I like to think he did it with love.” You laugh, and he scratches the back of his head, not wanting to ruin this just yet, but he knows he has to. “But, um. Are you okay?”

The laughter dies and the smile lines on your face fade. You look away from Peter, nails picking at the window once again. “I met a guy at a party this summer.”

“Do we like this guy?”

“He’s my best friend.” You confess, a slight tremble in your bravado. “He’s-he’s more than that, even. I think he’s nestled himself between my fifth and sixth ribs, but to him I’m just…”

Unable to finish, your voice trails off. You can’t bring yourself to look at Peter, and he can’t bring himself to look at you.

“There’s this hurt in him that he won’t let me see; he doesn’t trust me to see. Burdens he has to carry, that he thinks I don’t know are there.” Peter watches as your eyes harden, though there’s still a fondness for the boy you’re talking about that he knows is in his own eyes for you. “But I know him. I know Peter. Even if he doesn’t want me to.”

“He’s only been in my life for six months.” You inhale, close your eyes, and open them upon release. Your eyes find Peter’s and you hold his gaze, long and steady. “But I’ve memorized the dip of his back, the freckles around his thighs. He lets me touch him so softly, but he still thinks I don’t know who he is.”

Peter hangs his head, breaking his eyes from yours. His skin crawls. You know too much, and yet you know nothing at all.

“I think knowing someone can be stifling,” he says, crouching down to face you. This close, he can see the flecks of remorse that line your eyes. Your breath ghosts his face. “Maybe Peter is still learning to breathe you in how you want him to.”

Give me time, he pleads silently. You fill my lungs every time you whisper my name, but everyday I choke on what I can’t tell you.

“Real poetic, Spidey.” You cup his cheek, the fabric of his suit softer than you expect it to be. Your gaze is sad. Lips downturned, bittersweet with melancholy. “I hope someday someone allows themself to breathe me in.”

The last of Peter’s resolve crumbles. He’s never seen this side of you, vulnerability lacing your weathered insecurity. The insecurity that he put there. All because he thinks this is what’s best for you. Holding you at a distance, the separation marring your bodies with longing.

You’ve bled yourself dry for Peter, and the realization leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

I hope one day you allow yourself to have everything you’ve ever wanted, Peter.

This isn’t what he wanted. You fell into Peter’s fragile hands and he hadn’t caught you. What he wants, what he has to allow himself to do, is catch you before the fall kills you both.

“I’m sure Peter will be ready one day.” To you, the words are merely reassurance. To Peter, they’re a promise. He’s tired of hiding. Of suffocating you both with secrets only meant to be his demise.

“Goodbye, Spider-Man.” Your hand drops. He misses your touch the moment it’s gone. You move away from the window, he thinks he sees tears in your eyes, but then you’re gone, and it’s only Peter and a lonesome dog beneath him.

The next day, the rest of the burn scars fade away. Peter’s skin is left baby-pink, new and sensitive. His hands still ache when he flexes them but his body aches even more being apart from you any longer.

Peter knocks on your door with flowers in his hand. He’s going to be better for you. He’s going to finally try, breathe life back in what’s gone stale between you. When you answer, you hold onto Peter so tightly that for a second he’s afraid you know everything he’s hidden from you.

“You came,” your tears wet his chest, but neither of you pull away.

Peter’s hands cradle you, holding you with the delicacy that he should’ve from the start. “I always will.”

And you know he means it, you know that the flowers Peter has brought you symbolize more than just an apology, and it’s almost enough.

–

The distance grows. Everything is cold where it used to be hot. A harsh winter wilts the flowers from Peter, its petals dead upon your desk.

Everyone has secrets, trust comes with fallacies of vulnerability, but Peter’s soak through your stained hands and he slips through your fingers.

You stop calling. Plans go unmade. Early morning breakfasts together become lonely. Some nights Peter is still yours, he kisses your breast and hovers over your heart, but as the days pass the pleasure turns into a hurt and slowly it all comes to an end.

It isn’t Peter’s fault. None of this is, really. You’ve come to love him in a way that terrifies you and yet this was never something he wanted. It isn’t his fault that he can’t be honest with you, not when he never asked you to hold him accountable.

“Still haven’t called Peter?”

Spider-Man has become your new friend in the wake of losing your dearest one. He comes to your window most nights and his humor and mannerisms remind you so much of Peter that you can’t bring yourself to turn him away.

“You’re oddly invested in my pathetic love life for someone who wears spandex every day.”

Peter snorts. “Sue a guy for needing breathable material to save civilians.”

“But did you really need to wear a bodysuit?”

“I’m confident in my body, thank you,” He stands tall, long ago having been invited to sit in your kitchen for your late night talks. Gesturing to his chest and down, he stands proud and tall. “Can’t hide all of this from New York.”

You shove him, ignoring how strong the man’s chest is under your palm. “I thought heroes were supposed to be humble?”

“I’m the most humble person I know, Y/N.”

Peter’s response makes you laugh, and it feels so good to be able to do that again. Winter has taken its toll on you, paling your skin and sallowing your eyes. March is slowly creeping upon you with its fresh rosebuds and blue skies, and for that you’re thankful.

“So,” Peter sits back down, kicking his feet up on your window. “Any exciting plans for spring break now that Peter is dead to you?”

“He isn’t dead to me.” You shove his feet down, hurt simmering under your ribcage. “I miss Peter, and I still care about him deeply, but until he figures out how to be honest with me and let me in, I’m done picking at an open wound.”

Peter holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I get it. The guy has problems, but who’s to say he isn’t working on them?”

“We sleep together every time we’re alone in a room. Can’t exactly get over any problems when you’re under them.”

“Not really understanding how Peter being unable to keep his hands off you is a bad thing.” He says, looking at you smugly. “I mean, you’re hot. I don’t blame him.”

You blush at Peter’s bold words, but the irony isn’t lost upon you. “Lust and love aren’t the same thing, Spidey.”

“And if he does love you?” Peter leans across the table, his suit stretching the length of his body and accentuating the lean lines of his muscles that you force yourself to look away from. “Then what? Still going to give him radio silence over spring break?”

Have I lost you? He wants to ask, but you haven’t called Peter in a month and if this is all he’ll ever get from you again, talking with you while disguised as someone else, then he isn’t ready to let go of you just yet.

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t love me, and as for spring break, I plan on getting incredibly drunk with my friends and pretending that for once in my life I can get what I want.”

And you do.

The following week Lily invites you to some club with her and Harry, and before it’s even midnight you’re already drunk. Harry pays for everyone’s drinks, Lily spins you around as you dance together, and for a brief, addicting few hours, you forget.

Bodies press against yours. Lily grips your hands while Harry finds your waist. The music in the small but packed room is nearly deafening. You’re sweaty and your hair clings to your neck but you don’t care. Harry’s hands feel good against your skin. The heat of his palms, the scratch of his nails.

“Gwen’s here,” Lily shouts, pulling your attention from Harry. “I’m gonna go get her. Are you good with Harry?”

You look at him, finding him already looking down at you with interest, and you squeeze Lily’s hand. “Go, I’ll be fine!”

She smiles coyly at you, sending Harry a knowing wink, before leaving. “Have fun, lovebirds.”

Harry laughs, pulling you even closer, and his hands slide down to the curve of your ass and the weight of his touch feels different from Peter’s. His is softer than Harry’s. More protective than possessive, but alcohol burns your tongue and the grief of a love you once had clouds your mind.

“This alright?” Harry asks you, lips skimming your ear. You nod, shivering at the sensation. With your permission, Harry draws his lips down your neck.

Your head moves to the side, allowing him more access, and Harry murmurs something into your skin, but you don’t bother to ask him what he’s said. All you want is for him to keep kissing you, to trace over the path Peter once carved himself, to erase any excess of him that you’ve missed.

Harry’s hands squeeze your ass and he pushes his hips into you. His hard on digs into you, he nips at your collarbone, and it’s all too much. None of it feels right. Peter never bites into bone, he doesn’t shove against you without satiating you first.

Your stomach lurches, all the vodka from tonight threatening to return, and you pry yourself away from Harry. He says something, but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your head. Your legs manage to find an exit and you collapse onto the filthy sidewalk outside the club.

Hot tears run down your face. You’re a child, lost and alone.

Numb fingers fumble for your phone. The screen is bright and you’re crying so hard that your entire body shakes. You try to type his name into your phone, to call the only person you can think of, but your fingers keep missing the “P” and you can’t breathe.

“Hey, miss? Are you alright?” A body lands next to yours. Their hand gently touches your shoulder and when you look up, all the air escapes him. “Y/N?”

Spider-Man kneels before you, arms encasing you as you tremble against the night’s cold. Phone forgotten, you cry into his chest, finally allowing every ache, every hour spent mourning, to fall down your cheeks.

“What happened, sweetheart?” He whispers against your ear, hand running through your hair. The term of endearment only makes you cry harder, and all Peter can do is hold you through it. He doesn’t see any injuries on you. The smell of alcohol strong, your hair matted.

“I wan’ to go home,” you slur out, breath hitching with fresh tears. “Please.”

Peter helps you stand up and gently instructs you to wrap your arms around his neck. You comply, and when he’s sure you’re secure, he grips your legs and wraps them around his body. He hasn’t held you like this in what’s felt like years. To have your hips around him again, to hold the weight of your body in his arms, it’s almost too much for Peter.

But then you cry again, your head tucked against his neck, and he knows that he would bear the pain of relearning your touch over and over again if it meant your nose always remained pressed against his skin.

Thankfully the club Peter finds you at isn’t far from your dorm. He swings as slowly as he can, weary of how many drinks you’ve had tonight. You don’t react in his arms. The view of the city below you goes unnoticed as the wind drowns out your cries.

Emma is asleep when Peter carefully sets you down through the window. You’re shaky on your feet, body still pale and weak. He crawls in after you and rests his hand on the small of your back.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

You don’t say anything. Peter guides you to your room and in your drunken state you don’t think to question how Spider-Man knows which room is yours. He pulls the bedding off your bed, helps you lay down, before he brings the blanket just under your chin.

When Peter goes to get you a glass of water and some tylenol, your hand stops him.

“Stay,” you whisper, looking so small in your twin sized bed.

He bites his lip. “You need to drink some water, get some electrolytes in you–”

“Please,” begging, pleading. Liquid honey and nostalgia that is like sap in Peter’s blood.

Weak for you, drawn to you as he always is, Peter crawls into your bed and you welcome him home. You place your head on his chest, splay your hands around his waist, wrap your body around him as you’ve always done.

Peter’s heart pounds in his chest; you still remember your way around his body. You still smell like peonies and copper. You still press your nose to his neck as if it were made to fit where his collarbones rise.

“Doomed from the start.”

He almost doesn’t hear you. He almost doesn’t ask you what you mean, he doesn’t want to bring it to light. “What’s doomed, Y/N?”

And, like the very first time you whispered the vague words to him, you hold them close to your chest. Only this time you don’t smile up at Peter, you don’t etch your name into his skin with lazy kisses. All that’s left within your words is despair.

“I fell in love with a ghost,” you murmur, eyes tracing Peter’s masked face, as if you can see past the material. As if you know who lays underneath it, the freckles you’ve kissed before. “He won’t leave.”

“Y/N…”

Your eyes close. “I miss you.”

Peter tightens his arms, relishing in the proximity and admission of grief, even though you’ve mistaken Spider-Man’s body for someone else. Your breathing becomes steady, and he knows that he’s lost you again

That night, Peter doesn’t sleep. He spends the hours tracing his fingers over your skin, memorizing the lines of your skin, the scars and freckles that make you whole. Once, this body was his to worship.

Morning comes and sunlight floods the room. You don’t stir, body exhausted still from the events of the night before. Your phone buzzes to life and Peter finds himself looking down to read the messages.

Most are from Lily.

Babe, where did you go?

Harry said you got upset?? Did you go home??? Please call ASAP.

I called Emma. She said she heard you come in late last night. Call me when you wake up, ok? I love you!! If I need to kill Harry, I will <3

The final message is from Harry himself.

I’m sorry about last night. I know you and Pete aren’t talking right now and I shouldn’t have acted on my feelings so soon. Whenever, or if ever, you want to talk, I’m happy to take you to coffee in a strictly platonic way.

Peter wants to be angry at Harry, his fingers itching to flex into a fist on instinct, but when he looks down at your sleeping body, he knows he can’t. You were never his. Harry respected him enough to keep his distance while Peter kept you at arm’s length.

All he ever did was keep you at a distance, and now he’s learning how painful it is to be displaced.

Peter sneaks out the window before you wake up. He almost leaves a note, asking you to call him, but then he remembers that it was Spider-Man who came running when you called, not Peter Parker.

Both will always find their way to you, but last night it hadn’t been the one you needed.

–

Months pass. Spring turns to summer and freshman year ends in a hazy and slow manner that Peter can’t quite remember. He doesn’t see you on campus. You stop going to all your usual places.

Lily stops sitting next to him in bio, Gwen gets a boyfriend, and Harry stops greeting Peter whenever he sees him.

Summer break comes and Peter moves home.

“Will Y/N be visiting?” May asks him, prodding for an answer as to why you’ve stopped calling her.

Peter shakes his head, silent, and it’s all his aunt needs to know that you’re gone. The smile she gives him is sad, understanding, and Peter misses the smile she’d give him when you called and teased him alongside her.

He still patrols the city as he’s always done. A local pizza shop posts an ad for a delivery boy and Peter figures that the work will be a welcome distraction from everything that reminds him of you. It’s grueling and exhausting running around Manhattan, but the pain is enough for him to forget how you looked naked and on top of him.

Ned stops by every day. He never asks Peter what happened and where you went, but he’s full of new stories from MIT to fill the silence you’ve left behind, and Betty sometimes tags along. Flash asks if he can still call you for girl advice and Peter doesn’t bother to answer him.

MJ isn’t as delicate and she punches his arm the moment she sees him. It hurts and leaves a bruise, but Peter doesn’t mind. He knows it’s what you would’ve wanted, and he misses knowing your wants and needs.

June seeps into July and there’s a party that Ned insists on attending.

Peter knows he shouldn’t go. He worked all day and can’t afford to skip a night of patrol, but Ned doesn’t feed into his excuses and suddenly they’re in the same fire hazard apartment building from last year.

He doesn’t know when he starts drinking or when Ned leaves, but he does know that when he sees you again after months of depravity, Peter’s heart stops.

You’re dressed in red. The dress is short, it glimmers in the light, and your hair is pinned back and loose and your makeup is smudged and you smile wickedly when you notice him staring.

“You come here often?” You’re around Peter now, the music is loud and you’re so beautiful.

He laughs at you, remembering the way you warned him to never say that pickup line to you when you first met. His hands run up and down your waist, eager to relearn every inch of you, and Peter is drunk and so in love that it hurts.

“I was here once last year,” he shouts over the music. He plays along. “There’s a rooftop I think you might like.”

And then you’re running through the crowd of people, giggling like little kids together, racing to the rooftop of where everything began. Peter opens the door. The July air greets him kindly, welcomes him back after being apart for so long.

You sit on the concrete and Peter joins you. Your head rests on his shoulder and his arm hangs loosely around you. Up above you there are stars, bright and alive despite the city that tries to choke them.

The air is sweet between you, tender, though there’s a homesickness to it that neither of you can shake.

“Do you think we were doomed from the start?” You ask Peter as you continue to look up at the stars. You can’t take your eyes off of them. They’ve finally decided to spare you their beauty, their final dance just for you and Peter.

You feel him shrug. You’re both drunk and open and vulnerable.

“I was an idiot,” he mumbles. “I still am.”

“You were,” you agree softly.

“I tried so hard to be what you needed.” The regret in his voice pulls you to look at him, and Peter is still as devastatingly handsome as the night you met.

“I know.”

“I’m…” He hesitates, at the palm of your hand, before he accepts that this is how it will always be when it comes to love. Peter holds his breath, his fifth and sixth ribs tremble, and he reveals everything to you. “I’m sorry for the ghost that never leaves.”

The echo of the words that fell from your drunk lips in the spring meant only for Spider-Man to hear.

“I know, Peter.” You tell him, undoing the weight of a secret that crippled Peter almost his entire life. “I always knew you were Spider-Man. I knew. I was just waiting for you to trust me to help you carry the weight of it all.”

But he never did. The shame of it burns Peter’s face, deteriorates his muscles. How naive he had been to think that it was easier to keep you in the dark than to have shared the light with you.

Dread fills his chest, accompanied by the longing of what could’ve been, and all Peter can do now, all that’s left to do now, is hold you beneath the stars, stargazing together like you used to.

“I loved you, you know.” Cards on the table. Peter shows you his hand. He hopes that the cards you dealt to him a year ago are still the same as the ones tonight.

“I know.” And that’s all you have left to say.

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#peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x you #peter parker x fem!reader #spider-man x you #spider-man fic #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #spider-man #m's writing #i hate tagging new characters idk which tags are the best for spidey sigh #anyways ENJOY !

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solxamber · 4 months ago

Text

Witch, Please- Floyd Leech x reader

You're the best witch to go to for getting the job done. Your potions? Absolutely foolproof. At least, that's what you thought until a certain Floyd Leech waltzed into your store.

You were the go-to witch in the entire realm, known far and wide for your incredibly potent spells and potions. When people said you were good, they meant it—your concoctions didn’t just work; they exceeded expectations. Need a luck charm to ace that impossible test? Done. Want a potion to make your ex weep every time they hear your name? Consider it finished.

Of course, this level of expertise came with a price—literally. You didn’t work for free, and you made sure your clients knew it. The other price? You were constantly sleep-deprived. Sleep? Never heard of her. But hey, that’s the life of a witch: overworked, overtired, and somehow still making better potions than anyone else in the business.

So when Floyd Leech first showed up at your door, you were only half-conscious and didn’t know that you were about to enter a whirlwind of chaos, idiocy, and—unexpectedly—romance.

It was a cloudy afternoon, and you were organizing your potions, mostly to avoid falling asleep standing up. The soothing sound of glass bottles clinking was the only thing keeping you from face-planting into the nearest pile of spellbooks. That’s when you heard it: a loud, careless banging on your door. Great, you thought. Another customer.

Opening the door revealed Floyd, towering over you with that wide, toothy grin that practically screamed trouble.

“Yo, witchy! Got a minute?” He leaned in close, invading your personal space like he was about to share some sort of grand secret.

You blinked slowly, still not fully awake. “Floyd Leech… what brings you here?”

“Need a love potion.” He said it so casually, like he was asking for a cup of coffee. “Think it’ll be hilarious!”

“Hilarious?” You frowned, crossing your arms. “Love potions aren’t exactly for pranks, you know. They can be… unpredictable.”

“That’s the point! Imagine someone gettin’ all mushy and clingy. It’ll be so funny.” He was already laughing at the thought, practically vibrating with energy.

You sighed, because of course, Floyd would think that messing with people’s emotions was peak comedy. But hey, a job’s a job. And you did like getting paid.

“Fine, but use it responsibly.” You handed him the potion, explaining the rules. “Only a few drops, and make sure they drink it. Not bathe in it, not pour it on them, just—"

“Yeah, yeah, got it!” he said, snatching the bottle before sauntering off like he hadn’t just asked you for the magical equivalent of playing with fire.

You didn’t expect to see him again so soon, but the next day, there he was. Except now he was soaking wet, as though he’d taken a dive in a river.

“I thought you’d follow instructions,” you said, eyeing the puddle forming under his feet.

“I did!” he pouted. “I poured the whole bottle on ‘em!”

You blinked. “You poured it on them? Floyd… I said they have to drink it.”

“Ohhh… well, that explains why they just got real mad and threw iced tea at me.” He shrugged, totally unconcerned.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was messing with you. Nope, that was just Floyd being Floyd.

“Well, at least you got iced tea,” you muttered, already pulling out ingredients to make another potion.

A week later, Floyd was back, this time bouncing into your shop with that familiar grin. You felt your eye twitch involuntarily.

“What do you need now?” you asked, mentally preparing yourself for another round of nonsense.

“Good luck charm,” he said, like it was the most normal request in the world. “I wanna win all my basketball games without even tryin’. Gotta show those scrubs how it’s done.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “I can make you a charm, but it’s not gonna turn you into some kind of invincible sports god. It’ll give you a little edge, nothing more.”

He grinned wider. “That’s all I need! Gimme your best shot.”

With a sigh, you whipped up a charm that should have been harmless. It wasn’t meant to make him superhuman—just enough to tip the scales in his favor during a game.

Three days later, Floyd came back looking like he’d been through a warzone. His hair was singed, his clothes were tattered, and he had the unmistakable stench of burnt rubber clinging to him.

“…What happened?”

“Eh, turns out bleachers don’t hold up so good when you dunk the ball too hard.” He smirked, clearly proud of himself. “Collapsed the whole thing. Coach was so mad! It was hilarious.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Floyd, I gave you a good luck charm, not a demolition spell.”

He shrugged. “Details, details.”

You couldn’t decide if you were exasperated or impressed. Maybe a little of both.

After the good luck charm incident, you figured Floyd would take a break from terrorizing you with his wild requests. Nope. A week later, he was back again.

“Need a sleep potion.”

You raised an eyebrow. “For you?”

“Nah, for someone else. They’re too high-strung. Figured I’d help ‘em out.”

You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t want to know who he was planning to knock out with a sleep potion. You just brewed it up, handed it over, and gave him a warning: “One drop. That’s all it takes. If you use too much, they’ll be out for days.”

“Got it, got it,” he waved you off, already halfway out the door.

Fast forward to three days later, and Floyd showed up at your shop with a giant bruise on his face.

“Let me guess,” you said, not even looking up from the book you were reading. “The sleep potion backfired.”

“Yup,” he grumbled. “Guess people don’t like gettin’ surprise naps.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “You’re lucky you didn’t put them into a coma.”

“Nah, they woke up… eventually.”

You rolled your eyes. This was becoming a pattern, and you were starting to question your life choices.

Round 4: The Strength Spell Chaos

It was late one night when Floyd barged in again, this time asking for a strength spell. You were too tired to argue, so you whipped up something simple, thinking what could go wrong with a bit of extra strength? Famous last words.

Two days later, Floyd came back, and you could hear him laughing from down the street. He walked in, looking like he’d just won the lottery.

“What happened this time?” you asked, though you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

“Broke the hoop clean off the backboard!” He mimed the motion, still laughing. “It was awesome! Then the hoop flew into the crowd. Chaos everywhere! Best day ever.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You… you’re not supposed to destroy the equipment, Floyd!”

“Eh, details.”

You sighed. Again. A lot.

After all the mayhem, you thought Floyd had finally gotten bored of messing with potions. You were wrong. He came back one last time, leaning casually against the doorframe with that familiar grin.

“Witchy, I need another love potion.”

You groaned internally. “Floyd, we’ve been over this. You don’t—”

“Just trust me,” he interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “This one’s important.”

At this point, you were too exhausted to argue. You mixed up a stronger potion this time, hoping that whatever chaos he was planning would at least stay contained to… well, wherever he was taking it.

But then, as you handed it to him, Floyd did something that made your brain stop and reboot.

He took the potion, popped the cork, and—while staring straight into your eyes—poured it into your tea.

You blinked. “Floyd.”

“Yeah?”

“…What did you just do?”

He smirked. “Wanted to make sure it worked on you.”

Your brain went blank. “Wha—”

He leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter, face close to yours. “Y’know, witchy, I thought hangin’ out with you was just a fun way to kill time. But after a while, I realized I like ya. So let’s skip the whole love potion thing. It’s more fun without magic, right?”

Your jaw dropped. “Floyd, you… you could’ve just asked me out!”

He shrugged, completely nonchalant. “This was more fun.”

You stared at him, half-exasperated, half-dumbfounded. “You’re insane.”

“Yup,” he said, grinning like a shark. “But you like me anyway, don’tcha?”

You didn’t even have the energy to argue. Maybe he was right. Maybe, in some bizarre, unprecedented way, you did like him.

“Well,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair, “I guess you’re brewing the next round of tea, then.”

Floyd just laughed, and for once, you couldn’t help but smile back.

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#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #floyd x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd x you #floyd leech x you #floyd #floyd leech

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 9 months ago

Text

Vaggie: “Charlie. You know I love you, right?”

Charlie: “….”

Charlie: “…before I answer, can I ask YOU a question?”

Vaggie: “Sure, babe. Fire away.”

Charlie: “Okay.”

Charlie: “Is this about the singing cannibal quartet love song turned massacre in the hotel lobby?”

Vaggie: “No.”

Charlie: “Is it about the supposedly non-man eating flowers that tried eating Angel Dust, which Niffty won’t let us get rid of now because she wants to train them to hunt cockroaches with her?”

Vaggie: “No.”

Charlie: “Is it about the alleged cookies Husk is still in bed recovering from taste testing?”

Vaggie: “Those were cookies?”

Charlie: “Allegedly. In a previous life maybe.”

Vaggie: “Huh. They weren’t bad.”

Charlie: “They- Vaggie, you didn’t actually EAT-”

Vaggie: “After wrestling Angel Dust out of the third flower in a row? I was hungry. The kitchen was on fire earlier so I knew you’d made something. And they were sitting in a common area, unclaimed and unlabeled.”

Charlie: “I put CAUTION TAPE around them!!”

Vaggie: “We don’t have anyone staying here named Caution or Hazardous Waste. Not yet, anyway.”

Charlie: “ARE YOU FEELING OKAY!?”

Vaggie: “Fine. This isn’t about the uh, ‘alleged cookies’.”

Charlie: “Well then what is it about? Am I forgetting something else?”

Vaggie: “Maybe. Are you gonna answer my question now?”

Charlie: “Of course I know you love me, Vaggie. Absolutely."

Vaggie: "Then-"

Charlie: "A dangerous amount, even- you sure you’re feeling alright? Those cookies... poor Husk…”

Vaggie: “Husk is on average 40% alcohol and not used to solid foods. This was a good learning experience for him, trust me.”

Charlie: “I do! I do I do, I just, also really hope Angel Dust knows how to BE an actual bedside nurse as well as DRESS like one. A. Sexy one.”

Vaggie: “We’ll save Husk from medical malpractice in a minute. Right now though…”

Vaggie: (smooch the tol gf)

Charlie: “?”

Vaggie: “You don’t have to do extra things like this, sweetie.”

Charlie: “Oh.”

Vaggie: “Not that I didn’t love the thought behind it.”

Charlie: “There were no thoughts. Just, wow I love my girlfriend, wow I really hope she knows I love her.”

Vaggie: “I do. You’re amazing, and doing normal hotel crisis things with you is already amazing enough.”

Charlie: (droops) “I know, I know…”

Vaggie: “So?”

Charlie: “Well that’s the THING though! We’ve only been doing hotel stuff!”

Vaggie: “It’s a pretty wide range of activities you gotta admit.”

Charlie: “Oh sure right, sooo varied- stop a murder, fight to stop a murder, try not to do a murder, replace THIS fix THAT organize another group talk and go into red alert whenever the things get suspiciously quiet- go collect the bodies, probably reassemble them, pay the bills, supervised arts and crafts and Cherri still makes a BOMB somehow-”

Vaggie: “Everyone getting together to blow it up outside was kinda sweet.”

Charlie: “And that’s great! We’re doing great, things are going good, it’s just- WE don’t do anything that’s just for US.”

Vaggie: “That what’s bothering you?”

Charlie: “Bothering me? BOTHERING ME?? Vaggie our last outing together was dragging you back up to HEAVEN where the people who left you in hell also BLAKMAILED YOU!"

Vaggie: "Could've been worse."

Charlie: "IT WAS HORRIBLE! A NEGATIVE TIME TOGTHER! I’m gonna explode- I haven’t taken you on an actual date in MONTHS!!!”

Vaggie: “So let’s go then.”

Charlie: “I know we can’t just leave the hotel, but that doesn’t stop-”

Charlie: “…”

Charlie: “Huh?”

Vaggie: “Let’s go. We can take the rest of the night off.”

Charlie: “….can we?”

Vaggie: “Sure. Niffty’s busy with her new murder plant buddies, Husk’s busy being sick, Angel Dust’s busy with Husk, and Cherri Bomb… well. If the singing cannibal duo wants to keep playing exploding volleyball with her out back then that’s their problem, not ours.”

Charlie: “It’ll be our problem REAL quick if anyone spikes the bomb at the hotel!”

Vaggie: “It’ll be just another Tuesday, another hole in the wall, and a chance for Cherri to learn about the wonders of vacuum cleaners and wall plaster.”

Charlie: “Which you won’t be able to sleep knowing about until you’ve redone the whole thing yourself.”

Vaggie: “That’s still just another Tuesday.”

Charlie: “What about Husk being sick? AND suffering under Angel Dust’s dubiously sexy medical care?”

Vaggie: “If they’re bothering each other they can’t be getting into trouble with anyone else. Win-win.”

Charlie: “Niffty is building an army.”

Vaggie: “Good for her.”

Charlie: “She might be planning on wiping out all life in the hotel???”

Vaggie: “Hell forbid the cleaning ladies do anything.”

Charlie: “Why are you suddenly so okay with mess and chaos? You HATE messes and chaos! You patrol the hotel just to check everyone’s doing what you thought they’d be doing, based on all the little schedules you keep making on them!”

Vaggie: “Which they didn’t need to hear you yelling about but sure.”

Charlie: “You refold all my laundry so the creases line up just right! Why- oh no.”

Charlie: (gasp) “Vaggie, don’t panic, but I think the evil fail cookies are affecting you-”

Vaggie: “Charlie-” (laughing) “-no, they’re not. Maybe I’m fine with a little extra mess and chaos, if it means spending time with you.”

Charlie: “….”

Charlie: “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Vaggie: “Triangle. Wanna go on a date with me?”

Charlie: “YE- wait, you’re sure though?”

Vaggie: “I’m sure.”

Charlie: “Really sure?”

Vaggie: “Very.”

Charlie: “It’s not a fun date if it makes you super stressed afterwards.”

Vaggie: “I’m always stressed. It’d be nice if I could at least get some uninterrupted ‘stare at my beautiful girlfriend’ time while I’m at it.”

Charlie: “The hotel’s gonna be in RUINS when we get back. Our friends might be on fire by then.”

Vaggie: “C’mon, they’re not our kids. They’re all responsible adults….”

Chaggie: “…..”

Vaggie: “….they’re all adults…”

Charlie: “Who we’re kinda responsible for…?”

Vaggie: “Not for tonight.”

Charlie: (sighing) “That WOULD be nice.”

Vaggie: “So let’s make it happen. Date night?”

Charlie: “-ES YES YES YES YES-”

Vaggie: “That a yes?”

Charlie: “YES!!! I- Hold on, wait wait, I’ve got-”

Charlie: (pulls out several papers covered in writing and diagrams)

Charlie: “…I’ve got, let’s see here-”

Vaggie: “Notes?”

Charlie: “-seven quick pick up date ideas that don’t need ANY preparation-”

Vaggie: “You made plans for dates you didn’t even think we’d go on?”

Charlie: “Well it never hurts to dream about something, right? That way you get to have fun either way, and you’ll be ready if it does happen!”

Vaggie: “I love you.”

Charlie: (grinning) “You love that you’ve infected me with note cards and organizing thoughts and things~”

Vaggie: “That too.”

Charlie: “Well according to my wonderful notes, the least stressful date option is…. Cannibal Town!”

Vaggie: “They have that dress code don’t they.”

Charlie: “Unless you wanna get your cute butt chased for all the wrong reasons, yep! They do!”

Vaggie: “Is this you wanting to see me in a fancy-ass dress?”

Charlie: “And to stroll down the nicely kept streets arm-in-arm with you, enjoyed the quiet atmosphere not filled with random agonized screams, stopping to admire the beautiful and very well composted flower beds…”

Vaggie: “I’d stroll with you anywhere, so count me in.”

Charlie: “YES! Oh I already LOVE THIS- and Vaggie?”

Vaggie: “Yeah?”

Charlie: “I love you too.”

Vaggie: “Wow really. Had no idea.”

Charlie: “Heheh.”

Vaggie: “Honestly there’ve been like, zero hints about that all day.”

Charlie: “I promise I really was trying to be subtle.”

Vaggie: “There’s a lot of words for you, but subtle’s probably not one of them.”

Charlie: “I tried. I tried for youuuuuuu~ For the sake of my girlfriend, I was willing to go against my baser and more dramatic nature!”

Vaggie: “What’s more dramatic than man eating flowers, that’s what I’d like to know.”

Charlie: “A garden.”

Vaggie: “A g- a whole garden?”

Charlie: (shrug) “We’ve got plenty of empty rooms…”

Vaggie: “A garden, sweetie.”

Charlie: “I was thinking of putting a lot of trees and bushes in. Lots of stuff to hide behind.”

Vaggie: “Our own little patch of private picnic paradise, huh?”

Charlie: “Hm-hmm! Or for makeouts. Or both?”

Vaggie: (chuckling) “Not to spoil the mood but… speaking of plants and compost, on our date, should we bring the other half of the cannibal quartet over to Rosie’s while we’re headed there? Or, what’s left of them?”

Charlie: “Mmmmm NAAAH. I wanna have all hands free on the way over.”

Vaggie: “Hands free for what?”

Charlie: “Nothing~”

Vaggie: “Your hands are already on my ass, Charlie.”

Charlie: “Oh whoops!”

Vaggie: “I didn’t say you could move them.”

Charlie: “That’s why I’m not~”

Vaggie: “You’re in a mood tonight, aren’t you.” (muttering) “I’m not even the one off playing with carnivorous plants, so why's it suddenly feel like I’m in danger...”

Charlie: “Beecaaaause you look dangerously cute in a fancy dress.”

Vaggie: “Says the woman walking around in THAT suit.”

Charlie: “I have to dress sharp! I need to match with my girlfriend!”

Vaggie: “You’ve been wearing that exact same kind of suit since long before you even met me.”

Charlie: “Only through YEARS of unfulfilled potential!”

Vaggie: “Uh huh.”

Charlie: “Tragic, wasted beauty!”

Vaggie: “Hardly wasted with you in it.”

Charlie: “But it was! A jacket crying out for the one woman who’ll finally borrow and wear it the way it was always meant to be worn!”

Vaggie: “With the sleeves falling over my hands?”

Charlie: “With that adorable little blush when you snuggle down into it… Also, the way it falls to almost mid-thigh on you, and how you like wearing it with nothing el-”

Vaggie: “Is this a date night or a do not disturb night?”

Charlie: “Date night!”

Vaggie: “Then stop biting your lip at me.”

Charlie: “Aww.”

Vaggie: “And come help me pick out a fancy dress.”

Charlie: “!!! THE ONE FROM THE COMMERCIAL MAYBE???”

Vaggie: “Oh you liked that look, huh?” (snickering) “Aw babe- is THAT why you stay up replaying the commercial some nights?”

Charlie: “That’s… public image analysis…”

Vaggie: “Whatever you say. Now you now know how I feel every day.”

Charlie: (muttering) “lucky you.”

Vaggie: “You wanna switch things up for the date, or keep the suit?”

Charlie: “Keep, probably..? You like me in the suit~”

Vaggie: “I like you in a lot of things.”

Charlie: “R-right.”

Vaggie: “And nothing.”

Charlie: “I- same.” (horns start popping out) “Um.” (pushes them back in) “Could we also. Wear matching hats?”

Vaggie: “Of course we’re wearing matching hats. This is supposed to be a fancy date right?”

Charlie: “Very. Very fancy.”

Vaggie: “Well nothing’s fancier than hats."

Charlie: "WHEEE! With flowers on them, yeah!?"

Vaggie: "Have I ever let you down?”

Charlie: “Never.”

Vaggie: “And do you promise not to bring me anymore demonic flowers or singing quartets?”

Charlie: “… I’ll do my best.”

Vaggie: “Perfect.”

Vaggie: “…”

Vaggie: “I wouldn’t say no to a few more of those cookies though-”

Charlie: “NO.”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, they were good.”

Charlie: “No. Absolutely no, I am NOT poisoning you on purpose. Not even if you ask me nicely and pout about it like that.”

Vaggie: “You deny the cookies?”

Charlie: “Don’t even start-”

Vaggie: “Girlfriend abuse. Toxic relationship alert.”

Charlie: “Those 'cookies' were the MOST TOXIC THING that our relationship has EVER seen!”

Vaggie: “They were made with love.”

Charlie: “And likely heavy metals? The fact that you willingly ate them is maybe the most WORRYING thing our relationship has ever seen…”

Vaggie: “Cough exorcist lie cough cough.”

Charlie: “Totally different. That didn’t put you in active danger-”

Niffty: “SPEAKING OF DANGER!”

Chaggie: (screaming)

Niffty: “My murder plant babies are in danger.”

Vaggie: “HOW can- how can those things BE in danger?”

Charlie: “NIFFTY PLEASE! The knocking?? The not dropping from air vents???”

Niffty: “Only in emergencies, I remember! This is an emergency. Husk is feeding himself to my murder plan babies.”

Vaggie: “Why.”

Niffty: “Escaping nurse Angel Dust and unnecessary CPR.”

Charlie: “Oh for-”

Vaggie: “Let him. They won’t kill him. Permanently, anyway.”

Charlie: “…. Hm.”

Niffty: “What if my murder babies get food poisoning from second hand bad cookies?”

Vaggie: “Seek revenge for them or something?”

Niffty: “OoooOOOH!”

Niffty: (scuttles away cackling)

Charlie: “Oh noooo, you’ve given her an idea-”

Vaggie: “Too late to stop her now. C’mon.” (grabbing charlie’s hand) “Make a break for our room before anyone else-”

Cherri Bomb: “Hey girls! Uh, you were planning on making a pit for a hotel swimming pool, right? Like, one already kinda full of blood? Right out back? Right???”

Chaggie: “….”

Charlie: “… Hello~! Charlie and Vaggie can’t be reached at the moment!”

Vaggie: “We’ll be out all night.”

Cherri Bomb: “And the pool of blood-?”

Charlie: “So please leave a message at the sound of the beep!”

Vaggie: “Beeeeep.” (at charlie) “Run.”

Charlie: (scooping up vaggie) “My legs are longer-”

Vaggie: “Brilliant thinking sweetie now GO GO GO!!!”

Chaggie: (flees)

Cherri Bomb: “…..”

Cherri Bomb: “They take the u-haul thing seriously, huh.”

-their room-

Charlie: “….Vaggie.”

Vaggie: “Yeah?”

Charlie: “Stop it.”

Vaggie: “Stop what?”

Charlie: “Vaggie.”

Vaggie: “Mmm?”

Charlie: “…..”

Charlie: “…..fine, FINE!” (groaning) “I’ll see about salvaging the burnt remains of the evil cursed cookie recipe when we get back. Now will you PLEASE stop messing with your flawless hair and put the dress on? Or anything!? Anything being put on would be good now too!”

Vaggie: (smiling) “No idea what you mean babe, but alright.” (quietly to herself) “Mission success.”

Charlie: “I heard that.”

-exiting hotel-

Vaggie: “Almost there.”

Charlie: “Oh please my dad who’s probably in a pile of duckies, please just let us make it out the d-”

(horrific screaming from deeper inside hotel)

Charlie: “…..”

Vaggie: “….”

Charlie: “We didn’t hear that.”

Vaggie: “We kinda already did, sweetie.”

Charlie: “No.” (pouting) “No. We can hear it when we get back.”

Vaggie: “Fine by me.”

Charlie: (SIGHING) “Even though we’re gonna hear allllll about not hearing it when we get back...”

Vaggie: “Worth it.”

Charlie: (grinning) “Think so?”

Vaggie: “Do you?”

Charlie: (already tugging them out the door by their entwined hands) “More than worth it.” (lifts and twirls vaggie down the hotel steps) “Whooosh!”

Vaggie: “Oh is THIS why you really wanted me in a fancy dress? For the ‘whoosh’?”

Charlie: “That, and for the way you smile when I whoosh you~”

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie #chaggie #incorrect quotes #silly ridiculous fluff #they need a date night i swear they need at least ONE

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most-datable-datable-bracket · 1 month ago

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SEMI-FINALS MATCH 2

Karlach propaganda:

“Sweetest girl ever. She could throw you across a room. She can burn down a house. But she just wants a hug and to be cared about and to live her life.”

“Definitively overused phrase but she's a golden retriever she's so cute!”

“She's the perfect woman!!! She's so nice and cute and silly and strong and wow I love girls”

"Karlach is the champion slave of one of the Devils in a layer of hell, and was sold to her by someone she trusted, and on TOP of that she is an experiment with an engine for a heart and she knows she’s going to die and is in fairly constant pain but DESPITE that she is relentlessly positive and outgoing and silly because her spirit cannot be fucking crushed no matter WHAT"

Claude Propaganda:

"To say Claude has trust issues is an understatement—you have to spend half the game earning his. (Claude isn't even his real name!) Once you have it, though, he's absolutely ride or die for you until the stars go out. He is so full of heart and ambition: He wants both sides of his heritage to get along, he wants to open borders and eliminate xenophobia and promote equality between commonfolk, and deep down, I think he craves a partner to stand with him at that new dawn, or an equal who sees his vision for the future and will fight for it just as hard. Nobody believed in him when he was a kid, but if you put your faith in him, he'll return it tenfold. Some people don't like that he's calculating, or has to leave the player character at the end of the game to go back to his homeland, but both are necessary elements for his goals to change things. He will always come back, and everyone who bets against him and his love for his companions is wrong with a big fat W. #KhalidForMostDatablePrez"

"Claude is a fun little onion of facades. He calls himself the embodiment of distrust, he acts like he's carefree and without worries, an unscrupulous schemer--and so many in universe buy into that hook line and sinker. He's used to others viewing him with suspicion and uses it as armor to obscure his not-so-dark truth: that he cares immensely, that he values minimizing the loss of life, and that above all he has so much hope that people will fundamentally choose to do better given the choice.

His front guards a center that his conflict filled world would be happy to tear apart. As the child of people from two nations in constant conflict--one of which is explicitly isolationist and dehumanizes those outside its church's reach--he hasn't really had a place where he can be without his facade. As a child he thought he could run, but when confronted with the fact that this hatred existed no matter where he ran, he chose to instead try to create a more just and kind world.

His inability to let others in beyond his facade at first may lead to a sense of distance, but isn't it then all the more satisfying when you're allowed in? All he wants is a little trust, a little faith, and--like what he wants to give everyone--a chance to be better.

And like that you got a charming young lad with a fun personality that your grandma would be thrilled to have stay forever."

#karlach #karlach cliffgate #Baldur's Gate 3 #BG3 #claude von riegan #Fire Emblem #Fire Emblem: Three Houses #FE:3H #Semi-Finals #MDDC 2

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bummblebe · 20 days ago

Text

Adorable Too

TfP Bumblebee x Reader

Word Count: 1,783

Summary: You're all too infatuated with a certain yellow mech, much to his initial confusion to your change in attitude.

Song choices <3

> Fool - Frankie Cosmos

> Glue Song - Beabadoobee

You weren't sure how long exactly you had these feelings for, but after discovering them as of recent, they've never left your mind since.

You can only pray that your revelation of admiration to a specific scout hasn't resulted in any noticeable changes in your behavior. Once you came to the conclusion (after catching yourself shamelessly fawning over him in silence during a most recent mission), like a hopeless coward you did.. absolutely nothing about it. You considered limiting visits to the base to lessen the chances of making a fool of yourself, but that might've looked more suspicious if anything.

So, here you are, at the autobot base trying desperately too hard to push down the feelings and pretend that you didn't discover anything major about yourself in the past few days.

It was proving very difficult with Bumblebee standing right behind the designated human-sized couch you, Raf, and Miko were all sitting on, the other two competing against each other in some racing game and completely oblivious to your internal battle. Their game was the last thing you could pay attention to; his presence being right there had you feel like your back was on fire, any sitting position you readjusted to never felt comfortable enough for longer than ten seconds, a lingering sense of uncomfortable insecurity engulfed your every move as you couldn't help but constantly think of the possibility of him just perceiving you. Crazy to think that a couple days ago you never would've thought twice about minute things like where your hands should be resting, whether your hair was in the way or a mess, or both. What's the battle, the struggle, one might ask? It's being on a couch.

You've never had an issue sitting on a couch before--you would swear on it, ..right now just wasn't a great example of that.

After realizing that maybe your sitting is a little too rigid for what's meant to be and is a casual hangout between friends, you silently take a breath and slowly but surely start to lean back to meet with the comfortable plush of the couch.

Though, rather than being met with the couch, instead your back made contact with the scout's servos.

Instantly, as if a shock was sent throughout your body, you flinched forward in surprise, disconnecting the contact immediately. You noticed the spot on your back that unintentionally touched his hand felt the hottest, almost as if it were a burn; nothing bad, just in the sense of an overwhelming warmth.

A whir in the tone of a question sounded from the scout behind you, and in quick thinking you tried to play off your unexpected reaction in a continued swing to hoist yourself up from the couch. Reaching your hands above your head, you gave out the pressure in your lower back in a satisfying stretch, not realizing the words he was saying.

"Uh- ..Sorry about that, Bee. Didn't mean to bump you," you spoke apologetically, turning your face so that he wouldn't just be looking at your back, but you couldn't get your eyes to leave the railing to properly make eye contact.

Bee responded with affirmative albeit hesitant beeps.

That seemed to have done the trick.

Without removing her eyes from the screen, Miko tilted her head towards you. "Where ya headed off to?"

Quick, come up with something.

"Oh, you know.. 'just going to go get something from.. from our pantry real quick yeah- you guys want me to get you anything while I'm there?"

"Nah, 'm good thanks," Miko uttered, clearly preoccupied.

Nailed it.

"Raf?" You queried next. Unlike Miko, Raf actually looked at you to answer your offer. "Oh, I'm alright [Name], thank you." You smiled and with that, turned to the descending ladder (and judging from the groan of frustration paired alongside an exclamation of victory from behind you, Raf's politeness appeared to be his detriment in-game). Just as you were about to turn your body to climb down, a few familiar beeps stopped you. Looking up, Bumblebee stood right in front of you, in front of the ladder, with his head tilt to the side.

The only words you were able to pick up on were '-want.. ... help you?'

Judging by his now outstretched metallic palm just below you, you filled in the rest that he just offered to take you to the bottom of the ladder himself. 'Do you want me to help you?' it was probably was.

This was nothing out of the ordinary, he's done this for you many times before. The problem came from you not knowing how to properly act anymore. Any other day you would've gladly accepted without thinking twice about it, and right now is mostly the same, except now you're thinking too much about it.

You nodded your head, “Oh sure, thanks Bee. I’d love for you to help me.”

Bee, though with no visible mouth, gave a smile evident through his bright optics as he cooed a few excited chirps and beeps, you stepping off the platform and now in his clutches.

You looked up, returning an innocent smile towards him.

Looks will forever be deceiving because internally you were in a panic.

Why did you say ‘love?’ You’d love for him to help you? How obvious can you be? You kept your eyes closed, not daring to look at him as you basked in your inner embarrassment.

You felt the small rush in your stomach as Bumblebee leisurely descended his hand down upon the lower ground as gently as he could. Stepping off, you shot Bee a thumbs up and quickly trodded off to the small room directly underneath the upper landing that you and your fellow humans deemed the 'pantry,' a place where you four kept a stash of snacks and drinks. It was the only remaining human-sized room (more like closet) that wasn't being used so why not make it a snack hole? Truly, it started with Miko keeping her snacks there 'temporarily' (as she swore) but it soon escalated to you, Jack, and occasionally Raf contributing to the snack haven; now the four of you have sustenance at your disposal whenever any of you visited the base.

Even with all that, upon entering you nearly forgot that you lied to get here so you could avoid an awkward situation and you were stumped on what to actually bring back.

...

"What's the matter Bee?"

The mech looked up to face Rafael, apparently during a game intermission as Miko was checking something on her flip phone. After hearing the question though, she looked up, all too interested. "Why're you asking? Did Bumblebee say something?" Raf only shook his head, "No it's not about anything he said I just thought he--..well--are you feeling down, Bee?" He redirected his attention back to the scout.

Bumblebee shook his helm, waving his servos in front of him. Beeps and churs left his chassis in a series pertaining to an explanation.

"What about [Name]..?"

Miko scrambled on her knees, fully on the couch as she faced the yellow bot with intrigue. "What's it Raf?" she questioned in ardor. "Bee's just a little worried about [Name]," Raf translated. Miko frowned, "How come? They seemed alright to me?"

A continued stream of robotic whirs and boops left Bee with different dips in tones natural of someone speaking, even if unconventionally.

"So? What's he saying?" Miko asked in loud, exaggerated whisper.

Raf, in response to Bee, tilted his head, "Different how?"

"Beep, beep zip. Zrr beep kr."

"Really? I guess that's a little weird.. Think they're feeling okay?"

Miko bounced in her spot on the couch impatiently, "Hello? Gonna fill me in yet?"

Raf gave an exhausted sigh. "Bee just noticed that [Name] seemed really dismissive of him today is all."

Miko rolled her eyes and whisked her body around, slumping in the couch and returning her attention back to her flip phone. "Eh, I wouldn't dwell."

"How are you so confident?" Raf asked, curious at how quick the girl just dismissed the concern.

Miko tilted her head towards him, "Come on, there's no way they hate Bee or anything."

At this, Bumblebee's optics swirled for a good few seconds. Realization hit when he gave a few worried beeps, looking away from the two other humans in disquiet. Raf was about to give comfort to the distressed mech. "In case they think you're annoying or something just be extra nice to them! That'll help," Miko advised wisely. Raf winced at her choice of wording. "I really don't think that's all too necessary.. especially considering-"

Bee was quick to intercept and hastily utter determined whirs and beeps in response.

Suddenly, you emerged from underneath the main platform, head peaking out after climbing the ladder, not having been paying any attention to the conversation that had just ended. You huffed yourself over the edge, arms hoisting towards the platform, still below the upper-ground level. In your hands was a pack of honey-graham crackers.

Honey --> ....bee..

Ah. You winced at the unintentional yet reaching similarity to who's been on your mind all day.

At least it wasn't that obvious. Hopefully.

A few beeps from behind you entered your ears and before you could even register what they meant, you were gently lifted off of the ladder and quickly placed fully on the grounding. You continued to stand there, snack still in your hand, as you slowly turned your head to face the yellow mech. "Thanks- thanks Bee but uh- uhm.. what was that for?" You cursed yourself for the stuttering, begging that your red face wasn't as noticeable as you're imagining it is to be.

He only responded with a few of those charming sound signals of his, optics spiraling as he did, to which you couldn't stop the smile creeping up to your face. From the sidelines, Raf and Miko exchanged unknowing glances, the first shrugging his shoulders in uncertainty towards the other.

You shook your head and swiftly returned to your spot on the couch. You sighed. "Adorable..," giving the quietest of mutters as it was drowned out by your expertly timed opening of your retrieved snack.

Or so you thought.

Bee's optics gave a spin, the teal lights from his eyes dilating.

After a few seconds of shocked silence, he chirped out six excited beeps, and Raf nearly stumbled in the resumed video game (much to his dismay and probably to Miko's pleasure.

You also nearly choked mid-chewing, face growing hotter as your heartbeat intercepted within your eardrum.

The only words you were able to pick up from him were 'adorable too.'

End Notes: Fact about this one-shot: When the reader accidentally bumped Bee on the couch, his hand was actually purposefully reaching for their hair to try to help pushing it aside because he wanted the reader to be comfortable after he noticed they kept shifting so much. I think it's sweet!

#im obsessed #transformers #transformers bumblebee #bumblebee #transformers prime #transformers prime bumblebee #bumblebee x reader #transformers x reader #tf x reader #transformers x human #i love bee in every iteration #i love him so agh

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stevieschrodinger · 4 months ago

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Part One TwentySix

Eddie climbs into the beemer, looking as hang dog as Steve has ever seen him, “what’s wrong?”

Eddie fiddles with his sweater cuffs, plucking at them with his finger nails, frowning, “we...speak English?”

“Yeah, that’s right. That’s what the language is called, English.”

“And...many more? Languages? Lots and lots, right?”

“Yeah baby, that’s right, what’s wrong?” Steve grows increasingly more alarmed, Eddie actually looks like he might cry.

“I have to learn more? Learn all?”

“Oh! Oh no, not if you don’t want to. You could learn another one one day, but only if you want to.”

“Sure? Do you promise?”

“Yeah. Yes, baby, I promise. Just this one.”

Eddie sags in his seat, whole body crumpling with relief. Steve can’t help but laugh, but he does give Eddie’s hand a comforting squeeze.

Eddie gets into the beemer holding one massive fucking sunflower. Like, the head of the thing is just. Huge.

“Too big. Too different,” Eddie elaborates, “can’t sell it.”

“Well, that’s okay, it’ll fit in perfect on the coffee table,” Eddie nods affably at Steve’s suggestion.

“Stevie?” Steve hums to show he’s listening, checking his mirrors as he pulls out of the car parking space. “Should we go to church?”

“Church?”

“Mrs. Vanderbilt,” Eddie sounds the name carefully, “say she’s worried about my immortal soul.”

“Does she now. And who is Mrs. Vanderbilt?”

“She makes flower arrangements for church. Stevie? What’s an immortal soul?”

Steve snorts a laugh, “well. Uhm. So there’s...some people believe that there’s God, and heaven and hell and stuff like that. And there’s loads of religions, like with languages, lots of places have different ones and...God is kind of like...do you remember El explaining about Santa at Christmas?”

“Yes. He has a beard and reindeer and choose if you’re good, then gifts. Not real though, fun for kids believe.”

“Yeah. Yeah God is like that, but for grown-ups. And instead of gifts you get into heaven when you die.” Steve sees Eddie’s face crinkle up in his peripheral vision, “actually, you know what, I bet there’s a book about this, library detour?”

Eddie nods, humming agreeably.

The book on religions they find at the library is probably, now, a little below Eddie’s reading level, but it seemed like the best option at the time. When Eddie looks up from it and asks, “think The Upside Down is hell?” Steve sort of regrets the idea of a book.

“No. No I don’t.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Hell's probably more like, fire. And brimstone. And I never once saw a little demon with a pitchfork. Also, and I know this for absolute certain, there’s no way someone as good as you comes from Hell.”

“Oh.”

“I think...it’s up to you want you want to decide baby, you read as much as you like, and you think about it, but I think it’s made up, like a-” Steve hesitates over actually saying 'fairy tale', since he’s talking to a guy who, literally, is like a character from one of those stories, “like something that’s made up," He finishes lamely. "Anyway, forget the book, come up here, I haven’t won the kissing game for a couple of days and I’m feeling lucky.”

Eddie leaves the book, forgotten for a while, and Steve decides the first chance he gets he’s taking that one back.

“Stevie!” Eddie bursts through the door of family video, luckily it’s the middle of the day and the place is dead. He breezes straight past Steve and presents four pink roses to Robin, “from Chrissy,” he tells her, causing a spectacular blush to form on Robins cheeks before she sinks down behind the counter.

Eddie completely ignores her. “Knock knock.”

“Who's there?” Steve asks reflexively.

“Eddie with some flowers,” Eddie says proudly, and then promptly bursts out laughing.

“Uhm...Eddie with some flowers who?”

“What?” Eddie looks confused.

“...what?” Steve asks, feeling as confused as Eddie looks.

Eddie brightens again a second later, “knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” Steve asks again, cautious this time.

“Family Video.”

“Family video...who?”

“Family video not house!” Eddie declares, and then laughs uproariously.

From behind the counter, Robin Whispers, “what is happening?”

“I have...absolutely no idea,” Steve answers, right before Eddie starts again on another nonsensical knock knock joke.

There isn’t much that Eddie does that annoys Steve, to be fair, there’s not really anything. But this. By the time he gets home he’s had enough of Eddie’s one man comedy act. “Joyce,” he hisses down the phone desperately, “you don’t understand how shit they are; they don’t even mean anything.”

She has the audacity to laugh at him, “I remember the boys going through that phase. They both did it when they were...four? Maybe Jon was five.”

“How long does it last???”

“Oh, I don’t know, few months maybe, off and on?”

Steve, very gently, bangs his forehead against the wall.

Eddie’s holding a bunch of something pink and only, maybe, a tiny bit wilted. He’s bright eyed as he gets into the car, “Stevie, Chrissy say at me about a new thing. We can try?”

“Sure, baby, what is it?” Steve has the car in reverse, checking his mirrors as he pulls out of the spot.

“Blowjobs.”

Steve’s really pleased with how well he just...doesn’t react to that. Because, truthfully, he’s thought about it. He has. Really. But...well. Eddie’s teeth are sharp. And it’s not that Steve thinks Eddie would ever, ever hurt him on purpose, but that doesn’t mean Steve doesn’t have some, potentially, unresolved toe loss related trauma. And then there’s Eddie’s dick, and how...wriggly it is. How the end opens up and the...well. Just the whole thing, really.

“Stevie?”

“Why...are you and Chrissy talking about blowjobs?”

Eddie shrugs, “Chrissy not really like them, she ask if I liked them. I say I not try them. She said…” Eddie frowns, thinking, “she said, ‘you never get a blowjob?’ and got...angry sad? At Stevie?”

“Oh, she thought I was getting blowjobs but never giving you blowjobs?” Steve can, vaguely, feel his eye starting to twitch. He also can’t help but be fucking irritated with Chrissy, not only is it not her business, but he also can’t really be annoyed with her because...really if that’s what she was worried about, she is only sticking up for Eddie. He’s so naive, there’s no way Chrissy hasn’t picked up on just how innocent Eddie is, so Steve can't really blame her for thinking that anyone could take advantage of Eddie.

Even if it is fucking annoying.

“Yes, but I tell her no blow jobs at all. But we can try now, right?”

“Right. Right. Yeah. Sure. Uh hu.”

Eddie nods, “when we get home.”

“Right,” Steve says, with far more confidence than he feels.

“Stevie? Why not tell about blowjobs before?”

Steve hums, “just kind of...was saving it for a special occasion?” He tries desperately, he can’t look at Eddie as he speaks, keeping his eyes on the road, “didn’t want to go through all the good stuff too fast, you know?”

“Oh okay.”

Eddie limpets himself to Steve the second they’re over the threshold, demanding kisses, his fingers already exploring around Steve’s jeans button, “hang on hang on, couch or bed?”

“Couch,” Eddie answers easily, still kissing Steve as they walk awkwardly though the house. Steve sits, letting Eddie kneel between his legs, fumbling with his zipper.

And, the thing is, Steve really, genuinely believed he could do this. He trusts Eddie, he does. He loves Eddie, really, but he’s not even half hard when Eddie gets him out. And like Eddie...is, he tends to just go for things. Steve catches sight of the teeth and just...can’t. His hands are in Eddie’s way and he’s tucking himself away again before he can really think about it, “could we, maybe, leave this until...later?”

Eddie pouts, “want to try.”

“I just, I don’t want to do this right now, okay?” And the guilt Steve feels is a live thing. He remembers so clearly when he’d been frightened of Eddie’s dick, and how upset Eddie had been. That same fear raises it’s ugly head.

“But why? Chrissy tell me boys really like it-”

“I mean, I do. Kind of. But I just think we could...not do this.”

“But Chrissy say-”

“Jesus Christ Eddie.” Steve snaps, getting angry now. He’s not going to be prodded into doing something he just doesn’t want to do. Especially not by Chrissy Cunningham. “Since you’ve been working with her it’s been Chrissy this and Chrissy that, can’t you just, leave it? For once?” Steve gets up, needing to be away from this conversation.

“But why?”

“Because I just don’t want to, okay? Why don’t you go and ask Chrissy since she knows everything,” Steve snaps again, he knows he’s snapping, and it’s just making him angrier at himself for reacting this way, but he can’t seem to stop himself, defensiveness fueled by the guilt eating at him.

“Maybe,” Eddie says, hands on hips, frowning from the doorway.

“Go then. Go ask her what I should do about it.”

Eddie’s frown is nuclear now as he faces Steve across the kitchen, he tries to speak, half formed words at first, Eddie clearly struggling as he gets upset, “you think? You think?? You promise forever! Stee scared of Eddidie more! Eddidie different! Stee tell away!”

“You are though, you are different!” Steve knows he's wrong the second he says it. He knows Eddie well enough that saying that in anger is a cheap shot, and unforgivable low blow.

Eddie’s mouth pops open, shocked and affronted. He goes to speak but just...doesn’t. He turns and leaves...Steve hears the front door go.

“For fucks sake,” he sighs to himself, angry and upset with himself, the fight goes out of him as he’s swamped by guilt. Steve makes himself move to follow Eddie out. He opens the door just in time to watch Eddie pull the beemer out of the driveway, “oh fuck.”

“There’s pretty much only one place he would go, I think.” Steve tells Hopper, “so I’m pretty sure he will be there.”

Hopper hums from the drivers seat, “and what exactly did you two fight about?”

“I...well. I think this is one of those times where you don’t ask unless you’re really sure you want to know.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, there it is,” Steve breathes a massive sigh of relief, the beemer is parked near the florist. Tight to the curb too, a good parking job, and there’s not a single mark on her. The florists however, is shut for the day.

Steve bangs on the door, peering through the glass. It’s dark inside, but there’s some light shining through that little door in the back. Steve knocks on the glass again, and eventually Chrissy appears. She unlocks the door, immediately telling Steve, “he doesn’t want to see you.”

“Kid, can I go?” Hopper calls from where he’s half tucked the truck out of the way.

“Yeah,” Steve waves him off, turning back to Chrissy, “I need to apologize to him. Please.”

She scowls and makes a vague humphing noise at him, “fine,” Steve slips awkwardly through the gap Chrissy allows him, and once in she locks the door behind him. Steve follows her into the shop, “Eddie, I’m putting some stuff in the car out back, you come get me if you need me, okay?”

Steve comes around the doorway to see Eddie nodding sadly, he’s sitting in what must be their tiny break room. There’s two chairs and a beat up Formica top table, a little electric kettle on top of a under counter refrigerator. Eddie’s got a scrunched up wad of tissues in his hand where he’s clearly been crying.

“Hi Eddie,” Eddie fiddles with his tissues and keeps his eyes on his knees, not looking at Steve, so he pulls up the other chair, “I’m really sorry.” Eddie nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“I just,” Steve sighs, rubbing at his face roughly, “I did get scared okay? But I shouldn’t have...I should have just explained, I shouldn’t have shouted.”

Eddie nods, shredding the tissue, “I sorry too.”

“It’s...not you're fault. Not really. I just...Eddie, your teeth are really sharp you know, and my dick is...my dick. I know you’d never hurt me on purpose, okay, I know that but…”

“Chri-” Eddie bites it back, and stops speaking again.

“Yeah. I’m sorry about that too. It’s good you have a friend okay? It’s good she’s...teaching you things I haven’t thought of. It’s…you can talk about Chrissy, it’s fine.”

“Chrissy say...no people should do anything they don’t want to. Especially with sex stuff...so Eddie a bit wrong,” he sniffles, “but she help me dig hole anyway.”

“What hole?”

“For your body. Dead soon, but that...kind of funny joke?”

Eddie says it in a way that means he did not find it funny at all, and Steve snorts a laugh, “yeah. Yeah, she’s a good friend.”

They sit in silence for another minute before Steve offers, “you did a really good job of parking the car...do you want to drive me home?”

“Yeah,” Eddie stands, and so does Steve, and then they both move in for a hug at the same time, Eddie desperately throwing his arms around Steve's shoulders and holding him as tight as he can.

Steve swears to himself he’s going to do better with this stuff, and lets himself nose at Eddie’s ear, his skin tickled by Eddie’s new curls.

Eddie answers the phone, “Harrington residence,” he says carefully.

Steve watches him frown for a second, before he says, “yes, wait please,” and then offers the phone to Steve, “doctors.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Steve takes the phone, confirming his address and date of birth, before the lady tells him his test results are ready to pick up.

He hangs up, and Eddie’s there, offering him a pen, “that your birthday?”

“I- yeah. Yeah it was.”

Eddie nods, “should be on calendar before, Stevie,” Eddie admonishes gently.

“Okay, I’ll do it now, and then we can go get my results, okay?”

Eddie nods, “no more condoms,” he says solemnly.

Steve snorts a startled laugh.

There’s a frantic banging on the front door, then the bell rings. The bell rings again before Steve can even clamber up off the couch. It’s Eddie and Chrissy, and they hustle into the house before Steve even has the door all the way open.

Steve’s already alarmed, he isn’t due to pick Eddie up for another hour at least, and Chrissy wouldn’t just close the store unless it was an emergency.

“What happened?”

“There was a man,” Chrissy explains a little breathless, “Eddie hid behind the counter the second he saw him, and I’m sure he didn’t see Eddie, I’m sure. But he was asking questions. If a young man worked at the store, weird things about Starcourt. I just kept telling him no Steve but- he’s definitely looking for Eddie.”

Steve feels a mounting sense of dread as she speaks, “Eddie, did you know him?”

Eddie nods, looking frightened, “Starcourt. When I was in tank.”

“Tank?” Chrissy pulls a face, “what tank?”

“Uhm,” Steve suddenly realizes that Chrissy maybe shouldn’t be here for this part, Steve definitely needs to call Hopper, “Chrissy, thank you, but maybe you should go-”

“Absolutely not. Not if Eddie’s in trouble-”

“Okay, but the thing is-”

“Steve.” Chrissy huffs, “I know, okay?”

“You know...what?”

“I don’t know!” She flails a little, “I don’t know what I don’t know! But I do know that Eddie had never heard of the moon landing! He didn’t know that the guy on the five dollars is Abraham Lincoln! He didn’t know that other languages exist and he certainly can’t speak anything other than English even though, according to you,” she pokes Steve in the chest, “he should be able to speak Finnish! And he can’t!”

She’s getting worked up now, and Steve finds himself taking a step back, his hands up in defeat. For a tiny cheerleader, Chrissy’s kind of scary.

“He can find one bug in a delivery of a hundred stems Steve! And do you know how, he told me he can hear them! Hear them! I’ve watched him trim anything from daises to roses to full on sunflowers with his thumbnails Steve! He can cut baler twine with them. And don’t get me started on the florist wire, do you know what he does with that? He just straight up fucking bites through it!” Chrissy gets louder and pinker the longer she rants.

“He came to work with a mashed potato sandwich, like that's normal!! His tears are fucking brown! Brown! Those fingernails, that’s not polish, they’ve never been chipped, not once, they just grow that way, right? And I might be a blonde cheerleader but I am not stupid. So no. Okay, no. I don’t know what Eddie is. But I do know he’s my godamn best friend and if he’s in trouble, I want to help, okay?”

She’s all bright eyed and kind of breathless, and just a little terrifying. Eddie’s got his hands up in front of himself, nervously pulling at the threads of his cuffs, eyes big and worried as they slide back and forth between Steve and Chrissy.

Steve sighs, “okay. Okay. We can explain, but I just...I need to make a call first.”

Part TwentyEight

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #ficlet #ao3 author #upside down creature eddie #Fish Guy Eddie #creature eddie munson #creature #robin buckly #chrissy cunningham #buckingham

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