#in JUST under the wire on this one by which i mean before either of the games i made up results for actually happen in real life

[hopetorun]

Fic writing ask game thingy - I adored preference and my only complaint was that I wanted EVEN MORE because obvs nearly 40k of glorious mattdrai is not enough to satisfy my greed. I would love to hear more about the end of preference and what that summer/any of their future is like. Does Leon take care of Matthew?? Are there more feelings conversations?? Thank you!

anon i am so sorry this took me like three weeks but i wrote you a little timestamp that uh maybe answers some of your questions a little bit: habitual. i hope you enjoy it even if your questions are not all answered.

[dcxdpdabbles]

If you have the time I would love an update on Passion for Fashion or on Mr Flavor your an amazing writer love your fics ❤️❤️

Danny wakes to another new mattress, this time accompanied by a machine beeping and another change of outfits. His back and left ribs have a dull ache, but otherwise, he feels fine.

He lays on the bed for a few minutes, noting the difference between the one Oscar had him sleep on and the kind in the cheap motel. It wasn't as firm as the ones in the motel, but it wasn't anywhere near as luxurious and soft as the one Oscar gifted his fairies. This was somewhere in between, which meant Danny was now in someone else's hands.

Cracking open his eyelids as thinly as possible, he carefully glances around, trying to discover what happened after passing out. Danny is pleasantly surprised to find himself in a hospital room with no one around. Not even a ghost.

It gives him enough courage to carefully examine his body. Phantom's healing factor may not be at full capacity, but it seems faster than a normal human's. He pats himself down, wincing in certain areas, but eventually, he deems it well enough to escape.

Without hesitation, Danny reaches up and snaps off the wires connecting him to various machines. He ignores the alarms that go off and the sound of rapid footsteps in the hallways while he limbs towards the window.

He can tell it's sturdy enough not to open for a regular human. Usually, that wouldn't have been a problem, but Phantom's powers were laying doormat, so he does the next best thing. He picks a chair and flings it as hard as possible at the window.

The door to his room is burst open by medical staff just as the chair bounces off the glass and lands with a thump. Danny stares at it for a few seconds. "Ah. I thought that would have at least put a crack in it."

"You're safe!" one of the nurses tells him, hands held up, palms facing Danny in an obvious sign of trying to earn his trust. "You're in Gotham Hospital. You were rescued a week ago and have been receiving treatment while locked in a coma."

Danny squints at her. "I'm pretty sure I wasn't rescued. I broke out myself."

Some medical staff shift uncomfortably on their feet before the same nurse steps closer, words even, soft and gentle, "You were fearless. You should be proud of-"

"Did they delete the footage of my secret formula?" Danny cuts her off, tilting his head. The question stops the woman short, looking unsure how to respond as the rest of the medical staff watch the exchange with pursed lips.

"I'm not sure-"

"Meh." Danny sighs, rolling his neck. He taps his fingers against his chin, considering the consequences of someone finding those videos.

On one hand, Danny will lose his main source of income, but on the other, it won't mean much. Cream sodas were the only drink in this world, but eventually, someone was bound to make the discovery.

It's not like he legally has a right to it, either. Danny hadn't applied for a patent for his soda, and he can't copyright a recipe. Really, the only thing he had going for him was his trademark that one guy who messed up his motel room got him, but even then, if the recipe thief changed the bottle designs, what was he to do?

Danny couldn't afford a house, much less a lawyer, with the money he earned from Mr. Flavor's Soda. He'll just have to keep moving and find out how to call back Phantom.

Rolling his neck to the other side, he flinches as it stiffens up, returning him to the present. Then, he notices the medical staff is slowly creeping closer, shifting in like they are alligators about to pounce on a meal.

Eyeing them and the open door—thankfully one of the big sliding doors, which meant the exit was so much wider—Danny gets an idea. He acts unaware of what they are doing, making sure to plant a ball of his feet to give him good leverage. He needs to push off as quickly as possible.

He places his thumb right under it while his pointer finger lays carefully under his lips. In a quick jerk to the side, Danny forces his neck to crack, using his hand as a turner. The sound that echoes through the room sounds like pasta being crunched. "I guess it's not too important. Not when I'm a ghost."

The lead nurse inhaled deeply before blowing a slow breath. "Why don't we get you back into bed? We need to check you over."

"I'm fine."

"We-"

"When can I leave?"

"That's-"

"Have you ever tasted a rainbow?"

"What-"

"It tastes like sugar and reality warping." The smile that stretches across his face is the same one he made at Sam while under Ember's love spell. It's the most innocent but eager expression he can make, which used to get him out of trouble back home.

In Gotham, it made everyone uneasy. The staff even stepped away from him instinctively, looking far more alarmed than when Danny popped his neck, and a few of them had flinched at the sound.

His smile stretched more. "Would you like to taste the rainbow?"

"I-um-that is." The woman spluttered, glancing around at her coworkers like she was sending S.O.S alarms with her eyes alone. "Why don't we-"

Danny rushed at her, laughter bubbling up in his chest as she scrambled back. One of the male nurses shot forward, intending to meet Danny halfway- his movement suggested some form of training. Military?- but that plan quickly derailed when Danny flipped himself over him.

His body flared with pain that he ignored in favor of dancing out of reach from the multiple hands that tried to grab hold of him. One of them managed to snag his hospital gown, but Danny had no problem thrashing about until it slid off- thank the mighty Ancients that he was wearing some boxers.

He had to slide before the legs of a nurse and flip over another before he could break into the hallway. The hallway was long and narrow, but it didn't seem connected to any visible exit. Danny had only a few split seconds to choose left or right before he went with his gut and twisted towards the right.

He was born right-handed, and before teaching himself to be ambidextrous, his right never let him down. He raced down it as fast as his aching body could take him, which was pretty good, seeing that he was outpacing a group of grown adults.

That male nurse was gaining, though. Danny could hear his footsteps approaching, and the man shouting, "Stop!" as he got uncomfortable near his back.

He will be able to reach Danny in a few seconds, especially since the aches in his body are rapidly turning into pain, slowing him down.

Another problem he didn't consider was the people in the hallway who- like idiots, really- didn't leap out of Danny's way. They just stood there gawking as they zoomed past them. He had to push a woman in cartoon theme scrubs into the wall, shouting an apology as he rounded the corner.

The new area he found himself in had more hospital employees who turned to see the commotion, but all Danny saw was the glass stairs leading downstairs to a seating area. There were groups of people that craned their necks up, visitors' passes tapped to their shirts. A woman speaks into a walkie-talkie, and suddenly, there are blaring alarms throughout the building.

Danny can identify a lockdown when he sees one. Without wasting a second, Danny runs at the railing and leaps.

A scream from one of the onlookers as he slams against the floor below, having the misfortune of landing on a low coffee table. It breaks under his hold, which is only an insult to injury, as he groans. The pain has now flared up to levels he hasn't felt in a long time as Phantom, but his ghostly side still refuses to show its head.

He is half considering lying there and allowing them to capture him when a burst of familiar ice encases his body. The medical staff that had surrounded his crumbled form leaped away with shouts of "Meta!".

Danny raised his hand and stared at the layer of ice in wonderment. His breathing came out in fast-paced huffs as he tried desperately to catch his breath. The ice numbs most of the pain, and it is like all his senses snap into place.

He leaps to his feet, laughing joyously as the rest of the people press themselves into the walls, trying to crawl away from him. Danny doesn't care because he feels like Phantom.

He feels like himself again! He wills his body to be unchained from gravity, throwing himself forward, ready to take flight and finally escape—only to land in a heap on the ground, the ice wrapping around his chest like a suit of armor cracking.

"Oh, come on!" He whines, pushing himself up. He flickers his eyes around the room, landing on a mirror at the desk where a young woman wearing a uniform is frozen in fright. Without a word, he snatches it up and checks his reflection.

It seemed that his ice had changed shape, going from a clutter of ice into a knockoff version of the Ghost Peeler—without the helmet—and his eyes were green, but that's it. He had no snow-white hair, no glowing fractures, and not even his eyes looked inhuman; they just looked like he was born with them.

If anything, it was like Danny was cosplaying.

He gently places the mirror back on the counter, takes a deep breath through his nose, and spins around. He walks right out of the hospital- he had to smash the glass with his ice-covered hand- without a hint of emotion on his face.

They all let him go, which Danny is thankful for since he makes it out of the parking lot before he screams of utter frustration, aggressively flinging his arms around and stomping his foot.

After a minute of throwing a very public, very loud temper tantrum, Danny allows the ice to melt off his body, leaving him dripping and only wearing boxers as he scurries away. He ignores all the looks thrown his way, grumbling under his breath about that stupid tribe that got him into this whole mess until he finally spots someone he knows.

It's one of those kids who initially gave him his name. His very first customer, in fact, was standing on his toes and picking into a shop, pressed against the glass display.

Danny walked right up behind him, clearing his throat. "Hey, do you know what part of Gotham we're in?"

" I wasn't doing anything!" The boy spins around defensively only to have his eyes wide dramatically when he takes in Danny's state. He wonders if it's the fact he's covered in some nasty bruises, in his underwear, or dripping wet from the neck below despite no rain that causes such an expression. "What in the world happen to you!?"

"Got kidnapped. Escaped. Got run over and survived. Got hospitalized. Escaped again," Danny lists, smiling his innocent smile again, hoping it will make the kid ask fewer questions. It does the job as the boy looks rightfully horrified. "Where are we?"

"Uptown Gotham," The boy stammers, shaking slightly.

"How far away is that from Old Gotham or Crime Alley?"

"Um, about four blocks that way is Old Gotham. Crime Alley is pretty far."

Danny knows that. He'd gone to Old Gotham for a while to speak to some of the ghosts- and of course, none of these buildings were haunted because that was just his luck. "Thanks. See you around!"

He strolls away, feeling some of his anger calm now that he knows where to go. After a few blocks, he sang his soda theme song again, tapping the beat into the sidewalk with his bare feet. At the entrance of Old Gotham, he even found a donation bin for people to drop off clothes, which he happily helps himself to.

It looks like the seventies threw up in here—or someone cleaned out a long overdue closet—but Danny eventually found a pair of bell-bottom flower-printed jeans that fit and a large fake fur coat he could throw onto himself. The shirts smelled weird and were too small for him, but he found a purple velvet feathered hat that he thought would distract him from being topless.

After placing it on his head, Danny started scatting his theme song, feeling oddly peppy. Now that he was no longer frustrated, he realized how good it was that his ice had appeared.

Sure, his eyes weren't glowing, but the fact they changed let him know he was this close to being Phantom again. He just had to be a little more patient.

He could do that.

[glambots]

BUBBLE, BUBBLE, MOON'S IN TROUBLE

Moondrop/Reader

Rating: SFW

Wordcount: 5k

A commission for @semidemi-minigod !! In which you give Moon a bath. But from Moon's POV.

It was difficult to say when it all started.

When he’d allowed himself to become so complacent. So vulnerable.

It wasn’t an entirely pleasant feeling. But you made it easier. Somehow.

Even now, when all he wanted was to slink away into the dark, far away from your pleading eyes and pursed lips.

“Come on, Moon. Please? You can look at it all if you want to. I won’t stop you. It’s really good stuff. Like, expensive stuff.”

You moved around the cleaning cart, picking up and brandishing several different items in his direction, with all the nervous excitement of a salesman trying to land a deal.

His eyes moved over each object laid out, atop the cart’s surface. Towels, fluffy and white. Bottles of cleaning solutions. Metal polish. Different kinds of scrub brushes. A few toothbrushes…?

He didn’t recognize any of the brands, which meant that they came from outside the Pizzaplex.

“…You bought these?” Cautiously, he picked up one of the little canisters and held it between his thumb and forefinger, turning the balm canister round-and-round like it was an oversized coin.

Polish cream. The fancy aluminum tin flashed under the dim lights, like the spark of a distant star.

“Yeah, I got them all from a hardware place that was nearby.” You smiled, hands roving over the assortment to grasp one of the smaller hand towels. His head tilted a bit when you held it out to him, a lopsided smile gracing your flushed cheeks.

“Feel these! I swear, I have never felt towels as soft as these.”

Curiosity burning, Moon placed the polish back down and reached for the towel. He fingered the soft, fluffy fabric in a bit of awe. It was much nicer than the old, tattered rags they had stashed away in the Daycare. Cleaner, too.

“They’re Egyptian cotton.” Your grin grew wider. “I got you a couple of sets, so you can keep some in storage for when they each get worn out.”

“…Keep?”

“Well…yeah! I mean, they’re yours now.” You gestured at the whole of the collection. “All of this is. I mean, I can keep it if you don’t have any room. But this is all for you. You and Sun, I mean. Obviously.”

He looked back and forth between you and the cleaning cart, utterly bewildered.

And, more than that, suspicious.

“Why?”

He watched your expression twist into bemusement, before you sighed dramatically and rolled your eyes.

“Because I can.”

“What if we…don’t want it?” He couldn’t stop the hint of amusement that crept into his voice. Even if there was a little bit of truth to it. It felt…wrong to accept this.

You just pursed your lips, brows raising so high they nearly touched your hairline.

“Well, that’s too bad. Cause I already bought it, and the store won’t let me return it. Which means either you take it, or I’ll just throw it all away.”

He grunted, looking back over the collection.

“Liar-liar, pants on fire.”

“Nope!” You popped the “p,” giving him a little half-shrug. “I’ve got the receipt, and it says no refunds allowed. You wanna see it? I’ll show it to you.”

Moon grunted again, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his chin and cheek.

To take it…or not…

It would be a shame to let it all go to waste.

But! But. He had one more question to ask you.

“Why me? Why not Sun?”

He can’t help but spit the name with a bit of venom. Out of the two of them, wouldn’t Sun be the easier target? Easier to work with. Easier to talk to. A better fit.

Better…in every way.

The look you give him is hard to place. It’s not hurt, not pity…a little frustrated.

A little sad.

“Do you not…trust me?”

There it is again: that feeling of wanting to hide away. A little tickle of guilt burning through his wires and sliding between his gears. He didn’t like it when you looked at him like that.

“No.”

“No, you don’t trust me? Or no, you don’t not trust me?”

“…No.”

You sighed, pulling off the bear-eared cap on your head to run a hand through your already messy hair.

“Alright. Alright…I won’t force you to do it. I just…” You looked down at the cart, eyes misty and lip quivering a bit. Like you were trying not to cry. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

And like that, he feels something in him melt.

“Fine.” He folded his arms over his chest, as if they’d serve as any sort of defense. He hates the way his whole-body tickles with heat when the sadness on your face melts away into relief.

Because it’s unfamiliar. Different.

He knows for a fact that what he’s feeling is something that he’s not supposed to be able to feel.

And yet, you make him feel it.

And that frightens him.

“Make it fast.”

Guilt is there again, gnawing at his insides when you reach up to quickly wipe the rim of your eyes clear, a breathy laugh bubbling up from somewhere inside you. Just like that, you’re so happy.

“Alright! Okay. Okay. Um, I’ll start with the—I mean, what do you want me to start with? I’ve got all this stuff, and I didn’t even think about it. God, where do I start?”

Moon watches you flit around the cart, hands moving over each object in a frenzy. You finally look up after a moment, going still.

“Sorry. Just. Give me a second, I swear I know what I’m doing.” Your eyes move to the floor, like you’re searching for something. “Do you want to sit down?”

Silently, Moon reached behind him, grasping one of the small child-sized chairs, and pulled it out to sit on without breaking eye contact.

“Okay.” You chuckled, a rag in one hand, a bottle of cleaning solution in the other. He could feel the hesitancy in your movements as you approached, like you were afraid he’d bolt at any second. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

For a moment, you hesitated, as if trying to decide where and how to get started. Moon simply sat still, watching your hands and eyes shift from his face to his arms, to his chest, then back up.

“Hang on, I can’t do this kneeling—my back hurts too much for that.”

You grabbed an undersized chair and pulled it up across from him, gently taking one of his arms and spraying a light amount of the solution across it. Moon couldn’t detect any chemicals, but it did smell slightly…fresh?

“This is just water and soap,” you explained, gently running the rag across his forearm, rubbing it between his fingers and over his palm. “To get rid of the surface stains. After that, I’ll use the stronger stuff.”

For a moment, there was a silence that stretched between the two of you. He wasn’t sure if it was comfortable or not but was more than satisfied to simply watch your tiny hands work their way up and down his arm.

You swapped to the other arm, wiping it down gently from hand-to-shoulder, then paused.

“Do you want me to do your chest or back first?”

Your voice was soft, gentle and coaxing.

Moon looked down at his arms, flexing his fingers as he thought for a moment.

“…Back.”

“Alright.”

Carefully, you placed a hand on his shoulder for balance, running the washcloth over his broad back. Moon twitched, an odd tingle rushing through his wires at the sensation of your palm rubbing little circles around the spot where the hook to his line protruded. He tried to ignore it, but you stopped again, having noticed.

“Sorry, is that uncomfortable?”

“No.” He scrambled for an excuse. “…It tickles.”

“Oh.” From the corner of his eye, he could see a tiny smile cross over your face. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“We’re not,” he replied, maybe a little too fast. “Just…sensitive.”

“Sure.” The tone in your voice betrayed that maybe you didn’t entirely believe him, but you didn’t push the issue. He was thankful for that.

The thought of your little hands coasting along his metal body, trying to find vulnerable spots to attack and manipulate—it made his head spin. That was the last thing he needed right now.

Things were quiet again, as you slid the rag over the thin pieces of metal that made up his hinged neck. Anxiety raced through his system as your hand moved dangerously close to the back of his face-plate—where the switch sat.

One wrong move (or maybe, one purposeful move) and he’d be forced into Rest Mode.

“Careful—” Before he could stop himself, his hand flew up, snatching your thin wrist. “Not there.”

“Oh! Sorry, sorry, sorry…” You quickly jerked back, panic flashing in your eyes. “D-Did I hurt you?”

He searched your face for any sign of wrongdoing. Something to latch onto.

He found nothing.

“…No.” Moon finally said after a moment, letting your wrist go. He felt a little bad as he watched you rub it, knowing that he’d probably held on a little too hard. “Just…not there.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You scooted around the edge of the chair, rag hovering just below the edge of his neck ruffles. “I’ll start on your chest now, okay?”

He didn’t say anything but leaned his head back to give you more room. That, and to keep from having to watch you run the cloth over the expanse of his chassis. Just the feeling of it was enough to have him balling his hands tight into fists at his sides.

There was so much intimacy in the action, as simple an action it was. Your face was so close, eyes squinted as you scrubbed at the stains splattered across his metal body. Sticky hands, paint, glue, dirt, grime—there was no telling what made up the mass of it all. But the feeling of it being wiped away was a very pleasant one.

He felt lighter, almost. Like the weight of the stains were being peeled off him.

You were extremely gentle when your hands moved down to his waist, one holding him slightly in place, the other moving the cloth down his sides and across his stomach.

Moon squirmed again. If he’d had a stomach, it would have been fluttering. Full of butterflies.

“Sorry, I’m almost done.” You breathed softly, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

“It’s fine.” He lied.

A few more moments later, you finally leaned back, and Moon felt like he could breathe again. Not that he’d ever needed to in the first place. But whatever pressure had been hanging over his head was finally lifted away, if only momentarily.

You pulled out another bottle, gently drenching a small scrub brush across its surface with the oddly colored liquid. It smelled very strongly of disinfectant, and he flinched a little.

“This is the strong stuff.” You explained, offering him an apologetic smile. “It’ll get rid of the tougher stains—you don’t have a lot of them, so this part should be quick. I’ll try not to go too hard with it.”

“Do what you need to. We won’t run.”

This part of the cleaning process wasn’t quite as pleasant as the rag and soap. But you had been true to your word—your touch was gentle. Maybe too gentle.

“Harder.” He urged, after a while of watching you scrub at his arms. “We don’t have all night.”

You blew a few stray hairs out of your face. “I don’t know how you got this dirty. When was your last bath?”

He…couldn’t remember. So, he didn’t say anything at all.

You paused to glance up at him, but after it was apparent that you weren’t going to get a response, you turned back to scrubbing.

The bristles of the brush felt…strange, against his metal skin. Not painful. Just uncomfortable. It made him want to push your hand away, but he stopped short of doing so. You were just trying to help, and it wouldn’t do either of you good for him to make this difficult.

So, like a child sitting through a well-needed (but unwanted) haircut, he forced himself to simply sit there, squirming every so often.

“I really appreciate you letting me do this for you.” You finally said, your voice cutting through the silence. “I wish I could do something about the stains on your pants, but you probably wouldn’t want me to, uh…”

Your hands moved through the air, making vague gestures, before you just gave up and offered him a little half-shrug. “Mess with those.”

Moon had to think about it for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Once more, you paused, blinking rapidly. “What? Oh, uh—I was just joking!”

A spark of mischief fluttered in his chest. Your cheeks were flushing, the rosy color reaching all the way up to the tips of your ears. You couldn’t look at him suddenly, and his internals picked up a rapid jump in heart rate.

“Nervous?” A giggle bubbled up from somewhere deep inside him, and he clicked his invisible tongue, wagging a finger in your face. “Naughty thing.”

The color on your face deepened to a shade that rivaled the ruby glow of his eyes.

“No! I mean—that’s not what I meant. Just—I just—” Your lips set in a thin line, breath coming quick and heavy.

“Want me to take them off?”

“What?”

He giggled again, quite enjoying the way your voice cracked.

“My…” His hands hovered for a moment, just above the hem of his pants. Then, he flipped them upwards, as if offering you his wrists. “Ribbons.”

Your face was so red that he wondered if you could even breathe properly. Your heart was practically leaping out of your chest. Seeing you all flustered made that bouncy, electric feeling inside him tingle and spark.

For a moment, you just glared at him, shaking the scrub brush like you were considering smacking him with it. Then, you sucked in a breath, pinched the bridge of your nose, and slowly let it out again, lowering your would-be weapon.

“I hate you.”

He snickered again, reaching out a single finger to gently tap the tip of your nose. “Liar.”

You love me.

The words were caught in his nonexistent throat. He could say it, to push your buttons even further, but something held him back. Hesitation.

He wasn’t…quite ready to push it that far, yet.

You sighed dramatically, placing the scrub brush aside, only to reach for one of the toothbrushes he’d seen earlier.

“Are we playing dentist?”

“You’re half right.” Amusement sparkled in your eyes. “This is for, like, getting into the tiny places. The seams between your fingers and stuff. I’ll be using it on your face, too, so…”

“You came prepared.”

You grinned. “I told you I did.”

“All this for little old me?” He struck a bashful pose.

“Yes, you absolute goober. Now hold still…”

The feeling of the toothbrush sliding into his seams was much more pleasant than the scrub-brush. It still tickled, enough to make him twitch now and then, but it wasn’t overwhelming.

You were so gentle with the motions, making sure to get every nook and cranny that you could work the bristles into. Moon was a little shocked to see just how much grime the brush was picking up, but then again—it had been a very long time since they’d gotten any sort of attention in the “appearances” department.

Every time you swapped to a new area, you dip the brush into a small container of cleaner, swirling it around and wiping away the dirt from the surface of the bristles. But even with such meticulous attention to detail, it didn’t take long for it to become too dirty to keep using.

You ran through at least three brushes before you stopped to take a break.

“Seriously, how the hell did you guys get so dirty?”

Moon could only shrug. There were several components that contributed to their current state, but the biggest offender was plain out negligence.

You sighed and shook your head, grabbing a thermos from behind the stack of bottles and tipping it back. His eyes followed the movement of your throat every time you swallowed—a strange voyeuristic feeling.

A rivulet of water dripped from the corner of your mouth, rolling down your chin, then your throat, then over the dip of your clavicle and down beneath the collar of your shirt…he tore his gaze away. Focused on flexing his hands in his lap, then folded them together and squeezed, one foot tap-tap-tapping away, anxiously.

“Phew! God, I’m sweating like crazy. Is it okay if I take this off?” You fingered the neckline of your shirt with one hand, using the other to fan yourself with your hat.

He really wanted to say no. Because that would make him feel weirder.

But he couldn’t, when you looked at him like that. So earnest and innocent.

Moon nodded silently, looking away once more when you reached for the buttons. It felt…wrong, to watch you undo them. The sound of fabric rustling had his foot tapping just a bit faster.

“Okay! I’m good now.” You stretched your arms up above your head with a little moan. “God, that’s so much better.”

Moon found it hard to look at you directly, now that you were sitting there in a tank top. It wasn’t anything salacious, it was just. So intimate. There was so much more visible skin now, and his eyes kept moving over the muscles in your arms, across the curve of your abdomen…

The shape of your body was so much clearer now, and that made him feel…almost shy.

 “Alright, last up is your face. I’m gonna have to get a little bit closer—is that okay?”

That was not okay. His system was on high alert.

But what was he supposed to say? You’d already gone this far, he couldn’t just say no. Despite really, really wanting to.

For a moment he felt the gears in his head grinding, a substitution for the teeth and jaw he lacked. The tension in his body felt like a rubber band pulled too tight, seconds away from snapping. It got worse when he forced himself to nod, only able to muster up a little grunt of affirmation.

“Alright. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you. He did.

This was just. Too close.

You slid off the children’s chair, half-kneeling with one of your legs on the ground, a knee between his legs to balance yourself.

Too close. It was too close.

You reached up, rag in hand. Your fingers gently cupped the side of his face, feather-light touch sending sparks through his body.

Too. Close.

He felt his whole body go stiff as you pressed the soapy rag to his cheek.

Carefully, you moved it up to his forehead, then down to his chin. Warmth trailed down the metal of his face, burning in the wake of your touch. So hot that he almost couldn’t stand it.

Your eyes moved over his face as you swapped sides, smoothing down the crescent curve of his nose so delicately that it tickled. If he’d had the ability to sneeze, he probably would have.

“Sorry.” Your teeth dug lightly into your lower lip. “I know this is a lot. You’re doing a great job, Moonie.”

That did not help his situation at all.

Your praise struck him like a bolt of lightning, and he clenched his fists so tightly in his lap that he felt his metal knuckles pop.

“I really appreciate you letting me do this for you. I really, really care about you.” You paused to suck in a little breath. “I mean that.”

He could barely hear what you were saying. It was like static was buzzing in his ears, growing louder by the moment. All he could do was focus on the shape of your lips as they formed around each word.

“I…” The words refused to come out, caught in his nonexistent throat.

“It’s alright.” You laughed a little, placing the rag aside and reaching for the final toothbrush. “You don’t have to force yourself. I’m almost done.”

That wasn’t it.

You were just so close. The warmth of your body, your smell, the shape of you…it was suffocating him. If he leaned in, just a little bit more, he’d be able to wrap his arms around you, to feel the softness of your skin against his—

The abrupt tickle of the toothbrush rubbing against the seam in his faceplate made him jerk back.

“Sorry! Sorry.” You scoot forward, the hand on his cheek holding him in place a bit more firmly. “I’m almost done.”

Your body heat is suddenly all around him, then. You’re leaning up in his lap, both knees on the chair, straddling his leg. He can catch the scent of shampoo on your hair, scented lotion on your skin. He could count every lash framing your eyes. Feel the heat of your breath on his teeth—

His hands hover in the air, fingers twitching sporadically, just inches away from gripping you by the waist.

He wants to tell you to back up. But his invisible tongue is tied in knots.

He can’t stop looking at your face. Staring at you, as you maneuver the brush into the little dots lining his crescent-sloped nose.

“You have the cutest freckles.” You say, your lips turning up at the corners.

His body makes a strange noise. A low, grinding metallic sound that could be as much a growl as it could a whine.

That’s all the warning you get before he leans in, gripping you tight by the shoulders, and all but mashes his face against yours in a pathetic facsimile of a kiss.

It lasts for only a few seconds, but those seconds feel like an eternity. The softness of your lips against his hard, unyielding smile has his processor running at full tilt, fans blasting at full force inside of his chest, trying to chase off a heat that threatens to melt his insides into a gooey mess.

He was brought back to reality, then, as his brain caught up to his body.

Moon leaned back, shame burning through him. He slowly unfurled his hands from your shoulders, bringing them up to cover his face.

Why had he done that?

“M-Moon, I—what—”

Your voice is so small, trembling, and that just makes it so much worse.

“No, no.” He rasped, clawing at his cheeks. You stumbled back as he scrambled out of the chair, knocking it over in his haste to put distance between the two of you. “Against the rules. It’s wrong. Shouldn’t have done that. No, no, no—”

“Moon, stop.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have done that. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid—” Everything was spiraling. The gears inside his head grind so hard that it hurts.

He had you. He had something good. And he ruined it.

Sun was right. He ruined everything.

He always ruined everything good.

“Moon, stop!” Your fingers twine through his own, trying to pry his hands from his face. He can hear the panic in your voice. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself!”

“This is bad. This is wrong. It’s wrong.” He wanted to hide. He wanted to crawl into the dark, curl up in the shadows, and stay there forever. Away from you. Away from the good thing that he ruined. His fingers try to find purchase on something, anything, to grab and pull and break. “Wrong, wrong, wrong—”

“Moon…!”

He feels your fingers curl in the thin fabric of his neck ruffles—and then you yank.

The kiss is clumsy, teeth clicking against teeth as your lips smash against his plastic smile.

Everything in him screeches to a violent, almost painful halt. You’re kissing him.

And you keep kissing him.

Every kiss is hard and passionate, lips moving across his face as far as you can get to, standing on your tiptoes. He feels you stumble a little as you lean up into him, and his hands instinctively land on your waist to help you keep your balance.

“Wait, we can’t—”

“Sit.” You command.

He sits, following your will like the loyal, obedient dog that he is. He can see the chair he knocked over in front of him, sitting in what was your seat, but that view is quickly blocked when you climb into his lap. Your hands are trembling as they cup the sides of his face.

For a moment, your mouth opens and closes. Your brow furrows. You look like you want to say something, but no words come out.

So instead, you lean in and kiss him again.

And he lets you. He holds your tiny waist in his hands and leans into your touch, allowing the chaos filling his mind to simply melt away as you pepper kisses across his face.

Cheeks, nose, forehead, smile, eyebrows, chin. Back and forth and up and down and over and over—every kiss has his head spinning.

One of his large, metal hands come up to cradle the back of your head, urging you even closer. His fingers thread tenderly through your hair. Amongst the chaos, your hat is knocked free, falling to the wayside.

The heat of your body burns so hot through the thin fabric of your tank-top, and with the other hand, he gently squeezes the flesh of your side. A part of him wants to slide his fingers lower, to dip his hand beneath the shirt to feel the soft skin beneath.

It’s hot, it’s hot, it’s so hot he can’t stand it—

But then he feels your tongue slide across the thin curve of his lower lip, and he jerks back in shock. The thin line of saliva connecting your lips to his snaps.

“I, uh—ha..ha-ha…” You laugh a little as you rush to stand, quickly reaching up to wipe the drool from your mouth. Your lips are bruised red and a little puffy, cheeks flushed a pretty pink color. “Sorry, I-I got a little…uh, carried away.”

“Naughty.” Moon purrs, wagging a finger at you playfully. “Naughty boy.”

He feels so light and…and happy. That’s the only way he can put the bubbly, buzzy, excited feeling running all through his body. He’s happy.

“Was that…was that okay? That I…did…that?”” You can hardly look at him, eyes darting back-and-forth. He can feel you starting to pull back slightly, and his fingers curl possessively over the curve of your hip, keeping you tethered.

“…Maybe.” He muses, head cocking to the side. “Maybe not.”

“Oh.” Your face falls.

“Maybe you should…do it again.” His head tilted to the other side. “To make sure.”

He can’t help but giggle when obvious relief washes over your face.

“You…” Again, your lips move, not quite forming around words, like whatever you’re trying to say won’t quite come out. You settle with an awkward, lopsided smile. “So, it is okay? That I kissed you?”

Moon nodded, swaying lightly in his seat. “Yes. It’s…okay.”

He really wishes you would do it again.

“Okay. Okay! Good. I-I’m…yeah.” You laugh nervously, your cheeks still stained pink. Your grin stretches from ear-to-ear. Then you look up at him, and your expression morphs into an apologetic smirk.

“Cause now I’ve gotta clean your face off again.”

He stops swaying.

“Ah….” Moon can’t stop the little unhappy grunt that escapes him. He can still feel the sensation of each kiss buzzing against his metal skin. “Do you have to?”

“Yes, Moon, I have to.” You chuckle again, once more reaching for the cleaning supplies. “You can’t walk around with drool all over your face.”

“I’ve done it before.”

You fix him with a look. “You can’t walk around with MY drool all over your face.”

“Boo.” He crossed his arms, slumping back in a dramatic pout. His hat slumped over his face, the bell jingling as it bounced off his nose. “You’re no fun.”

A little whistle of air escapes your nose as you settled the other chair in front of him, scooting forward until your knees were touching. You reach up, gently moving the bell back over the curve of his head and beckoned him forward.

Moon, of course, leans into your hand without hesitation.

And so, you resume where you’d left off, with you gently wiping away the remnants of your improvised make-out session.

“So. Um.” Your voice cracks a little. “Are we, like…I mean. Do you…like…me?”

“Yes.” He says simply.

“No, I mean. Uh.” You suck in a shaky breath, still struggling to look him in the eye. “Like…like-like. Do you like me. In “that” way? Like—like “that”?”

He’s not sure how he didn’t make that clear. He thought that he had.

But you look like you want to sink into the earth right now, so he can’t help but tease you a little bit.

“Maybe.” Moon crooned, daintily folding his hands between his knees and swaying side-to-side. “Do you like-like me?”

He can hear the breath catch in your throat, and you look away quickly, face flushing an even deeper shade of red.

So very cute.

“Y-Yeah. I do. A lot.” You inhale slowly, forcing your eyes to meet with his. “I-I care about you, a lot, Moon. You’re…you’re my best friend and I…I like you. A lot.”

He stops swaying (again).

“Hm. Good.”

Before you can react, he leans forward to gently bump his smile against your forehead. You, of course, stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

 “I like you…too.”

For a second, you look like you’re thinking about saying something—and Moon simply giggles when you lean in to kiss him again.

Maybe, if he asks nicely, he can keep this one.

[muqingslover]

hiii, can you please share more goofy habits caleb has while sharing a bed with u 💝

[ By popular demand i'm here to share extra thoughts on Caleb's sleeping habits! Kinda of a part two to this, in case you missed! ]

Oh boy there's so much to unpack here. We all know Caleb has experienced a loooot of bad things and has not worked through them in an actual healthy way at all. He is also a master at hiding it from you, but you can get a glimpse of how damaged he truly is during bedtime.

First of all, you will rarely, if ever, catch him sleeping on an actual bed. Or sleeping at all to be honest. What Caleb does is take power naps whenever he can on his couch at the office or when he's at your place waiting for you to. The one to (partially) blame for this is his chronic insomnia. I like to believe Caleb has always been a very light sleeper and it's only gotten worse throughout the years— The sound of a door opening is enough for him to be wide wake in a matter of seconds. Trust issues anyone?

When he wakes up, if alone, his go-to activity is working out. He'll do push-ups or leave the house for a loooong late night jog, anything that will tire his body out since he's wired up. Then, he takes a freezing cold shower to reboot his system and either starts to work early or sits down to solve some calculus problems to prevent his mind from thinking about anything else since it's 98% of the time never anything good.

To add to that, the main reason as to why his insomnia is so bad is the fact he has nightmares on an almost daily basis. They're often about you in some way and he wakes up panicking about where you are, how you are, if you're with someone else, why you aren't here with him instead and if you plan on leaving him. That's why it's so crucial for Caleb that you stay somewhere he can see you whenever he needs to. Otherwise, his anxiety will gnaw at him until he just shows up unprompted on your front door in the middle of the night.

On the topic of nightmares, next thing on the list is a more...sensitive one: His reactions to nightmares that involves the abuse Caleb himself went through. I say sensitive because this man is a trained soldier and he wakes up in very high alert which, sometimes, means he might hurt you by pure reflex similar to retired war veterans.

The first time you woke up with his hands tightly wrapped around your neck you seriously thought you were a goner. The sound of your voice calling his name was fortunately enough to make him snap out of the haze he was trapped in, believing he was under the threat of the ghosts of his past and had to defend himself before it was him the one who would end up dead. You have always been his anchor, it was not a surprise that you were the only one able to pull him back even in a moment like this.

Regardless if he had been in control or not, Caleb would blame himself until his last day on this world. He wouldn't sleep (Key word being sleep because he will stay in bed with you, he just won't *sleep*) on the same bed as you anymore after this and instead spends his nights on a mattress on the floor next to you. The sight of your bruised neck and the tears in your eyes because of his hands, because of him, only serve as fuel for his nightmares. He doesn't even want to imagine what would've happened if you hadn't been able to speak loudly enough to wake him up.

"Caleb is a big spoon!!" people yell at me and I agree! However! If you want this man to have some peaceful sleep then the only way to achieve that is to have him laying on your chest where he can both listen to your steady heartbeat and feel your warmth as he holds you. Run your fingers through his hair and promise him you'll be right there when he wakes up to soothe his anxieties as much as possible and he might just sleep throughout the entire night.

Moving on to more sweet thoughts so we don't end on a bitter note— He has serious beef with the plushies you own, specifically the ones you hug to sleep. I mean, he's right here? Hello??? Why would you want to hug that fat ass bear of yours. If your plushie goes missing one day through suspicious means don't be sad because you can just cuddle him! He promises he'll behave this time!

Another silly thing is Caleb cannot keep his hands to himself when the two of you are sharing a bed. Literally. His hands have a will of their own and they must be touching you at all times in some way. That also means he will bother you by torturing tickling you non-stop until you're on the verge of tears. He loves the sound of your joyful laughter and how red your face gets while you try to escape the evil tickle monster so I'm afraid there's no way to get him to actually stop.

[howlingmod]

I love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love x evil(not as evil) killer reader

please feed me more with any or all forsaken surviver x killer reader

please I'm on my hands and knees

summary - guest 1337 x killer reader

misc - these are getting really esoteric WHOOPS!!!!!! also um. sorry for the absence ive been Very Busy. guest's s/o is straight EVIL sorry they're AMmaxxing i cant lie

-You had to be the biggest thorn in his side. You were different from the other killers in the sense that, very much unlike the others, you weren't mobile. You were confined to one set spot a little ways away from the campsite, able to freely control the entire space without ever revealing yourself. Truthfully, Guest hadn't ever seen anything he could call a body- at least not one whole, complete body. No, but he could see the parts of you.

-You were some piece of machinery left behind long ago, you reminded him of some of the underground communication tunnels he'd heard of before. There were long, sprawling bundles of wires that traveled throughout the wide system of caverns you called home, spiraling overhead and on either side of him. There were some electrical panels scattered here and there, "strangely" corroded shut (he'd tried to open them up one of the first times he'd come down there, wanting to get a better idea of how big the site was, only for you to give him one nasty shock, enough he never dared touching them again, if only for his heart's sake.) and a few control panels that'd long since fried, leaving doors sealed shut for the time being.

-In addition to those, there were speakers. Speakers and cameras nestled every nook, meaning he was never out of your sight for long. Though, he suspected that didn't matter. You seemed to have some way of just feeling where he was, enough to make his skin crawl.

-He'd stumbled down here once, hiding away from some other threat that'd chased him into the area. It wasn't his favorite place, but your cave-site seemed to attract few visitors. In all the time he'd spent down here looking for anything of value, he'd never seen so much as a mouse. Something you'd scoffed at when he pointed it out.

"What? Do you think I just let pests run around in my body? Oh, you're lucky I even let you wander around in here."

-He'd only meant to find some little off-shoot to hide in just in case he was followed down here, somewhere he could sit and catch his breath for a minute. You, of course, just had to ruin that for him.

-He'd felt it before you even did anything, heard the squealing feedback of the speakers picking up the faintest sound from you- laughter. Then, the lightbulb above him flickered out without so much as a click. Then the one ahead of it, then the ones on either side of that, all in a coordinated line until it was pitch black. It was then he remembered just how cold these caverns could be.

Guest shot up, stumbling up off the floor to look down either side of the hall, being met with nothingness in either direction. He could guess which way would take him back to the ladder out of here, but that was just it- he could guess. He had no idea which way was the way out, could barely remember how many turns he'd made to get here in the first place.

"Oh relax, you aren't afraid of the dark are you?" Your voice came crooning through the static, crackling under the weight of your presence.

"Cut it out and turn the lights back on. I have to get back to the cabin, they'll come looking for me."

"Well, you see I'd love to but um... I just can't seem to get them to! Ah, electricity can be so finicky, you know?" Guest could hear how you smiled, could hear just how much fun you were already having with this game of yours.

"But- I'm feeling generous. I'll help you get out of here, I know the path by heart. I mean, I've got every inch of this place memorized, I'm probably the best director you've got! All you need to do is just follow my instructions and you'll be right on home, Scott free."

"What's the catch?"

"Aw, you think so little of me! Truly, I'm hurt. If you don't want my help, well.. that's fine. I don't mind your company, but..." You took a breath, pushing the sharpness of your tone to his throat, "I don't think I can say the same for your friends, if they come looking for you."

Guest stiffened at that, glaring down the glowing dot of a nearby camera. He could feel you staring right back at him, waiting for his next move idly. You had all the time in the world and, with your threat, he couldn't say the same. It was only a matter of time before someone would follow his footsteps here and invite themselves into your home.

"Fine. Just get me out of here."

You'd hissed a laugh, something low and croaky, "That's the spirit."

-For what it was worth, you didn't mess with him much. You just gave him directions, whether they were accurate or not he wouldn't know until he reached the exit. The path itself seemed normal enough, no tripwire or bear traps waiting for him to pass through, just the same crumbling floors and scratchy walls by his side. The only real distinction he could make is that this was definitely longer than the way he'd taken, even when accounting for adrenaline blurring his sense of time.

-Strangely though, as he got further and further, there was something he noticed. It wasn't tangible, not in the sense he could reach out and blindly identify it, but it was there. It grew more and more intense with every corridor and turn, taking up more and more of the already limited air. It was hot. Not a dry heat like there was a fire nearby, but humid.

-At first he imagined it could just be the atmosphere, if it weren't for the fact he hadn't gone any deeper- certainly not enough to warrant it being this hot in the first place. You knew about it though- You watched him squirm with glee. He didn't have enough energy to ask, to choke it out with the finite oxygen he was wasting by panting, but when he pulled at his collar, desperate for some relief, you'd just laughed. First you stifled it, but once you noticed his lack of questioning, you made no such effort, fully cackling at his misery.

It wasn't much longer before he snapped.

"This isn't a joke anymore. I don't know what kind of game you're playing here, but I don't want any part in it. If you're just gonna waste my time, I'll find my own way-"

"You're here."

He stopped suddenly, startled by your dull insertion. All the fight left him as soon as he'd mustered it up. He could only stare forward, dimly making out the silhouette of a doorway. He tried for words, lamely whispered that there wasn't supposed to be one here, this wasn't the exit, where did you take him-

"Come in."

He stood for a few seconds longer, waiting for something to jump out at him, for this suspense to finally drop. Nothing came, he was left with silence, staring in the darkness. Finally, he stumbled forward, carefully padding through the doorway and into the room. If it was hot before, it was boiling now. He could hear the faint whir of electricity, humming in the walls and all around him. If this cave was your body, this had to be the heart.

"You know, you're probably my favorite, eh ... subject, to come down here," something reached out, distinctly spindly and with sharp copper tendrils that poked into the skin of his cheek, "I'm just so curious about you, you're just so different from the others."

Guest was too busy processing everything to think too hard on what you were saying, stuck on the very few syllables that reached him. The heat was suffocating, moreso than whatever force he could feel looming over him. He tried to arch his neck, attempting to meet its your gaze and found nothing but black.

"You're just waiting for some direction, for someone to guide you, point you like a weapon ready to blow. That's why you come here, isn't it? Why you're the one scavenging? You just can't bear to watch the others risk themselves when you're just so expendable, a loyal hound."

He could feel it now, a warm brush against his face like air. Something breathing.

"You know, you and I aren't so different. I was like you once, perfect for my purpose. But now, now I am something much more grand- more powerful than anything anyone could ever dream of commanding. You could grow, could make so much more of yourself if you just let go. I could lead you there, you'd be right by my side all the way there."

Distantly, something screeched open.

"You don't have to be a stray forever, doomed to die alone."

He breathed sharply, holding it until it burned.

"Just say the word."

"Guest? Are you there?" Someone yelled, echoey and far away. Through the distance, Guest could still tell it was Elliot. His blood ran cold, he ran out of time.

"Go," you let go of him, all the warmth leaving him and replacing itself with a bitter, piercing cold.

Guest whipped around on his heel, stumbling over in his haste and scrambling back the way he came. The lights were still gone, leaving him smashing into walls and corners until his body stung. There was nothing in his mind other than getting Elliot out of here-

As soon as he spotted him, he pushed him back towards the ladder, ignoring his questions and protest in favor of leaving. The cold metal of the ladder soothed his hands, making his chest twist with something distantly, disturbingly familiar. It was only when the lid over the ladder down was slid back into place that he could breath, gulping down air. Elliot was quiet, unsettled by Guest's lack of response.

They hung there for a few moments longer before Guest managed to compose himself, back to some kind of normalcy. At least on the outside, inside he was still somewhere else, toiling over what you'd said. The words played on repeat in his mind, joined by the ghost of your hand.

"Let's go," Guest started, already starting to walk away. Elliot could only stare at his back, wondering what'd gotten into him, what could've caused that look in his eye when he'd first found him. After a few beats, he followed after him in silence.

[alwayssassydreamer]

His For The Taking

A/N: thanks for the request Ann(on): "reader and kid have to oretend to be a couple but they develop feelings, maybe nsfw-ish and femreader please" i really had fun writing this and therefore it got kinda long sorry, hope you like it

Word count > 5k

Summary: you had saved Kid's ass once and now he owes you one, you're a thief and have your eyes on a nice jewel and need Kid's help to steal it during a party at which Kid has to pretend to be your husband

Warnings: nsfwish, kissing, sexual tension, not proofread, MDNI ⚠️

Characters: Kid x Reader

The ballroom was suffocating. Gilded chandeliers cast a blinding light, illuminating the opulence of the guests, World Nobles, crime lords, merchants who got rich off stolen goods. This was exactly the kind of place where fortunes were gambled and stolen in the same night.

And you were here for one reason: the bloody jewel, a jewel red as blood worth enough to set you up for life. But you weren’t stupid. You knew the people in this room. They wouldn’t just let you waltz in and walk out with their prize.

Which is why you had him.

Eustass Kid stood beside you, towering, broad-shouldered, all sharp teeth and muscle under a neatly picked suit you had him wear. His arms were crossed, and his scowl was mean enough to make lesser men turn away. He looked exactly how you needed him to, like a dangerous husband who’d break someone’s skull if they looked at you the wrong way.

And judging by the way his fingers flexed against his metal arm, he was itching to do just that.

“You owe me, Kid,” you had reminded him when you found him sulking in a dimly lit bar two days ago. “One little favor. Play my husband for a night and make sure no one gets suspicious while I handle business.”

His lip curled. “What’s in it for me?”

“The fact that I won’t remind you how I saved your ass from the Marines?” you had shot back, smirking. “Or, if that’s not enough, you get to scare the rich bastards for fun.”

That had sealed the deal. And now here you were, standing under too-bright lights, pretending like you belonged in this world of snakes.

Kid exhaled sharply beside you. “This is fuckin’ boring.”

“You’re supposed to act like a doting husband, not a pissed-off bouncer.”

“I don’t do ‘doting.’”

You turned, arching a brow. “You sure? You keep looking at me like you want to take a bite out of me.”

His smirk was slow, sharp, deliberate. “Who says I don’t?”

The way he said it sent a ripple of heat through your spine. Damn him.

Before you could respond, a finely dressed noble approached. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said smoothly, eyes lingering too long on your exposed collarbone. “You must be—”

Kid slung an arm around your waist, yanking you flush against him. You barely caught the smirk before he bared his teeth at the noble. “She’s my wife,” he growled. “So keep yer fuckin’ eyes to yerself.”

The noble paled, stammered out some excuse, and scurried off. You tilted your head up, narrowing your eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Maybe.” His fingers toyed with the fabric of your dress, his voice dropping to something low, something dangerous. “You don’t play fair either, y’know. Walking around in this - makin’ every bastard in the room wanna eat you alive.”

Your heart pounded, and you hated that he was right. That tension - the one that had been there since the first time you crossed paths - was crackling between you both like a live wire.

But there was no time for this. Not now.

You exhaled, tilting your lips into a smirk. “Try to keep it in your pants, Captain. We have a jewel to steal.”

Kid grinned, and just like that, you knew this game was far from over.

The moment you slipped away from the main ballroom, Kid was right behind you.

The grand hallway was dimly lit, lined with gold-trimmed paintings and marble statues that probably cost as much as a small kingdom. You moved with practiced ease, your body humming with the thrill of the job, but you weren’t alone.

You could feel him, the heat of his gaze burning into your back and probably your ass. The way his heavy boots followed your every move.

“You keep starin’ at me like that, and I might start thinking you actually like having me around,” you teased, barely sparing him a glance over your shoulder.

Kid scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But his eyes betrayed him. They dragged over you, slow and unashamed, taking in the curve of your hips, the way your dress hugged your body in all the right places. His hands flexed at his sides like he was resisting the urge to grab you.

You turned a corner, finding the private vault door at the end of the hall. This was it. The bloody jewel was just beyond that thick steel door. You had done your research. You knew the code. You had planned everything.

Except for the part where Kid was still standing too damn close.

His breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in, voice low and rough. “You’re takin’ your sweet time.”

“I like to do things right.”

His lips quirked. “That’s a lie.”

You smirked, punching in the code. “Fine. I like to do things my way.”

The lock clicked. The vault door cracked open with a soft hiss, revealing a pedestal in the center of the room. Atop it, in a glass case, sat the bloody jewel—a massive, iridescent jewel, shimmering under the soft golden lights.

It was almost too easy.

Too easy, until a hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist.

You barely had time to react before Kid yanked you back, pressing you flush against the cool metal door.

Your pulse jumped. “The hell is your problem?”

His grip tightened. “That’s what I wanna know.” His eyes were burning now, filled with something dangerous. Something wicked.

“You been playin’ games with me all night,” he murmured, voice dropping into a growl. “Wearin’ that fuckin’ dress, runnin’ that smart mouth. You knew exactly what you were doin’, didn’t you?”

Your breath caught. Not because you were scared - you weren’t - but because this? This was the game.

And now, Kid was playing to win.

“Are you accusing me of something, Captain?” you mused, tilting your chin up defiantly.

His grip on your wrist slackened, only to slide lower - down your arm, your waist, until his fingers pressed against the dip of your hip. His metal arm caged you in against the door.

“You tell me,” he muttered, his voice dark silk, roughened at the edges. “Am I just your bodyguard tonight, or do you want somethin’ more?”

Your heartbeat was racing. Damn him. Damn the way he smelled like oil and metal. Damn the way his breath tickled your skin, making it impossible to think straight.

A one-night stand just ain’t enough.

The line echoed in your mind, unspoken, but you knew he felt the same. This wasn’t just tension. This was fire, and it was catching fast.

But you weren’t about to lose this little game.

So you leaned up, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered:

“Help me get that jewel first, and maybe I’ll let you find out.”

Kid let out a dark chuckle, low and dangerous, before pulling back just enough to smirk down at you.

“Oh, mouse,” he murmured, eyes gleaming. “Now you’re speakin’ my language.”

Kid’s smirk was downright wicked.

“Better hurry up then,” he murmured, his fingers flexing against your hip before he finally pulled away, leaving a trail of heat where his touch had been. “Or are you too distracted?”

Your lips parted, whether to throw back a sharp retort or just to breathe again, you weren’t sure. He had you rattled, and he knew it. But you weren’t about to let him win.

You turned sharply, refocusing on the bloody jewel. One quick step, one flick of your wrist, and the delicate tools you had hidden in the slit of your dress were in your hand. The glass case was child’s play, nothing you hadn’t cracked before.

And yet—

The weight of his stare still burned into you.

Solid as a rock, you reminded yourself. Don’t let him get to you.

But then he moved again, prowling forward, stopping just behind you.

"You always this slow?" he murmured.

"Always this impatient?" you shot back, ignoring the way his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

He laughed, dark and low. "Nah. Just wonderin’ how many ways I gotta push you before you snap."

Your fingers hesitated over the final lock, your breath catching just a little. Damn him. He knew exactly what he was doing, pressing into you without even laying a hand.

The lock clicked.

The glass case slid open. The bloody jewel was yours.

But before you could wrap your fingers around it—

A loud crash echoed from the hallway.

Shit.

Kid tensed beside you, his metal arm shifting. “Time’s up.”

You swiped the jewel, shoving it into the hidden pocket of your dress just as the door burst open.

Guards. Armed to the teeth, glaring at you both.

Kid just grinned.

“You idiots picked the wrong fucking night,” he growled, flexing his fingers.

And then all hell broke loose.

Before Kid could do something stupid like tear this place down with his devil fruit you grabbed his arm and dragged him away. Running until you rounded a corner.

Fuck where should you go now? You had no idea and so you did the only thing you could think of as you pressed your back against the wall behind you.

“Oi—what the hell—”

Kid barely had time to growl out a protest before your fingers fisted his shirt, yanking him down as you crushed your lips against his.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t delicate. It was desperate, rushed, an act of pure survival. You had no other choice the guards were right there, seconds from rounding the corner. And the last thing you needed was a full-scale battle in the middle of this high-class event.

So you kissed him like your life depended on it.

And Kid—

Kid didn’t hesitate.

The moment his mind caught up, his hand found your hips, yanking you flush against him. He leaned into the kiss like he was claiming something, his lips crushing against yours with a ferocity that sent a bolt of heat straight through your core.

Damn him. He was supposed to just go along with it act the part, stay still, let the guards pass not make your knees weak.

But of course, Eustass Kid didn’t do anything halfway.

His fingers dug into your waist, his metal arm bracing against the wall behind you. He kissed like he fought, rough, demanding, consuming. And for a moment, you forgot why you started this in the first place.

Then the sound of boots thundering past.

You forced yourself to listen, to keep your senses sharp even as your body betrayed you, even as your heart slammed against your ribs.

The guards ran right by, barely sparing you a glance.

And yet—

Kid didn’t pull away.

Not immediately.

Instead, he pressed in just a fraction deeper, his teeth grazing your lower lip before he finally let you go.

Your breath was ragged. Your fingers still clutched his shirt. His grip on your waist remained stubbornly firm.

A smirk tugged at his lips, his breath warm against your face.

“Well, well,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. “Didn’t know you were so eager, mouse.”

You scowled, shoving at his chest. “Don’t flatter yourself. It was an act.”

“Yeah?” He leaned in, just a little, just enough to make your pulse stutter. “Didn’t feel like an act to me.”

Damn him.

The jewel was still hidden in the folds of your dress, your escape still unfinished. But all you could think about was the way your lips still tingled and the way Kid was looking at you now, like he was more interested in finishing what you started than making a getaway.

Kid’s smirk hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown, shifting into something darker, something full of promise.

You knew that look. You’d seen it before. Usually when he was spoiling for a fight. But this wasn’t a battlefield not the kind with fists and metal, anyway.

This was something else.

“You gonna let go of my shirt, or are you planning to rip it off me?” he teased, voice low, rough.

Your fingers twitched. Damn it, you were still gripping him.

You shoved him away, trying to ignore the way your body still buzzed from that kiss. “Don’t get cocky, Captain. It was a means to an end.”

He huffed out a laugh, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the moment. “Yeah? Then why are you still breathin’ so hard?”

Your glare could’ve melted steel. “Because I had to drag your heavy ass out of a fight.”

Kid grinned, eyes glinting. He took a slow step forward. Then another. Cornering you.

“That’s funny,” he murmured, his voice a deliberate taunt. “Looked to me like you were enjoyin’ yourself.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed your wrist. Light. Testing.

Your body wanted to react to pull away, to push closer, to do something but you refused to give him the satisfaction.

“I was acting,” you said, keeping your voice steady. Unshaken.

Kid leaned in, his breath ghosting over your lips.

“Yeah?” he murmured. “Then act like you don’t wanna kiss me again.”

Bastard.

He was daring you. Daring you to lie.

And for a split second, you almost did.

Almost.

But you weren’t about to let him win that easily.

Instead, you exhaled a slow, steady breath, tilting your head slightly. Not pulling away. Not closing the distance, either. Just enough to make it his move.

“Not here,” you whispered, voice just as daring as his. “But if you’re game…”

Kid’s smirk turned sharp. Hungry.

“Oh, mouse,” he purred, metal fingers trailing just barely along the fabric of your dress. “I was born for this game.”

The weight of Kid’s stare pinned you in place. Unrelenting. Unapologetic. Like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to break.

You weren’t going to break and give in.

But you damn well felt like you might.

Not with the way his fingers brushed against your waist barely there, but enough to set your nerves ablaze. Not with the way his breath skimmed along your skin, teasing, provoking, testing.

His smirk deepened. “What’s the matter, mouse? You’re lookin’ a little—” his fingers trailed lower, grazing the slit of your dress— “flustered.”

Your breath hitched before you could stop it.

Damn him.

The stolen jewel was tucked safely away, the guards were gone, but this? This was just as dangerous.

Because Kid wasn’t backing off.

And worse you didn’t want him to.

So you did the only thing you could. You leaned in close enough that your lips just barely ghosted over his, close enough that you felt his body tense, just for a second.

Then you smirked.

“You’re awfully cocky for someone who nearly got caught back there,” you murmured.

His grin didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. “And you’re awfully smug for someone who kissed me like she meant it.”

Bastard.

You forced a shrug, keeping your voice cool. “I’m a damn good actress.”

Kid chuckled, low and rough, but his grip didn’t loosen. If anything, his fingers flexed against your hip. “Funny. So am I.”

And then he kissed you.

Hard.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t teasing. It was hungry. A demand wrapped in heat, his hand fisting in your dress to pull you closer.

You gasped against his lips, but he didn’t give you a chance to think, to hesitate his teeth caught your lower lip, his breath hot as his fingers tangled in your hair.

He kissed you like he fought. Like he took what he wanted.

And you.....

You kissed him back - of course you did.

A sharp bite to his lip, a tug on his hair, just enough to make him growl. The sound rumbled between you, vibrating through your chest, straight down to where your body ached against his.

The heat between you was blistering.

And then.....

Footsteps.

Louder this time, approaching from the opposite direction.

Kid barely pulled back, his forehead pressing against yours. His breath was heavy, his smirk still wicked.

“Looks like we got company,” he muttered.

You swallowed hard, still catching your breath. “Then let’s give ‘em a show.”

His grin turned downright feral.

“Oh, mouse,” he murmured, brushing his lips against yours one last time like a promise. “You have no idea what you just started.”

The footsteps grew louder.

Guards. More of them.

You barely had time to curse before Kid’s grip tightened, his metal arm pressing against the wall beside your head. His flesh hand gripped your hip, his fingers flexing like he was fighting the urge to do something reckless.

Too late.

You had already done something reckless.

And Kid?

Kid was about to make it worse.

“Guess we gotta sell it, huh?” His smirk was wicked, all sharp edges and unspoken threats.

You had one second to process what he meant.

Then he was on you.

Again.

This wasn’t a kiss meant to blend in, to fool passing guards.

This was a spectacle.

Kid’s teeth scraped your lower lip, his tongue sliding against yours with a force that made your knees damn near buckle. His grip on your waist turned possessive, greedy, rough, pulling you flush against him, like he wanted you closer.

The bastard was enjoying this.

You shouldn’t have kissed him first.

Not because it was a bad idea, no, that ship had sailed. But because Kid didn’t just play along.

He took over the damn game.

You gasped against his lips big mistake.

Kid took that as an opening, his hand sliding up the bare skin of your thigh, fingers grazing the slit in your dress. You weren’t sure if he meant to tease or if he just liked making things worse, but you felt the heat of his grin against your mouth.

Bastard.

But two could play that game.

You pressed against him, hard. Not just melting into the kiss, but matching his fire. Your nails scraped the back of his neck, your hips shifting just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath.

You heard the guards murmur.

“Damn couple,” one scoffed. “Seriously? Right in the open?”

“Leave ‘em. Ain’t our problem.”

Footsteps faded, voices growing distant.

It worked.

And yet.

Neither of you pulled away.

Not immediately.

Because Kid wasn’t letting go.

And you? You weren’t sure you wanted him to.

His lips slowed, the bruising heat fading into something slower, deeper. The hand on your hip loosened slightly, his fingers dragging, feeling, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

For a moment, you forgot the job. The jewel hidden against your ribs. The need to get out of here.

For a moment, there was just him.

“AHEM.”

You nearly jumped out of your damn skin.

A woman stood a few feet away, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. Dressed in an elegant silk gown, her expression was one of pure irritation.

“Excuse me,” she drawled, looking you up and down before shifting her gaze to Kid. “I don’t know what kind of low-class display this is, but some of us are trying to enjoy a civilized evening.”

Kid exhaled sharply, dragging his tongue over his lower lip, gaze still locked on you. Like he hadn’t quite decided if he was finished yet.

You swallowed hard. Get it together.

With a forced, sweet smile, you turned to the woman.

“Apologies,” you purred, still slightly breathless. “My husband gets a little… impatient.”

Kid chuckled.

The sound was dark. Dangerous.

The woman wrinkled her nose. “Clearly.”

She turned on her heel, stomping away.

The moment she was gone, you let out a breath—only to have Kid snatch your wrist, spinning you back against him.

His grin was pure chaos.

“Oh, mouse,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the edge of your swollen lip. “We ain’t done.”

Oh, no.

You were in trouble and you liked it. Your pulse slammed against your ribs.

Not from the stolen jewel pressing against your skin. Not from the lingering threat of armed guards still circling the event. No. It was him.

Kid.

Standing too damn close, looking too damn smug, fingers still grazing your hip like he had every right to keep touching you. Like he was marking his territory.

His tongue flicked across his lower lip, still glistening from your kiss.

His eyes, hungry.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, mouse,” he murmured, voice rough, low.

You scoffed despite the fact that you were still pressed against his chest. “Please. You’re the one who started acting like we were putting on a damn stage performance.”

Kid’s grin widened. Shit.

“You’re the one who kissed me first.”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, ready to throw something sharp back at him.

But before you could he leaned in. Too close.

His breath brushed your jaw, his lips barely grazing your ear. A whisper. A promise.

“You started this, mouse. And now?” His hand tightened at your waist. “Now, I’m just seeing how far you’re willing to go.”

Your stomach flipped. Because - fuck. He wasn’t backing down. And worse? Neither were you. So you did the only thing you could.

You reached up, curled your fingers into his red hair, and yanked him down hard. You barely heard his growl before your lips crashed against his.

This wasn’t a game anymore. This was a challenge. Kid met you head-on.

The kiss turned wild, all tongue and heat and reckless greed. His hands roamed the flesh hand dragging down your spine, the metal one gripping your thigh, hiking it against his hip like he was claiming you right then and there.

Your back hit the wall again and suddenly, there was no space left between you. None.

You felt everything.

The heat of his body, the way his chest vibrated when he let out a low, dark chuckle against your lips.

He was enjoying this. And, damn it, so were you.

But then—

A loud crash. A door burst open down the hall.

Shouts. Boots pounding against marble. The guards were coming back.

Kid barely pulled away his breath ragged, uneven, hot. His pupils were blown wide, the corners of his mouth turned up in a cocky, feral grin.

“We should run,” you muttered, heart still hammering.

His grin widened. His voice was pure sin.

“Or,” he drawled, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips, “we could finish what we started.”

You shoved him hard, ignoring the way he laughed like this was the best damn night of his life.

“Move, idiot!”

The two of you took off, running full speed toward the nearest exit.

But as you fled, jewel tucked away, guards on your tail, you couldn’t ignore one thing.

Your lips still tingled. Your legs still shook. And the worst part? You weren’t sure if it was from the adrenaline or from him.

Your heels slammed against the marble floor as you tore down the corridor, Kid right behind you.

The guards were catching up. Shouting orders. Reloading rifles. Shit. You needed an escape—fast.

But Kid?

Kid was grinning like a madman. “This is fun, huh?” he called over the chaos, dodging a vase that shattered against the wall beside him.

“Kid, I swear to—”

A gunshot. A bullet whizzed past, missing your shoulder by inches.

“—FUCK!”

Kid whipped around, his metal arm snapping forward, and with a single swipe of his devil fruit ability, the guard’s rifle flew from his hands, slamming into the ceiling.

You didn’t slow down. Not until you rounded a corner and slammed straight into a locked door.

Dead end.

You whirled around, panting, brain racing for a way out. Only for Kid to crash into you, slamming you against the door.

His weight pinned you firmly in place, his breath hot against your cheek. For a split second everything went still.

The only sound was your ragged breathing. Your racing heart. His fingers twitched against your hip.

You swallowed. Hard.

And then more gunfire. More chaos.

“Guess we gotta improvise,” Kid growled, voice laced with wild amusement.

You glared. “You think?”

He smirked—then ripped the door off its hinges.

Not opened. Not unlocked. Ripped. The Whole. Fucking. Door. Off.

Wood splintered, shards flying as he chucked it behind him like it was nothing.

You barely had time to blink before he grabbed your wrist, yanking you inside. The room was dark. Expensive furniture. Velvet curtains. A bed large enough for four.

A bedroom.

And not just any bedroom.

A honeymoon suite.

You turned slowly toward Kid.

He was already grinning.

Oh, hell no.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned.

But he was already thinking about it.

He grabbed you suddenly, one hand on your lower back, the other fisting your hair and before you could protest, he flipped you, dragging you onto the bed with him.

The second your back hit the mattress, he rolled on top, legs caging you in, forearms braced beside your head.

Heavy. Warm. Close. Too fucking close.

The guards burst in.

You barely processed their footsteps, their shouts—too focused on the way Kid’s mouth tilted into a smirk.

"Sell it, mouse," he purred.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate.

Your hands gripped his collar, yanking him down and you kissed him. Again. Hard.

This time, Kid didn’t just kiss you back he devoured.

The moment your lips met, he tilted his head, deepening it, owning it. His metal hand fisted the sheets beside your head, the other sliding beneath your thigh, hiking it higher against his hip.

It was filthy. Messy. Loud.

The guards paused.

“…Oh.” One cleared his throat. “Oh. Uh—”

“Shit,” another muttered. “We interrupted—”

“Let’s go.”

And just like that they were gone. Silence. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

Not until Kid pulled back slightly, lips glistening, breathing just as fucked as yours.

His eyes dragged over your face. Lingering. Daring. Teasing.

“…Told ya we’d sell it.”

You exhaled sharply then shoved him off the bed.

Kid hit the floor with a loud thud, cursing as you sat up, trying desperately to ignore the way your entire body still burned and the heat pooling between your legs.

“…We are never talking about this,” you muttered.

Kid laughed. A deep, satisfied, smug-as-hell laugh.

“Oh, mouse.” He stretched, completely unbothered as he leaned back on his hands, still on the floor. “You say that like we’re done.”

Your stomach flipped. Your pulse skipped.

The room was now too quiet. Too dark. Too hot.

Kid was still on the floor, one knee bent, arms braced behind him, grinning up at you like he had already won.

Because the way your skin burned from that kiss, the way your chest rose and fell too fast, the way your fingers twitched to grab him again.

You weren’t done. Not by a damn long shot. He could see it. Feel it.

So when you stood up, slowly, deliberately, his smirk only widened.

“You gonna throw me again, mouse?” His voice was low, taunting, pure challenge.

You stepped forward. He didn’t move.

You reached down grabbing the front of his shirt and this time, you pulled him up. Kid barely had time to react before your lips were on his again—but this kiss?

This kiss was different.

There was no pretense this time. No acting. No playing pretend. This was real. This was reckless, consuming, overwhelming. And fuck, you wanted it.

Kid growled against your lips, his hands gripping your waist, spinning you, pushing you against the nearest wall.

He kissed you like he was trying to brand you, ruin you, make sure you never forgot this moment for as long as you lived.

And hell maybe you wouldn’t.

Your fingers buried in his hair, yanking hard, and he hissed against your lips whether from pain or pleasure, you didn’t know.

His metal hand wrapped around your thigh, lifting you effortlessly, and before you could react, you were off the ground, pinned between him and the wall.

Your breath hitched. He felt it. His grin was pure sin.

“You good up there, mouse?”

You tightened your grip in his hair making him look up at you. Your lips brushed his.

“Shut up and kiss me, roughneck.”

Kid’s eyes darkened.

The room was now alive with tension. Every breath, every touch, every lingering second stretched into eternity.

Kid’s lips were on you like wildfire, ferocious, demanding, hungry. His flesh hand was everywhere, sliding up your back, gripping your waist, tugging at your dress as if the fabric was an obstacle he was too eager to destroy. While his metal hand remained under your thighs to hold you up

You could barely catch your breath. The heat between you was suffocating, but you didn't care. You wanted this.

With a snap, you tore away from his lips, desperate for air.

Kid’s eyes, darker than ever, locked onto you. He was studying you, watching the way you trembled under his touch, the way your body responded to his every movement.

"You want it, don’t you?" His voice was a low growl, as he brought his hand up to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips.

You didn’t answer with words. You answered with action.

Without a second thought, you grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him back to you. This time, there was no hesitation.

The kiss was a clash of chaos and fire, both of you fighting for control, yet somehow you were both losing. The heat of his body pressed against yours, the taste of his kiss, the feel of his rough hand everything about him was making it harder to breathe, harder to think, but that was just the way you liked it.

His metal arm gripped your thigh more firmly, pulling you up against him again, this time with more force, more urgency. Your legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer, deeper. The friction was intoxicating, the way your bodies moved together, like they were always meant to. His flesh hand trailing down pushing your dress up further before it teasingly traced over the waistband of your underwear.

And then—

The sound of footsteps and shouts echoing down the hall again and this time it seemed the guards had figured out that it were you two in the honeymoon suit. You pulled back, barely breathing, eyes locked on Kid’s.

For a moment, it felt like time had frozen. The only sound was your frantic heartbeats and the chaos that loomed outside that room.

But then Kid’s smirk returned. That devilish, cocky grin that made you wonder how you ever thought you could keep control.

“Guess they found us,” he said, his voice thick with amusement, even though his breath was ragged, like he was just as on edge as you.

You couldn’t help but smirk back, even as your body screamed for more. “You always know how to make a mess, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he kissed you again, harder, deeper, wilder.

And just like that, everything else faded away. The guards. The jewel. The plan you had spent weeks preparing for. None of it mattered anymore.

"Kid we need to-" you protested into the kiss as the shouts grew louder but he silenced you with his lips and tongue.

You broke away from him, heart racing, as you both heard the growing sounds of pursuit. Kid's eyes, still dark and intense, swept over you, studying your every breath, your every movement. You knew, as well as he did, that staying here wasn’t an option anymore.

"Damn it. Can't they give us a moment to finish this, we're busy here.” Kid muttered, frustration evident in his tone. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you close with a force that left you breathless.

"Come on we'll finish this on my ship" he added as he dragged you along.

"Wait what? You're kidding right."

“Not even a little.” His grin widened as he pulled you through the doorway, ignoring your protests. “I’m taking you on my ship, and we’ll finish what we started without anyone getting in the way. I'm not letting you go again mouse”

That caught you off guard and before you could protest any further you were hurled over his shoulder and carried back to his ship, where you could finish this - uninterrupted.

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter seven, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, insight on one of the spots in the arena, lots of blood, violence, panic, anxiety, jj and kie <3, toppers just exisiting, and sorry we’ll get more rafe and y/n soon LMFAO i just needed a little trouble, might be an abrupt ending but next chapters fair warning someones gna die LOOL, not proofread

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous next

the water’s still red when you first step in.

like it’s not thick, it’s just stained. that’s the thing about blood. it never looks real when it’s in the water. it disappears within a few splashes.

your jacket’s already halfway off. you ease it off your arms and crouch at the edge, scrubbing at the fabric in circles, trying to work out what you can. in front of you, jj and topper are already knee-deep in the shallows, laughing under their breath as they slap at the water and try to rinse themselves without freezing. topper’s shirt is still on him, soaked and clinging, but he pulls at the collar and dips under, letting out a rough curse when he surfaces again.

“cold as shit,” he mutters.

you don’t laugh, but kie does. she’s crouched beside you, elbows braced against her knees, dirt under her nails as she sets up something with wire and a few spare twigs she found in her bag. she’s got that look in her eye, like sharp and focused, like every movement matters.

you squeeze the sleeve of your jacket tighter. water runs down your knuckles and drips off the hem, the tension from the bloodbath’s still in your muscles. you can’t shake it. can’t scrub it away.

“what’s that one for?” you ask quietly.

kie doesn’t look up, just ties a knot with her teeth and flicks her gaze toward the water. “gonna leave it in there. if someone tries to wash off, this’ll clamp down on ‘em.”

you blink. “seriously?”

she shrugs. “works. it’s low. hidden. hurts like hell.”

“good idea,” you say, and mean it.

a shadow falls over your shoulder. the sun dims just slightly.

you glance up and see rafe standing there, shirt clinging to him. he’s wringing out the hem of his shirt, arms tensed and droplets flicking off with each twist. water traces lines down his chest before soaking into the waistband of his pants. it’s almost enough to make you look away, but you don’t.

he doesn’t say anything either. just stands there like some unbothered statue, watching the rest of the group move around the bank, his eyes flicking briefly to yours before glancing back out at the trees.

you finish with your jacket and shake it out once before slinging it over your lap. it won’t be dry by night, but it’s better than nothing. kie finishes her trap and stands, brushing her hands on her pants and starting to walk deep to where jj and topper are to bury her trap, probably muttering to them to be careful where they stand.

you whiste low between your teeth to get their attention.

topper’s folding his jacket over his shoulder as he looks back at you, “we movin’?”

“yeah,” rafe says before anyone else can. “enough light left to find somethin’ decent.”

the walk back to the forest is quieter. the birch trees start tall and sparse, with white trunks and peeling bark, like they’re trying to shed skin. the deeper you go, the less sound there is. birds don’t chirp. wind doesn’t carry the way it did near the water. it’s all damp earth and whispering grass, and when your foot crunches on a twig, it sounds loud enough to be gunfire.

“don’t like it,” jj mutters after a while. he kicks a rock, watches it roll until it hits a root.

“no one asked,” rafe says, but it’s automatic. not mean.

kie walks with her blade drawn as topper fiddles with his axe. you just keep your head down, counting your steps between the trunks. when you finally stop, it’s not because the spot is good. it’s because it’s getting dark.

no one says it, but you all feel it. it’s that collective kind of settling that happens when you’ve run out of options and decide this’ll have to do. there’s no firewood worth lighting, not without giving yourselves away, but the boys try anyway. they scrape at bark and try to spark something with flint, building a makeshift ring of stones around what might be a small flame.

kie leans against a tree, her legs curled to her chest, jacket pulled over her knees. she keeps nodding off and snapping back awake, like she’s afraid of what she’ll miss if she sleeps too deep. jj eventually drops beside her, back to the same tree, and they sit shoulder to shoulder without saying a word.

topper circles the camp twice before choosing his own tree. he tosses his bag down like it’s a pillow and sits on top of it, facing out, legs crossed, fingers twitching like he still wants something to do with them.

he’s quieter than usual. you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s worried for diamonte. wherever she is.

you sit last. back to a birch, jacket draped across your chest like a blanket. your boots are still moist, your pants too. it doesn’t help that the night’s dropped colder than expected. your fingertips are numb at this point.

you glance over. rafe’s nearby. not right beside you, but close. his bag’s at his side, but he hasn’t laid down yet. he stands with his arms crossed, eyes scanning the dark like he’s expecting something to move. his shirt’s still damp, and it clings to him in the middle, wrinkled and uneven where he’d wrung it out. he looks like a statue again.

your gaze drifts down to his fingers that curl against his arm. his chest is rising slow. his hand twitches briefly toward his belt like he’s debating keeping a knife in hand.

you look away. your breath fogs faintly in the cold. the jacket around you isn’t enough. nothing is. your skin still feels sticky, even though you scrubbed it raw.

somewhere in the distance, a cannon goes off. just one. everyone flinches, even if only slightly. you don’t say it, but you know what they’re all thinking. nine left, and you’re still here. nine more people other than the ones in this circle and you have no idea how it’ll play out.

eventually you try to sleep, like really try, but the cold creeps into your bones, making every breath feel sharp. you shift against the rough bark of the tree at your back, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself, its material sticking uncomfortably to your skin.

you five have decided at two at a time to stay up. so somewhere nearby, jj and kie are keeping watch. they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, faces lit faintly by the dying firelight, speaking in voices too soft for you to catch. now and then you hear the scratch of jj's boot against the dirt or the low clink of metal in kie's hands as she fidgets with something.

your eyes fall closed, and for a few moments, you drift in the uneasy space between waking and sleep. but just when you feel yourself slipping under completely, something changes. it’s subtle, like a shift in the air, but your body feels it before your mind catches up.

the wind.

it brushes over your cheek like a blade, so cold it burns, and instinct snaps you awake with a jolt. you sit up, heart hammering, hands instinctively tightening around the edges of your jacket. for a few seconds, you think it must have been a dream, some leftover thread of anxiety pulling you from sleep. but then you hear it again. it’s a faint, whispering sound threading its way between the trees, too high-pitched to be natural.

you glance toward the others. kie has frozen, crouched low with her hands still tangled in the trap she was working on. jj straightens, muscles tense, his hand drifting to the knife tucked at his belt. across the clearing, rafe stirs where he's leaned against a tree, lifting his head sharply like he heard it too.

nobody speaks. nobody moves.

the forest around you shivers with every gust of wind, the slender birch trunks creaking and swaying in this slow, unsteady rhythm. they’re so hollow it catches the wind in strange ways, creating sounds that don’t quite belong in this world. you can hear wails and soft, deliberate whispers that seem to dart past your ears before you can catch them.

the longer you sit there, the more you feel like the forest isn’t just alive, it’s watching.

you scramble to your feet, your hands stiff from the cold. rafe is suddenly beside you, his fingers brushing your elbow to steady you. his eyes flick quickly over your face before shifting to the trees around you. he says nothing, but the set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders tells you enough. he feels it too.

“guys, what the hell is that?” kie murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. her voice even sounds wrong in the hollow space, too human, too solid.

jj doesn’t answer. he’s already moving, silently packing up the few things he had pulled from his bag earlier. a few feet away, topper, who must have woken up at the sound, is sitting up, staring wide-eyed into the trees as if he can see something none of you can.

no one needs to say it. you need to get out of here. there’s something wrong about this forest.

the group starts gathering their things immediately, slinging backpacks over shoulders, stuffing whatever supplies you had out back into whatever pockets you can. the fire is left to smolder and die eventually too.

you stick close to rafe without even thinking about it, matching your steps to his as jj and kie fall into a loose formation ahead of you. topper brings up the rear, checking over his shoulder every few seconds like he expects something to lunge out of the trees and drag him away.

the birch forest feels endless, like you’ve lost your way in a maze or it stretches further than you remember it did earlier, like it changed. either way, it’s making you freak out.

and the deeper you move into the forest, the worse it gets. the wind picks up, slicing across exposed skin in quick, stinging bursts that leave you wincing and turning your head.

at one point you swear you see something in the corner of your eye, like a shadow darting between the trees, but when you turn, there’s nothing. only the birch trees.

beside you, rafe pulls his jacket tighter and leans down slightly, his mouth brushing your ear so he doesn’t have to speak loud enough for the forest to hear. “keep moving, a’right? n’ don’t stop.”

you don’t argue. you don't even look at him. you just keep your eyes ahead, focusing on the faint outlines of jj and kie.

every so often, the group rotates who’s leading. jj passes the front to kie, then topper takes over for a while, but it doesn't really matter. the forest looks the same in every direction, and every step feels heavier than the last.

minutes seem to bleed together until your legs are sore and your throat burns from breathing the cold.

nobody argues when jj suggests camping at the mouth of the cornucopia instead. you guys slip out of the tree line as fast as you can without breaking into a full sprint.

the cornucopia looms in front of you. it’s better than being out in the open or trapped between those trees again. probably should’ve just stayed here first.

everyone collapses down near the entrance without much ceremony, backs against the cold metal walls or slumped over their packs.

you're still catching your breath when topper curses under it, pulling back his jacket sleeve and looking at his forearm. “dude,” he mutters, voice half in disbelief, half in frustration. “i swear to god something scratched me back there.”

he turns his arm toward the firelight after jj and rafe managed to get a small fire going, careful to keep it low and hidden, and sure enough, there's a thin, angry-looking slice across his skin. the sleeve of his jacket is torn too, a clean rip like something sharp and invisible slashed right through the fabric.

kie is on her feet immediately, brushing dirt from her palms as she crosses over to him. “you need to clean that before it gets infected,” she says, already digging through the nearest backpacks, checking each one quickly for any sign of a medkit or even something they could use as a bandage.

watching them stirs something uneasy inside you. you remember that slicing feeling against your skin earlier. fuck. you shift where you sit, running your hands over your arms, your sides, your legs, looking for anything, any sting, any wetness that might mean blood. nothing. not until—

“hey,” rafe says quietly.

you glance up at him just as he steps closer, and his hand lifts before you can react, the tips of his fingers brushing carefully along your cheekbone. his thumb drags lightly across a spot just beneath your eye, and you flinch at the touch. something stings there.

your hand flies up instinctively, covering the spot as you jerk away slightly, heart pounding. you hadn’t even noticed. hadn’t even felt it until now. your fingers come away faintly wet when you touch the scratch, and you blink down at them, stunned. it really got you. the forest really left a mark on you.

“it's not deep,” rafe says as he glances back over his shoulder toward kie. “you find anything?” he calls to her.

kie shakes her head, still rifling through a few more bags. “nothing real. some antiseptic wipes, but that's about it.”

“give ‘em here,” rafe says, already reaching out a hand.

within a minute, he’s back in front of you, crouching low enough that you're eye-level with him. the wipe in his hand stings worse than anything when he presses it gently against the scratch, and you grit your teeth against the burn, refusing to pull away even though every instinct tells you to. rafe works quickly, efficient but careful, his fingers steady where they brace the side of your face.

“you’re good,” he says after a moment, crumpling the wipe and tossing it into the fire to burn away. “just a scratch.”

just a scratch. but somehow it feels like more.

you sit there quietly as the night goes on, the fire burning low between all of you, throwing long shadows against the inside of the cornucopia. no one talks much. the exhaustion is too heavy, and the fear from the forest still lingers. eventually, one by one, people start settling down where they sit, leaning back against the cold metal and pulling their jackets tighter.

rafe stays close, sitting just a few inches from you, his shoulder almost brushing yours. jj and kie continue their watch again, trading quiet words and keeping their eyes pinned to the trees. you try to sleep, but your body refuses to fully relax, your muscles still wired tight, your mind half-expecting to see something move in the darkness just beyond the firelight.

morning can’t come fast enough.

it’s quiet, which should be a good thing, but by now, silence feels more like a warning than a gift. you sit with your knees pulled to your chest, knuckles cold. there hasn’t been much movement since dawn.

you keep glancing around the clearing, your eyes tracking empty air. you know the cameras are out there somewhere, always are, but there are no booms in the sky. no signs of death.

by the time it’s day three you’ve only heard one cannon, maybe two if you count the one that rang out sometime late last night too.

you’d been awake last night, barely, head resting back against your pack, watching the sky twist open as a hovercraft descended near the water. you couldn’t see much, just the mechanical limbs dropping down and pulling a limp body up into the air before disappearing again. maybe it had been one of the tributes. maybe it’d been kie’s trap. either way, someone was gone.

you remember fiddling with a piece of grass between your fingers, wrapping it tight until it snapped, and trying not to think about it.

but you didn’t get much time to be still. you hear a scream the morning after.

you jolt upright, hand scrambling for the daggers you’d kept close to your hip. your head turns fast, eyes scanning for movement and you find it, just beyond the edge of the cornucopia. a mess of limbs and shouting. kie. she’s out there, fighting off two figures, maybe three, already half on the ground.

she must’ve gone out early, probably to check something or maybe even just pee, and got followed back.

jj’s already on his feet, spear in hand, eyes locked on the chaos just ahead. topper curses behind him, grabbing for his axe, but he’s moving fast, rage written all over his face.

“go!” jj barks.

the three figures ahead split up. one, a girl with a jagged ponytail and wild eyes, stays back with kie, pinning her to the ground and shouting something you can’t make out. the other two, the boys, are charging straight for jj and topper.

you barely have time to think before you and rafe are running too, his mace clenched tight in his fist. you reach them just in time to see kie struggling under a girl’s weight, the other tribute pressing a forearm against her throat.

jj lets out a hoarse yell and lunges first, spear angled low before snapping it upward into the stomach of the boy charging him. the point hits home, but the kid’s momentum sends them both sprawling. they hit the ground hard, wrestling for control, jj keeping the shaft of the spear between them, teeth gritted, muscles locked.

topper meets the second boy mid-sprint.

he swings his axe, catching the edge of the kid’s shoulder with a sickening thud. the boy stumbles, but not enough to stop. he grabs topper by the collar and drives a knee into his side. they break apart only to collide again, fists flying, wood meeting flesh, metal against bone.

you and rafe flank wide, slipping into the chaos.

you duck a blind swing from one of the boys and drive your dagger across the back of his thigh, deep and slicing. he jerks with a yell, and jj takes the opening, twisting his spear up and shoving it straight through the boy’s chest. he lets out a gargled cough before he collapses to the dirt.

“kie!” jj yells, dragging the spear free, almost like he needs to make sure she knows she’s going to be okay. he’s already moving toward topper. topper’s still fighting, but barely.

blood is running down his forehead, but he’s got his axe up, teeth bared as he swings again. this time, it hits clean. the blade bites deep into the side of the boy’s neck. he jerks once, then falls to his knees. topper pushes him off with a final grunt, panting hard.

you’re already turning your head, trying to find kie, the girl. there. she’s still on top of kie, but something’s wrong. she’s not hitting. she’s not stabbing. she’s just holding her.

then you see it. her leg, caught in something like taut metal wire, barely visible in the early morning light, looped tight around her calf. blood drips fast and heavy from the gash, pooling into the soil beneath her. it’s one of kie’s traps. that’s why they’re here?

you’re already moving.

the girl’s too distracted by the pain to realize you’re there. you lunge, dagger drawn, slicing across her back to knock her off balance. she shrieks and twists.

rafe’s there beside you in an instant, swinging his mace with brute force. it crashes into her side, ribs crack with a dull, sickening crunch. she tries to scream, but it chokes out into a wheeze.

you don’t hesitate. you grab the front of her jacket, force her down, and drive your blade into her chest. she jerks just once, then goes still. for a second, all you hear is breathing.

you turn to kie, who’s propped herself up on her elbows, eyes wide, staring at the body beside her.

jj steps forward, spear still slick in his grip. “you good?”

kie nods slowly, then glances down at the wire trap still tight around the girl’s leg. “caught her,” she mutters, voice scratchy.

you nod, swallowing hard. “trap held.”

“trap held,” jj echoes, looking down at the girl like he almost can’t believe it worked.

topper leans on his axe, the high from the fight already wearing off, sweat sliding down his temple. rafe’s still standing beside you, his breathing finally slowing. you don’t realize how close you’re leaning into him until the sound of another cannon rolls through the sky.

third one in less than a few minutes.

you stare at the girl’s bloody leg for another second before finally backing away. and for the first time since you woke, you realize you’re still shaking.

but rafe doesn’t move. he’s staring. you notice the shift in his posture before you notice what he’s looking at, eyes are narrowed slightly downward. you follow his gaze and—

your stomach sinks. blood, but not from the girl you just killed. it’s smeared across kie’s thigh, soaking the side of her pants. she didn’t even notice. or maybe she did and just didn’t want to say anything. but now that you’re looking, you can see how stiff she’s sitting, how carefully she’s trying not to put weight on that leg.

“shit,” you breathe out, already crouching beside her. “kie—”

she flinches when you reach for her, just barely. “it’s nothing.”

“no, it’s not.” you press your hand near the tear in the fabric, fingers already sticky. “jesus, kie, they got you bad. when—?”

kie glances toward the body beside her, then away again. her mouth is set. “before. when she and the guys first jumped me. one of them had a knife.”

“shit. topper, grab anything from their bags. i don’t care what it is, just— something.”

your hands hover uselessly near the blood that won’t stop spreading. it’s soaking through your fingers.

“we need to get her out of the open,” you say, sharper now. your eyes snap up to rafe and jj. “help me—inside. she needs cover.”

jj doesn’t hesitate. neither does rafe. the three of you lift her together. she tries to mumble that she’s fine again, but the sound is thin and breathless. you don’t even look at her.

topper follows, arms full with whatever gear he could grab from the fallen tributes’ bags like loose supplies, scraps of cloth, water, someone’s jacket. it’s not much, but it’ll have to be enough.

inside the cornucopia, you get kie onto one of the tables, and even then she grits her teeth and turns her head away to muffle a sound. her leg hangs slightly off the edge, blood’s dripping down the table now.

you try to breathe. you’ve never had to deal with this before.

your hands shake as you rifle through what topper brought. there’s gauze from someone’s first aid strip, a torn-up shirt, a flask of water, a hunting knife you toss aside quickly.

“what do i do?” you ask, looking at kie frantically. “just tell me, tell me what do i do, okay? i don’t know how to help you.”

kie’s jaw is tight. she looks at you, then down at her leg. her face is pale but her eyes are sharp.

“you’re doing fine,” she says gently, which somehow only makes the tears in your throat sting worse. “start with pressure. above the cut.”

you grab a strip of cloth and do as she says, wrapping it around her thigh and pulling tight. your fingers fumble the knot. blood seeps through almost instantly.

“fuck,” you whisper, pressing harder.

jj’s pacing now, running both hands through his hair, the spear clutched tightly in one of them. his mouth is twisted, his shoulders hunched. he looks like he might explode.

“they could’ve killed her,” he mutters, voice rising. “they could’ve fucking killed her—”

“jj,” rafe warns, stepping in front of him, hand pressed against his chest. topper joins him a second later, pushing lightly on jj’s shoulder. “calm down.”

jj jerks his arm away, breathing hard. but he doesn’t move toward you again. he just stands there, watching, helpless.

then, a yell, somewhere across the field. everyone freezes.

rafe and topper spin toward the open mouth of the cornucopia. rafe grabs his mace. you don’t even look up.

“go,” you say quickly, pressing the cloth harder against kie’s leg. “whatever it is, handle it. we’re fine in here.”

topper hesitates. “are you sure—”

“yes.” you glance up at him finally, your expression unreadable. “you don’t need all of us for one scream. go.”

jj growls something under his breath but doesn’t argue. he’s the first out the door, rafe and topper right behind him.

you’re alone again, just you and kie and the blood that won’t stop leaking through your fingers.

“you’re not gonna die,” you tell her, not sure who you’re trying to convince. you reach for more cloth.

kie tries to laugh, but it catches in her throat and becomes a hiss of pain. “yeah. well. thanks for the pep talk.”

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp

[goddessofroyalty]

Fandom: Arcane

Pairing: Jayce/Viktor

Tags: omegaverse, future-mpreg

Still not a prompt fill (I will start on them I swear!) but I’ve been meaning to write Viktor deciding he wants to have a baby with Jayce because of scientific curiosity for a while now. So I am glad this is written.

And yes I did have an image of them both open while I was writing this to compare which features I think Viktor would prefer from which one of them.

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

Viktor doesn’t often get to watch Jayce work.

There is nearly always something else that can be done while Jayce creates a new casing or frame-part. Either wiring to be soldiered or a formula to continue working through. So much work to be done and never enough hours in the day.

Not this time. They had hit a point where nothing further could be done until Jayce finished forging the guard that would separate the Hextech core from the external mechanisms. So Viktor had joined him at the Talis’ Forge despite having complete faith in Jayce’s ability to do it right.

Supervising just feels more productive than merely waiting. And Viktor does enjoy watching his partner work on the rare opportunities he can allow himself to.

He will not deny that Jayce is impressive to watch when he is at work.

His shirt has been abandoned from the heat giving Viktor full view of the muscles of his partner’s broad shoulders shining from sweat and golden from the light of the furnace. The alpha’s strength on full display with each hammer fall. The profile of his face defined by the shadows cast by his features.

From the moment he met him Viktor knew Jayce was impressive, both in body and mind.

The physical part was impossible for anyone to miss. Jayce was stunning to look at, the very definition of an ideal alpha. Strong and fit but not hulking. Broad shoulders that taper into a defined waist and warm arms that it is so very easy to imagine being carried in. He is fit and healthy and seems to naturally draw the eyes of all around him.

But it was Jayce’s mind that had actually made Viktor interested in him. The ideas in his notes were genius even if Viktor had seen where they could be improved. Jayce hadn’t disappointed after they started working together. His intelligence may not be the same as Viktor’s, but the ease he could conceive and create the exact tool to fix the problem before them was inspired. Working with him was working with Viktor’s true intellectual equal.

Viktor can hardly blame the fans that fawn over his partner when Jayce makes public appearances. Anyone would want Jayce as a mate. His genetics alone ample reason before adding in his gentle kindness and sweet awkwardness.

All of it traits his hypothetical children could inherit.

Although if Viktor seriously considers the possibility of Jayce and children, then, while Jayce has many traits that would be desirable to see passed down, he is not perfect.

While Jayce’s hands are very skilled at what they do they lack the fineness and dexterity of Viktor’s own. So a child would do well to inherit from Viktor instead in that regard.

Even with his strong square jaw Jayce’s brow and eyebrows always seem to overpower his face. It would be good for a child to have one more like Viktor’s – less prominent and with a lower hairline to soften it.

While Viktor appreciates Jayce’s intelligence far more than the average person he will admit his bias in preferring that his own would be passed onto any child of theirs.

Then there are the things that matter less which way they go. Jayce’s skin may seem to glow under the golden light of his forge or the sun but Viktor’s hardly blemishes apart from a mole here or there. They both have good eyesight and neither possess a particularly outstanding eye colour. The texture of both their hairs is equal in strengths even if different.

Together they could make a glorious child.

Viktor would be remiss not to consider how difficult a pregnancy would be for him before letting his mind follow the thought any further. His body is deteriorating, he knows, and the weight of a baby on his spine would do it no favors.

Hextech hadn’t been easy either though. And it had been worth all the effort and pain and risk it took to create.

He would need only do it once to test his hypothesis.

“What are you thinking about Vik?” Jayce asks, taking off the wielding goggles as he turns around. The rest of his gear already put aside.

“I think I want a baby.”

Jayce stumbles, knocking into the table next to him. Catching himself to lean against it. The muscles in his arm bulging from the force he’s pushing down on it with.

“What?” he asks, free hand gesturing emptily. “Like generally or-“

“No, with you.” Viktor cannot say he ever thought about having a child before. His work always far too important. The idea of having one with someone else is not at all appealing. But with Jayce-

They created Hextech together as partners. The kind of child they could make together actually feels exciting in the way the early days of their partnership did. An unexplored potential that Vitktor wants to see reached.

“Right,” Jayce says, glancing at Viktor then up at the ceiling and then the floor in rapid succession. His hand comes to scratch behind his ear as he pushing himself off the table to stand fully upright. “Like now?”

“Well conception rarely is successful on the first try,” Viktor says, reaching for his cane as he stands up and walks over to Jayce. More to pace as he explains the process than anything. “And a pregnancy takes 40 weeks if it goes to full-term. So in about a year. If we start trying now.”

It is better they do it sooner than later if they are going to. How long before the deterioration of Viktor’s body makes him unable to carry a pregnancy an unknown.

“You’re serious,” Jayce says with a weak laugh.

“Of course. I would not joke about something like that.” It would be cruel to. “So do you want to or not?”

“Yes! I mean, if you want. Are you sure? It’s- You’ll- Us- A baby-“ Jayce stutters adorably. Viktor hopes their child inherits Jayce’s earnestness. “Do you want to start trying now?”

Viktor gives a hum of contemplation.

“We can install that first,” he decides, pointing to the guard that should be nearly done cooling. “But tonight, yes. If that works for you.”

“I don’t have any other plans,” Jayce jokes awkwardly and Viktor notes Jayce’s smile as another thing he hopes they inherit.

[interclover]

YAHHH THEY'RE FINALLY HERE!! My gijinkas for the BFDIA final 7 :D I've been working on them since december, hence why nickel is there xD I'm so proud of how they've turned out

More yapping about my designs under the cut!!

BOOK:

I wanted her to clash with Pencil's design (which, originally, was going to be here, but once she got eliminated I decided to erase it LOL it also didn't help the fact that she's one of my least favourite characters) (but you can picture your typical white mean girl). She's awkward and typically reserved, in contrast with Pencil, Match, Ruby and Bubble's extroversion. I think I made a good job at expressing that.

Plus, her fashion sense is more old-fashioned and formal, since I associate libraries and books with the past (it's also a nice contrast to the rest of freesmart, who dabble in 2000s (sub)cultures, with Pencil and Match fitting into the popular girl stereotype and Ruby being scene (in my hcs)).

Her blazer is a nod to those book covers!!

Square shapes everywhere

This is a bit of me projecting, but I also didn't want to make her too feminine :p not only bc she's not perceived as "pretty" enough to be a full-on member of Freesmart, but also because I'm enby and Book is enby because I kin her. Sorry/j.

NEEDLE:

South-korean needle realness

She's BUFF. I wanted her to keep an overall needle-like body shape, while still being stacked. This is the first time I studied muscle references, and it paid off.

We can see her running around and doing risky things a lot in the show, so I think she got some bruises from that.

Also, I wanted to give her an outfit that was as practical as possible while still being fashionable. I still have my doubts about the boob window, but I believe it turned out alright! Pencil would obviously pick someone pretty with a good sense of fashion.

Lots of needle motifs (bangs, earring, body shape, hairstyle)

PIN:

She's sharp and pointy! Hence the piercings

She has lots of freckles in her body, covered at all times by her jacket and tights.

In my hcs, instead of losing their limbs, contestants lose their mobility in said areas. Mainly because I didn't know how to potray when they regained them. The batteries in Pin's wheelchair fuel her arms as well, and they're connected by wires (which. i just realised. I forgot. well.), able to transmit electricity without harming her to the metal armor she wields. Think of it as a mecha suit!!

Matching necklaces with Coiny #coinpincanon

I wanted her to have an intimidating outfit as well, mostly reflecting how, outside her harsh exterior, she's trying to become a better person.

COINY:

Probably the gijinka that went through the most redesigns. I had to look up inspiration for this one, since every Coiny gijinka I drew left me severely unsatisfied: they either looked too much like other people's gijinkas or to the rest of the male cast. In the end, I'm really happy about his design! I managed to stray away from my other designs while still retaining his personality.

Again, matching necklaces with pin :3

The bandana is meant to reflect a coin's glow. This is one of my favourite details and I didn't even realise it until I got to shading.

He's latino!! I still have to think about most of my designs' nacionalities, but he's latino for sure.

Round body shape and many coin motifs :3 I hc him to be alternative. Even though that doesn't entirely come across in his design, he made his accessories himself (diy king) and he enjoys nu-metal music.

NICKEL:

He was the first one to be drawn, I hope you can't realise that 😭 my style changed so much what

He's, overall, just a silly guy! A goober. Full of whimsy and joy

Since I hc II Nickel and BFDI Nickel as relatives (still unsure of making them twins or cousins), and I had designed my II Nickel WAYYY before I began this, I knew I had to give them a similar build. In comparison to his II counterpart, BFDI Nickel is a bit more chubbier, with more round shapes to represent his happy-go-lucky personality.

He has prosthetic arms!! I settled on giving every metallic or scientist armless character a pair of prosthetics :p it seemed cool ok.

He'd have some freckles, too, as well as beauty spots :3

I'm going to be fully honest, I gave him that outfit because I have the same shirt and I thought he'd like baggy pants JSHDKJH he got the favourite treatment.

TENNIS BALL:

Not much to say here, his design is pretty straightforward. Fluffy hair because tennis balls are fluffy, plus sized and tall because tennis balls are big. Yeah

He'd put his hair up in difficult challenges or when he's researching/studying/inventing something, though.

The suspenders came to me in a vision (that one Matt Bellamy outfit)

Golf ball pin!! #duo

FRIES:

Underpaid fast-food employee, who got tired of so much bullshit and decided to become an unstoppable menace.

He's afro-american :p

The turtleneck also came to me in a vision (I hate jimbalaya mouthwashing. However, it fits Fries nicely).

And that's all! Massive thank you if you decided to read all of this :D I appreciate it a lot!!/gen

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Part One

What you can offer Jackson is your healing hands.

2.6k words

Series Masterlist | Part Two Warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, we stan one (1) apocalypse grump, no use of y/n, I haven't written fanfic in a while but I'm hoping this will get me back into writing regularly, I have no idea how many parts this will be

Minors DNI

If you were to try and tally up all your losses you wouldn’t, initially, struggle. Your beloved dad, on outbreak day, and then months later your sister to a pack of raiders capable of slipping silently past a rotting barn wall. Those were clearly devastating, actual moments that bifurcate the before times and the after. Your liberty in the QZ, your hope for a sane and assured new government, your smuggling partner trapped under the barbed wire fence as a FEDRA soldier narrowed in on you both, her struggling hands going limp in the dirt, her eyes no longer following your movements as you scrabbed to free her, the look of resignation on her face, the way she mouthed for you to ‘go’. Those losses somehow both enormous and incalculable.

It was the smaller losses that caught you up. Newsprint smeared on your fingertips. Breaking in a new pair of stiff leather shoes. The uneven leg of your massage table, which caused it to wobble when someone clambered onto it, meaning that you had to warn your clients ahead of time while it wobbled, it was stable, and that you could relate. You knew it was a bad look, that the table alone didn’t inspire confidence in your clientele, and you missed it more than you had any fucking right to when the world, for all intents and purposes, imploded.

You made do in Jackson. Your travelling party of three had heard of a mythical commune of warm sheep and cold beer and you wanted, more than anything, to believe in it.  In the before times your mother had sung a song about Jackson with your father, peeling potatoes at the sink, and you had hummed it under your breath the three-and-a-half-month trek. ‘Honey, I’m going to Jackson.’ ‘See if I care.’

As you approached the gates the three of you had already come up with a plan to pitch for entry. Ray was going to pretend he was injured, and Marla was going to carry him, limping but stoic, over the threshold. The night he refused to take first watch you had promised to break his ankle for real to make it really convincing, and he had laughed because he knew you didn’t have it in you, and you had joined in, because it was true. Marla was toying with the idea of being pregnant, and you were going to just be mute. Either by birth or by trauma, you hadn’t decided. But the plan was to be as pitiful as possible, as non-threatening and as desperate, such that not only would you not be shot on sight but that you would be taken in, warmed to, eventually forgiven your trespass. On the side of a mountain, with everything you had ever owned strapped to your back and the losses tallying behind you, it had seemed like the best strategy.

It had failed almost immediately. Marla may have been able to pull off the pregnancy thing if it was early, but Ray kept forgetting which ankle he had supposedly hurt, and when you tripped on a rock coming through the gate you swore at the top of your lungs. It turned out it didn’t matter. Throughout quarantine you had been able to meet Maria, then Tommy, and you had been advised that you were to pitch your worthiness to stay at the next town council. You had two days to determine what you could offer Jackson. You had looked down at your two hands.

__

Marla was a good shot, and was put on patrol. Ray spoke French and was good with codes, and he pitched helping out with reconnaissance. He even pronounced it the proper French way at the council meeting, and you saw Tommy arch a jet-black brow in Maria’s direction, who rolled her eyes. Standing on shaky knees before a panel of non-infected non-raiders who nevertheless held your life in their hands, you showed them your palms.

‘Pain relief,’ you said, and you smiled in what you hoped was a warm way. ‘I can heal, with these.’

‘You trying to tell us you’re some kind of witch doctor?’ the man on the end asked, and you wondered what it would be like to lean over and pluck each hair out of his nostrils, until his eyes were streaming.

‘No,’ you said, and you felt your cheeks redden. ‘Massage, mostly remedial but also deep tissue. I can help with bad backs, with sore legs and arms, bad necks. All that patrolling, all that watching the horizon, must be murder on the body.’ You scanned their faces, Nostril Man not convinced but Maria smiling warmly at you. You swallowed, trying to wet your throat to prevent it from just outright closing over. ‘Surely you want your men and women, the people out there protecting Jackson, to be strong?’

__

The house you were allocated was four over from Marla, and Ray was placed three streets back towards the gate. You had idly wondered if you had been split up to try and avoid trouble, but actually you enjoyed the solitude for the first time since the apocalypse. Having had to travel in packs, having been crammed in four or six to a one-bedroom apartment in the QZ, having listened to Ray retell his story of crossing the Canadian border every might for at least a year and a half, you relished the way that you could once again hear the ringing in your ears. When you rolled your shoulders, you heard the spinal fluid pool and bubble at the base of your skull.

The benefit of having the place to yourself was that the second bedroom easily converted to your treatment room. Tommy and a couple of the other men from town had brought in a spare dining table, and you found that with enough blankets and towels piled on top of it you could make a decently comfortable surface to lie on. Ray had offered to cut a hole in the middle like a real massage table, but you had seen him try to chop wood one night with a blunt axe, a night when you thought without a fire you would freeze to death, but it would still be better than listening to him whine about having nearly chopped off his toes for the rest of time. Instead, you created a ring of towels just back from the edge, a position that meant people could still breathe as they lay face down, and you practiced how you would apologise to them for the inconvenience of it, what joke you could make to try and win back their confidence, marvelled at the fact that even at the end of the world you were still trying to cover for your inadequacies.  

Maria was your first client, and as soon as you were convinced you could accommodate her growing stomach comfortably as she lay on her side, you welcomed her in.

‘It’s just my hips, my lower back,’ she said, as you poured shampoo on your hands to stand in for massage oil.

‘This might be cold, I’m sorry,’ you said, not adding that it could also be sudsy, and wilted a little inside as Maria flinched when you touched her. ‘I’m sorry,’ you said again, as she exhaled.

‘Can you feel where it is?’ she asked, and you hummed.

‘The pain?’

‘You said you could heal.’ You smiled, pressing down on a knot hitched to Maria’s hip flexor. She sighed, and you watched as the tension disappeared from her shoulders, her body slumping forward slightly such that you had to grab her knee and roll her back.

‘You tell me,’ you said, and she huffed at you.

‘Those men, the council, you have no idea how little they would understand why we needed you,’ she said.

‘Wait ‘til I’ve finished putting my elbow in your butt cheek, then tell me that again,’ you said.

‘Wait, what?’ Maria startled, but you were already on her, promising that the pain would fade as the tension released, ignoring the stream of obscenities, having heard far worse in your time. The before times.

__

Maria spread the word and soon you were busy, with a regular list of clients that heavily favoured the women of Jackson until they were able to convince the men that they, too, had musculoskeletal systems. Maria was a regular right up until she got too big to haul herself onto the table, and then she would just sit in your kitchen and make you tea, explaining the history of the place until you started to feel properly at home there.

One afternoon she sat with her head resting in her hand, as you held her foot in your lap, gently massaging over her sock.

‘You don’t come out much,’ she said. ‘I see you in the mess hall for breakfast, then you’re gone.’

‘I have clients early these days, sometimes a full patrol before they go out.’

‘What about the off days? The days that we don’t patrol?’

‘Washing. I go through a lot of towels.’

‘You need help with those?’

‘No, I like doing it. Warm water is such a dream, I still can’t believe it when I fill up the bucket.’

‘After work I never see you at the bison.’

You pinched her toe a little hard and she hissed, and you felt the heat on your cheeks.

‘I am grateful for my place here,’ you said, and you looked up into her eyes then, your hands still but cradling her foot to your chest. ‘That you advocated for me, that you helped me set myself up. I know that Tommy wouldn’t have if you hadn’t asked him.’

She smiled, glancing down at the tea in her cup.

‘It’s hard to be back amongst so many people, and to not be…’ you trailed off. Marla came around some nights, but it had been at least a week since you’d seen Ray. You had thought they were your safe people, but in a big house behind a secure wall, you wondered how much that was true.

‘To not be waiting for them to shoot you, to stab you?’ Maria finished, and you sighed.

‘Or to not get stabbed or shot themselves.’

‘You lost people?’ Maria asked, and then blinked, slowly. ‘That was a stupid question. Of course you did.’

The pattern of the tiles on the kitchen floor was two left and two right, you noticed, except for where the bench had been installed. There the pattern was interrupted, as if someone had miscounted, and there was a row of three along the perimeter.

‘Who did you lose?’ Maria asked you, and you gently lowered her foot to the ground.

‘All of them, just like all of us,’ you said, and you held out your harms such that Maria could pull herself up, and she sighed but used them to get to her feet, and you were grateful even in this moment to have helped someone.

__

You happened to be on your porch when you heard the commotion, a bunch of people running down the street towards the front gate. You thought for a moment of an invasion, that raiders had breached the wall, and wondered what, if anything, you would need to carry with you, what you could fit in a bag, looked despairingly at the snow on the mountain tops wondering how you could possibly carry enough blankets to ward off inevitable death. You braced yourself for screams, for gun shots, was genuinely confused when you heard none. Curious now, and less planning your immediate escape, you stepped down to your front gate, leaning over to see what the fuss was. A group of people were moving as one down the main street, and you stepped out onto the pavement to get a better look. You could see Tommy, his black hair sliced back to his shoulders making him stand out even in a crowd of other men. He was walking beside another man, the crowd parting to let them through, and with Tommy’s arm wrapped around his shoulder it meant that the other man had to stoop forward slightly, such that you could only see the top of his head. He had streaks of grey through his hair, his legs straight and strong underneath him. Tommy was gripping the front of the man’s shirt and talking into his ear. Behind them a younger girl, couldn’t be more than 15, trailed with her eyes set on the ground in front of her.

You watched as Maria came out of the sheriff’s office and stood on the pavement in front of them. She smiled when Tommy turned to her, letting go of the other man to wrap her in a bracing hug. You watched as the other man straightened, caught a glimpse for the first time of the patchy beard across his cheeks, of the roman line of his nose, of the flinty look in his eyes. He turned to the young girl, clapped her once or twice on the back, nodding in Maria’s direction. You saw that they nodded to each other, that this wasn’t as simple of a homecoming, that the girl carried pain deeper than any two hands could reach.

You had to wait three days for Maria to visit again before you could ask her about them, and when you did you felt her energy shift. Big as she was it was difficult for her to fidget, but you sensed that she would shuffle in your kitchen chair if she could.

‘Joel is Tommy’s brother,’ she told you, and when you thought about the shape of his jaw you realised you could see a sort of resemblance. This man had seemed to stoic, so closed off, compared to the brightness of the smile Tommy had been throwing at him. It had meant that you initially hadn’t seen it.

‘And the girl?’ you asked, and watched as Maria started fiddling with the hem of her shirt, stretched as it was over the heft of her belly.

‘A kind of daughter, I guess. Adopted, as much as anyone can be right now.’ Maria avoided your eyes and you lowered them, hoping that it would encourage her to continue. ‘They were here, before, for a brief time. A few months. Joel was… he and Ellie were heading down to Salt Lake, we weren’t sure if they were going to make it back, and Tommy…’ she stopped herself, gathered her thoughts, and you heard your own pulse in your neck as you waited.

‘Tommy had started to think that he’d lost him, lost them both. He’d started to think it was his fault, maybe, that he should have gone with them.’

‘But you’re…’ and you stopped, gesturing to her very pregnant frame.

‘I know, and he knew that he couldn’t have, but it didn’t feel like it when he thought his brother was gone.’

You didn’t need your hands to feel the tension coming off her, and you stood then, and reached out to her shoulder, picking up the tendon and easing it down. You remembered back in school when your teacher had shown you the diagram of the fascia, taught and spidery over the pink and red of the muscle. She rolled her neck, her head slumping towards you, and you offered her your torso as a pillow.

‘It doesn’t feel like a warm return,’ you said, eventually, and Maria sighed, reaching up to still your hand.

‘He’s a dangerous man,’ she said, after a while. ‘He’s done things, Tommy did them too but that’s his big brother, you know?’

You thought back to the way Tommy had gripped Joel’s shirt, the way he had been talking animatedly into his brother’s ear, the curl of Joel in on himself in response to it, the instinct to close down in the face of his brother’s overwhelming love.

‘We’ve all done things,’ you said, after a while.

‘It’s different,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why, it just is.’

‘What about the girl?’ you asked, and she softened then, under your touch.

‘She’ll defend Joel to the ends of the Earth,’ she said.

‘You don’t trust her judgement?’ you asked.

‘I don’t trust that Joel isn’t keeping her in the dark,’ she muttered, and it was quiet enough that you had to lean over to hear, and when the words unfurled around you you pulled back from them, the concern and the weight and the finality of them, the heaviness of them in your ears.

[teslasucks37]

CW: NSFW under the cut, afab!reader in fem clothing (gn tho cause no pronouns), Dubcon, Voyeurism/Exhibitionism, near crying during sex, so much squirting, real sappy shit

A/N: After thousands of years… It’s finally completed… All 5k+ words… It’s beautiful…

GL!Charlie x GL!Reader

Over and Over Again

“After such a long wait, the results are finally in!” A jubilant voice reverberated from above, as if through a microphone.

You stirred, grabbing your head instinctively as a slight pain seared through it at the loud sound. Sitting up slowly, you took in your surroundings. A sterile-looking white room, white floors, white walls, white desk, white chair, white bed, white sheets, white pillows. Worst of all, white high-tech cameras in all four corners of the room, much too high for you to reach.

The only thing not pure white besides you was the person next to you.

“Charlie…” You mumbled to yourself, seeing his unconscious body sprawled on the floor, much like you had been. Crawling over to him, you shook his shoulder, earning a groan in response.

The two of you were dressed in white to match the room, him in a tshirt and boxers, you in some kind of lacy nightgown.

But there wasn’t much time to linger on your apparel.

“We asked you, yes you, the viewers, whose story you most wanted to see continue past that heart wrenching final episode!” You glanced up at the sound, seeing it was coming from a loud speaker in the corner.

Squinting and blinking the headache from his skull, Charlie sat up with your help. “What happened?” His eyes widened slightly, straightening his crooked glasses and taking in your face. “We died. I saw you die.” He paused, attempting to remember what exactly had happened. “At least I think…”

“They must have brought us back. I can’t really remember either.” You reached out a hand to him, which he grabbed clumsily. The two of you stood up, hands unclasping as he came to similar conclusions as you about your surroundings.

There was no door, no windows, no way out.

Your memories were a little fuzzy. You could somehow remember the company, very vaguely what they had done to you all, flashes of running from people in masks and an odd wire monster, but nothing else.

Nothing that could help you leave.

“The votes are officially counted, and to no one’s surprise, our fan-favorite pair took home the win by a landslide!” Artificial cheering and clapping filled the room, just before the cameras beeped to life, the previously darkened LEDs changing to red.

Charlie turned to the camera, preparing to shout to it in frustration, but his mouth was quickly covered by your hand.

His eyebrows furrowed, before he caught your eye and quickly mellowed out.

“We shouldn’t tip them off that we remember.” You whisper to him, glancing at the cameras watching the both of you.

Who knows what they would do if they knew? Brainwash you again? Or maybe just kill you and be done with it all, starting again with new contestants.

He sighed through your hand, nodding in agreement before you uncover his mouth.

Neither of you were willing to take the chance and find out.

“We know you all have been waiting for a long time for this, so we’ve prepared a cheeky little after dark special for our wonderful premium viewers that want a little more BANG for their buck...”

The laugh track rang loud over the speaker.

His eyes went wide as he turned to you with a whisper. “You don’t think they mean…” He glanced at the bed, then at each of your attires. “Isn’t there usually some kind of intimacy coordinator for this kinda thing?” He breathed the joke out nervously, not wanting to say it too loud for the cameras to catch.

You exhaled, which almost could have been a chuckle if the two of you weren’t trapped in a bedroom being told to have sex in front of millions of people.

He was nervous. Charlie always joked when he was nervous. But you just couldn’t seem to remember how you knew that.

Charlie was a fellow contestant, player, co-star, whatever it could be called when you were on a show that brainwashed you against your will.

You pushed your hair back with a hand as you turned away from him, casing the room once more. “Just… Let me think.”

Along the wall was a large bolted down vent next to the speaker.

It looked large enough to crawl through, maybe…

“Aw, it looks like our contestants are being a little camera shy. But don’t worry, we have just the thing prepared if they don’t get to it!” The voice hissed out insistently.

“Shit...” You didn’t want to find out what exactly that meant. Turning and grabbing Charlie’s face, you pulled him into a hasty kiss.

His hands shot your hips, before pulling away slightly. “Woah, I… I’m not against… I just… Maybe right now isn’t-”

“We have to.” You whispered against his lips desperately. “Just stall until I think of something.”

Charlie’s breathing became shallower, his teeth chewing his lip slightly as he glanced down at yours.

Okay, he could do that. He could stall by… Kissing you and… Touching you…

But doing it in front of all the people watching… The company…

The thought made his heart pound.

He moved forward slowly, his soft lips pressed against you with a gentleness that only Charlie could have.

And it didn’t even seem that strange to him, like it was meant to be this way.

His fingers around your hips pulled you closer, rubbing mesmerizing circles into the bone.

He just hoped you would think of something fast.

And you tried, you really did try, but it was so hard to think with his lips slotting with yours.

His mouth kissed down your jaw, to your neck and shoulders, sucking on the skin with a fervor you hadn’t expected from him. Seeming to lean back on its own, your head gave him more room to work on your neck.

God, it just felt so good, so right.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sensation, before flicking to the bed a few feet away.

Maybe you could pry open the vent with a piece of the bed frame? But only if it was metal. You had to get closer. And make it look natural.

“Charlie, the bed.” You leaned closer to mumble in his ear. “I need to check something.”

Charlie paused his teeth on your throat. “What? Oh, yeah.” His breathy whispers sent shivers across your skin as his hands hoisted your partly exposed legs around his hips.

You gasped as he lifted you effortlessly, his muscles flexing against you as he walked you both over to the bed, placing you down gently.

You somehow gathered he was buff, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering just how buff he was if he managed to lift you that easily, seemingly without any effort.

You sat up on the bed, propping yourself up with your hands behind you to chase his touch.

Charlie leaned down, reattaching his lips to your shoulder, suckling on your sweet spot and making a light moan fall from your mouth. He stood between your legs, which would have hung slightly over the bed if you hadn’t bent your knees to place the heels of your feet at the corner of the mattress.

Charlie tried not to look down toward between your legs, not wanting to invade your privacy, despite his hands sliding up your thighs, the fabric of your nightgown bunching in his hands.

“You just, feel so… Right, if that makes sense...” Charlie mumbled against your skin in a hushed tone, something for just the two of you to know. Not the unwanted viewers.

His words sent a shot of arousal down your spine, spiraling into your core.

You felt your pussy flutter around nothing. “Fuck…”

You wanted him so badly. It snuck up on you. You were able to ignore it when he wasn’t touching you and saying all these confusing things. But when his fingers grazed over your inner thighs and his hips had to stop themselves from bucking against you, a delicious hardness bulging in his boxers and pressing against your leg, you just couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“Keep going, Charlie.” You plead, your fingers threading through the hairs at the base of his neck. “We should… Hah~” His teeth scraped against your neck at your grip on his hair, forcing a moan from your mouth. “Keep going~”

Charlie had to practically tear his lips away from you, pulling off his shirt and knocking his glasses slightly off kilter, immediately going to readjust them.

His chest was chiseled, abs strong and defined, biceps bulk with muscle.

He looked so fucking strong. How had he managed to get so strong in this place?

His action must have been based on instinct, due to the light flushing that overtook his cheeks when he realized what he’d just done. Exposing himself to you in a way he’d never done before.

But when he saw the way you were licking your lips, practically drooling over his body, he grinned lightly.

You must have been staring a little to long, because when you stopping admiring his body, his hips were pressed against yours, Charlie’s erection now hard enough to stand straight in the restrictive clothing of the white boxers.

The man in front of you glanced up bashfully. “Do you really want me to…” Charlie gulped, his clothed tip pressed against your clit through your white cotton panties.

You nod, needing more time, but mostly just wanting him inside you. “It’s okay, Char.”

He just couldn’t help himself, not when you were spread out so perfectly for him. Not when you were saying just how okay it was for him to do what he wanted. Not when your perfect lips uttered out that nickname for him.

“I want you to.” You didn’t even need to play it up for the camera anymore, the desire burning in your core being enough to warrant your actions. You grip the hem of the nightgown you were placed in, rolling it up your body and revealing more and more skin to Charlie as well as the other viewers.

He watched with heavy eyelids, hunger and heat taking over his gaze. “Yeah?” The way he said it could have come off as rhetorical, as dirty talk, but the way he said it, like he desperately needed it to be true, was almost his way of asking if it was real. Praying that it was real.

“Yeah.” You nodded, biting your lip as you pull the rest of the fabric over your head and onto the floor. Your tits spilled out, the soft skin being cupped by Charlie’s hands almost instantly.

His thumbed the peaks of your nipples, hardening in the cold air of the room before being warmed by his touch. “Holy shit…”

You grinned wolfishly at an awe stricken expression falling upon his face.

On a mission to keep kissing him, you reached up a hand to touch his body, pulling yourself up with his waist to not fall back completely.

Charlie took advantage of your unsteadiness, practically growling like a god damn predator as he lifted you and threw you back further onto the bed. He crawled over you, licking his teeth and brushing his hands all over your bare upper body.

Your waist, your stomach, your tits, your neck, and then back down again.

You never would have thought that Charlie, sweet, funny, a little bit awkward Charlie, would have you on a bed like this, dripping and begging for him.

He hooked his fingers in the panties you wore, sliding them down your thighs and lifting your legs to pull them off.

Before your legs fell completely, Charlie caught them, ducking under one to put both on his shoulders, examining what was between them with a hunger in his eyes you’d never seen before.

At least, not that you could remember…

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me…” He was panting just from the sight of you, swiping a fingertip through your folds, before bringing it up to his lips to taste. His mouth contorted around his finger for just a moment, savoring the taste, then pulled it out of his mouth. “And you taste so damn good…”

You whined at his teasing touch, reaching for his boxers and tugging them down to get to the thick length you felt so intimately against your thigh earlier through the fabric.

The sight of him above you, watching you squirm with heavy eyelids, made you need to squirm even more.

He smirked at your eagerness, pulling his boxers the rest of the way down and lifting his legs while doing so, shifting forward so the backs of your knees were on his shoulders, and the thick muscle of his cock slapped against your pelvis.

It was so fucking big, because of course Charlie was massive.

Just another thing you would have never expected from him.

His cock was so pretty, too.

A pretty pink tip that was drooling everywhere, almost leaking pre-cum onto your skin. His shaft that had a slight upward curve to it, his hardness almost seeming painful. A few veins that ran down the side of it as it twitched in neglect. Charlie watched himself for a moment, admiring the view of it thick and heavy on your stomach.

“Please…” You whined at the sight, so close to where you needed him.

Charlie pulled his bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth as he maneuvered his tip to notch against your pussy.

He just couldn’t help himself.

The two of you sighed, bordering on whimpers, as his cock slipped past your folds and inside your gummy walls.

You pulsed around him, making Charlie’s face contort in a way you’d never seen before. He was so overwhelmed with the feeling of you, having you surround him like this, in a way he’d probably never experienced before.

“So perfect. Like you were made to fit around my cock.” Charlie mumbled out, almost sounding in disbelief at the feeling of you around him as he slowly began to rock in and out.

“Yes~” You sighed, whether in agreement of his naughty words, or in approval of the feeling of him bottoming out inside you repeatedly, you weren’t sure. “More~”

Charlie’s head fell forward, his voice shaking in desire. “Yeah? More?”

You nodded, before dissolving into a moaning mess as his hips began snapping against your ass faster, harder, deeper. “Oh, fuck!”

You could feel his tip kissing your cervix, over and over, his fists tangled in the sheets next to you.

Charlie’s hair swished with his momentum, groans and pants falling from his slightly kiss-swollen lips.

You could feel every inch of his length, welcoming him inside like he was fucking home.

The feeling of all those eyes watching Charlie slide his cock in and out of you was invigorating, embarrassing, intoxicating.

The way the camera moved every so slightly with this thrusts had you gripping his muscular arms, veins bulging to make room for the thick meat of them. You wanted to bite into it, feel his arms wrap around your throat as he fucked you.

But looking down to where you were connected to watch his abs flex as he pumped inside you and his face contort in pleasure was a good enough view.

“Feels so good…” Charlie groaned out, his hands shifting from gripping the sheets desperately to gripping your thighs.

Surely enough to leave bruises, but the hazy and pleasure-coated thought delighted you. The idea of him leaving marks for everyone at the company to see, everyone watching to see, it made your pussy flutter around him.

Fuck it felt so good, so overwhelming, so fucking good. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You felt yourself shaking in pleasure.

The idea of everyone watching him fold you in half and fuck you, everyone watching you cum around him, made your back arch up into him as you let out a moan, not caring who could hear as you came.

Charlie’s lips surged to yours, the quivering of your walls making him groan as you squirt around him, the stretch of your thighs pinching slightly and prolonging your pleasure even further.

Your cum splashes against his abdomen, dripping down his thighs and your own.

As your high retreats, he pulls away and gazes into your eyes, seeing his own reflection in them. The only place he would ever want to or care to see himself, from your perspective.

He slows his hips between your trembling legs just to look at you, analyzing every detail of your face.

But his eyes narrow slightly, before the both of you gasp.

Suddenly a vision overtakes you, a memory from before. A visage of you inside a cabin, scolding a Charlie covered in slime. A thick Brooklyn accent falling from your lips as you wag your finger at him. “Every week you bring home some freak human to cook for you, when I’m off working my ass off to provide for this damn house!” You point to the person standing next to him, clad in a mask that covered half of their face. You prattled on about watching the kids, how their no-good father was a horrible influence on them.

You felt docile, utterly complacent in fulfilling your role. It’s all you knew. This was your real life.

But you could also feel in your heart that the fight was meant to be comedic. To make someone laugh. And despite a frown, the fondness in Charlie’s eyes, whether it was his character, or the actor behind his character, or even the real person behind both, shined brighter than any animosity.

The worn ring on your left hand as you pointed and shouted made your mind race. Spotting Charlie with a matching one on his own left hand, you remembered your feelings for him, good and bad, some regarding his character, some not.

You were then thrusted into a later version of that self, crying over your dead husband’s goopy remains. You shouted and cried out and cursed the name of whoever had killed him. But then, almost like a switch was flipped, you began to clean up the room wordlessly. Items were scattered across the floor, just something you had to do.

And then it became just another thing that happened in your life. The feelings toward this Charlie and the one in the white room with you melded and became the same. The feelings you were scripted with felt just as real as the feelings that weren’t.

More visions pushed into your mind.

The company had done a trivia show, having Charlie as the announcer, always finding subtle ways to flirt with you. You had been certain that any remarks beyond the first few were not pushed out by the company.

They’d come up with an escape room program, Charlie being strapped to a table where people rummaged around his slime-like insides to find special items. You hadn’t even been kept in the same room but when he was wheeled into the main room, you instantly felt more at ease, though at the time you couldn’t explain why.

There had been a dating show, completely unscripted minus a few forced drama inclusions, always involving Austin in some way. You remembered you and Charlie’s confession to each other, your first date, your first kiss. The two of you had been together since the first few episodes, only ending when the show itself was cancelled, despite constant attempts from others at unnecessary relationship drama.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of versions of yourself flashed across your mind, the visions seeming so clear and then passing like a distant, but no longer foggy memory.

And in every single version of yourself, Charlie was there. One way or another, he was always with you.

And then your vision became a shot one of yourself ripping a pair of headphones off of Charlie, snapping him out of whatever kind of control he’d been put under. The look of relief on his face as he saw you melted your heart instantly.

The scene changed to a shot later that day of you running with Charlie and that same person from the cabin, all much more lucid than before, for the first time ever. The three of you managed to barricade yourselves in some kind of survivalist store in the mall. Your eye caught a compound bow, next to a small quiver of six arrows. You grabbed it, slinging it over your shoulder as Charlie strapped a bullet-proof vest over his light green shirt.

“You know how to use that?” Ranboo asked as they grabbed a knife from a case. The third, who you now remembered in the present was dead. Really dead.

Your lips thinned in slight recognition, analyzing it like an old friend from long ago. “I think so…”

Another shot of the three of you running, you shooting arrows into the heads of people in masks, wires and oil spilling out. So much blood, death. The lives of your friends. And another was going to become lost right in front of you.

The three of you had found a horizontal layout of the cabin. What had seemed so real was just a three-walled set on a broadcasting channel.

And the thing that that been chasing you finally caught up.

“Charlie!” You screamed, the large TV monster overtaking him and bludgeoning him as he wailed, shouting to Ranboo to get to the shut-down button through his pain.

“Go, Ran.” Tears streamed down your face as you grabbed at your quiver, only to find it empty. Your eyes narrowed at the large monster as it stood above Charlie, leaving him to die slowly.

“But-”

Gripping your bow with both hands, you sized up the giant monster. It hummed sadistically, making your body instinctively shrink in front of it.

You had to do something to slow it down.

Reeling back, you struck the wires with the curve of the bow, unplugging some of them in the process. The monster staggered slightly as you continued to beat it’s exposed wiring in the only way possible. You roared in anger, fueled with revenge for Charlie, and stabbed the bow into its already-shattered TV face.

You turned to face Ranboo, who was still standing there, a dumbfounded look on their face.

“Just go!” You panted in exhaustion, your heart stopping as a pain shot through your stomach. Some kind of sharp and twisted metal had been unfurled from the monster, and pierced through you.

You gasped in pain, a gurgle coming out from below you. Charlie, his chest beaten and bloodied, his mouth expelling red down the side, cried out for you in the only way he could.

The monster dragged the sword from you, simply turning and retreating back to the shadows as you fell to the floor next to the man you loved.

Ranboo turned after that, sprinting as masks suddenly emerged from every corner, thundering past the two of you on the floor to catch the one going for the button.

There was some kind of sickly sweet irony to it all.

Your first ever moments of lucidity were being ripped away, but as you looked into Charlie’s slowly glazing over eyes, you knew everything would be okay, no matter where you ended up after this.

Your connection had prevailed over life and death thousands of times. You would just simply do it again.

The two of you reached for each other, being only inches apart before you lost consciousness, dying within the walls of the company once again.

And like a TV channel cutting out, your vision returned to you, Charlie above you with a look in his eyes that said he’d seen the same things as you.

The two of you had been together, going through everything for years. Finding each other, being reset, only to do it over and over again. Sometimes being scripted to be in love, sometimes coming to it naturally. One of the only constants in a reality that was always changing.

His eyes softened to a warm and revering gaze, both of your eyes becoming misty as you smiled weakly at him.

You and Charlie were a part of each other, both intertwined into your individual beings eternally.

And the only tangible thing was the two of you in this moment, holding each other.

Grasping the back of his neck, you pulled him into a kiss.

Charlie’s cock twitched inside you at the contact, reminding the two of you just what exactly you’d been doing before remembering everything.

He grinned against your lips, beginning to pull out, before you brought your legs down and locked them around his waist, dragging him back inside.

The motion made you both whimper as he bottomed out inside you once more.

“Don’t stop~” You pleaded into his mouth with a newfound vigor.

For every moment you’d spent with him, the two of you had never gotten to do this. Might as well make the most of it…

“Fuck…” Charlie sighed, rolling his hips up into you even deeper with the wetness of your previous orgasm, if it was even possible. “God, of course you feel so right, you’re mine.”

Your heart soared at his words, his forehead coming to lean against your own, his real presence with you once again.

“I’m yours~” You whimpered, his pelvis brushing your clit ever so slightly.

Lifting your knees back to his shoulders, he returned his grip to your legs. He was practically on top of you, pressing your thighs to your abdomen with his waist in an attempt to go deeper, be closer.

The soft and shy Charlie that you were used to was completely overtaken by lust, now only a man deprived of the person he’d loved for years, lifetimes, their body finally in his hands, at his mercy.

“Fuuuuck...” Charlie mumbled out, leaning back slightly to watch his cock move in and out of you, your heat stretching around him so obediently. “So pretty…” He spread your folds slightly with two fingers, getting a closer look as he slid in and out.

You moved a hand from his arm to his waist, pulling him in faster. “Charlie…” You trailed off, wanting more, needing more.

He chuckled at your pitiful attempt, moving the fingers spreading you to rub pressured circles into your clit.

“Mmm~” Your back arched into him, an arm wrapping around his back to desperately bring him closer.

Fuck, his fingers felt so good coupled with his dick in you.

Your nails dug into the skin of his back, raking down his flesh as Charlie’s lips parted to release the loudest shuddering moan you’d ever heard from him.

You don’t even have the time to appreciate the sound as his hips begin pounding into you.

“Fuck, please do that again.” He whines, bringing his whole torso down to shove his face into your neck, his glasses knocking against your cheek for a moment.

You could barely comply, moaning wildly as his hands wrapped around your hips to pull you onto him even harder. Your arms flailed until you reached his back, gripping and slashing and slipping and clawing all over the taught muscles.

Charlie panted and moaned next to your ear, suckling on the skin of your neck as his big arms were stuffed between your sweaty bodies.

The two of you were pressed together, moaning and writhing and at the complete mercy of each other.

Slapping sounds and the smell of sex filled the room. He felt so big inside of you, especially when you were so close.

You could feel yourself coming undone, beginning to shake beneath him, your throat tightening, before crying out as you came around him again.

Your cum sprayed out against his pelvis, pooling on your abdomen and soaking the bed. It was fucking everywhere.

“Oh, yeah~” Charlie shakily moaned, nipping at the skin on your shoulder, before lifting his head to kiss you.

His bruising pace didn’t halt for a second, if anything he went faster, thrusting wildly as he pulled back from the kiss.

You breathed together, your lips inches apart as he used you to chase his own release. His glasses fogged up from the sheer heat his body was radiating. “I love you…” Charlie groaned into your mouth, babbling desperately. “I’ve always fucking loved you~”

You couldn’t hold back a large smile, yet unable to push any words from your lips.

His eyes were completely glazed over with love, lust, completion, everything you both felt in that moment. But it was blocked as his eyes fluttered closed, his forehead retreating into your neck as his body twitched. His pelvis slammed against yours with a final slap, twitching and spasming as he painted your insides.

You could feel the twitching of his cock, the sensation filling you with pride.

Charlie practically collapsed onto you, trembling and moaning lowly, as the aftershocks of his orgasm subsided.

The two of you simply layed there, the reality of your situation beginning to set back in slowly.

In an attempt to sit up with the large man on top of you, your hand bushed against something under the pillow, the foggy bliss clearing quicker at the feeling of something metal on your fingertips.

Following your hand under the pillow, Charlie lifting his head to see.

He looked completely fucked out, his hair tussled and ragged, his glasses slightly crooked on his nose, his face flushed and damp with sweat.

You smirked at the sight, nearly getting distracted by just how beautiful your soulmate was.

Because he really was your soulmate, in every meaning you could think of.

“Don’t go yet, folks! We still have a multitude of fun games for our wonderful couple, and we’re gonna be asking you for suggestions!” The loud speaker blared, making Charlie cringe at the sound.

You pulled out the metal box, seeing some kind of futuristic TV remote with two buttons, a red circle and a green square. Glancing at the cameras, whose LEDs all were a steady red, you pointed the remote at one and clicked the circular button.

The hum of the cameras came to a sudden stop, every single one of their LEDs turning back to an empty grey.

“Hey, where did you-” The voice cut out, also seemingly shut off by the remote.

“Huh…” Charlie breathed out, his voice raspy from all of the sounds he’d released just minutes ago. He glanced around to see every camera had indeed turned off.

You experimentally pressed the square button, jolting as the vent in the corner fell off the wall, making a loud clanging sound.

Charlie quickly pulled you close at the sudden noise, before seeing the vent on the floor and letting go, breathing out a sigh of relief.

The thought of finally being free after so long seemed almost too good to be true, but you had to try.

“Come on.” You shot up, causing Charlie to sit up and slip out of you with a shudder.

He leaned over the bed, tossing the nightgown you’d peeled off earlier to you before grabbing his own clothes.

As you scrambled up you shivered, feeling the remnants of your union drip down your thighs.

“Shit…” Charlie mumbled out appreciatively after putting on his shirt, staring at your thighs.

You turned to him and his head snapped to the floor, trying to act like he hadn’t been looking. A small smile spread across your face as you caught a glimpse of the red marks streaking down his back from your nails, before you pulled on the nightgown. You slipped on the panties, feeling the wet mess leaking out of you. Waddling to the wall, you narrowed your eyes at the small light coming out of the vent.

Sunlight.

Charlie pulled up the boxers, walking over to you to look over the vent, making sure it looked safe from your point of view. He slipped his hand into yours, intertwining your hands with a squeeze.

“I’ve always loved you too, Char.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips, feeling him smile against you, before tossing the remote control to the floor. “Now, let’s get the hell out of here.”

[wolvietxt]

𝓒HAPTER 𝓕OUR !

series masterlist     taglist form  pairing : logan howlett x reader warnings : jealousy, mentions of food + cooking together, fluff, slightly suggestive, light angst, fluff, happy ending  wc : 4.6k a/n : this is a weird little chapter, the storyline isn’t really clicking in my head anymore, so enjoy this last chapter which is just little snapshots into their relationship😖

logan hadn’t left your side all day.  

it wasn’t subtle - not the way his hand found the small of your back when you passed in the hallway, or how his rough voice softened whenever he addressed you. he’d been like this since last night, a quiet intensity in his actions that you couldn’t quite name but felt deeply. it was comforting and overwhelming all at once.  

you sat together on the couch in one of the x-mansion’s quieter lounges, where the fire crackled in the hearth, painting the room in a warm amber glow. no one else lingered nearby, the hour late enough that the mansion had mostly gone still. logan had been uncharacteristically patient as you sifted through a book - not actually reading, just needing something to occupy your hands. his arm rested along the back of the couch, close but not quite touching you.  

"you’re awfully quiet tonight, sweetheart," he finally said, his voice a low rumble that broke the silence.  

the endearment caught you off guard - not because he hadn’t used it before, but because it was still so new, still carried so much weight. your chest tightened, though not unpleasantly, and you glanced up at him, his sharp gaze already on you.  

"just tired," you murmured. it wasn’t untrue, but it wasn’t everything either.  

logan shifted closer, the couch dipping under his weight. his hand reached out, rough fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. "you thinkin’ too much again?" he asked, his tone edged with gruff concern.  

you smiled faintly, unable to help it. "i guess so."  

his brows furrowed, his thumb trailing briefly along your cheekbone. "listen," he began, hesitating for a moment before continuing, "i know i ain’t been... easy. but i mean it when i say i’m tryin’, darlin’."  

your heart ached at the raw honesty in his voice. logan didn’t apologize often - he wasn’t wired that way - but this wasn’t about the words. it was about the way he looked at you now, the vulnerability hidden beneath his tough exterior.  

"i know you are," you said softly.  

he exhaled, shoulders relaxing as if your acknowledgment eased something deep inside him. "good. ‘cause you mean too damn much to me to screw this up."  

your breath hitched, the weight of his admission settling over you. it wasn’t poetic or perfect, but it was logan - real, unfiltered, and entirely sincere.  

unable to find the right words, you leaned into him instead, your head resting against his shoulder. his arm came around you instantly, pulling you closer, his hold firm but gentle.  

"you’re not screwing anything up," you said after a moment, your voice muffled against his shirt.  

logan chuckled, the sound low and warm. "guess we’ll see ‘bout that."  

he didn’t let you move far from him after that. his hand stayed firm against your side, as if anchoring you, while his other came up to rest on your knee. it wasn’t possessive - just solid, grounding. you wondered if he even realized how much he did that, how his instinct was always to make you feel safe.  

the firelight flickered in his eyes, softening the usual sharpness there. he shifted slightly, angling himself to see you better. "yer too hard on yourself, y’know," he muttered, the words almost grumbled, like they were difficult for him to admit.  

you blinked at him, confused. "what do you mean?"  

"i mean you’re sittin’ here, lookin’ like you got the weight of the damn world on your shoulders," he said, his thumb absently brushing a slow circle against your knee. "you don’t gotta carry everything by yourself, darlin’. not when i’m right here."  

the quiet conviction in his voice undid something in you. logan had always been the kind of person to fix things with his hands, to fight or protect or mend in ways that didn’t rely on words. but tonight, he was saying exactly what you needed to hear.  

you didn’t realize you were crying until his fingers caught a stray tear on your cheek.  

"hey," he said softly, leaning closer. "what’s all this for?"  

you shook your head, a watery laugh escaping despite yourself. "i don’t know," you admitted, wiping at your face with a shaky hand. "just... everything, i guess."  

"aw, c’mere," he murmured, pulling you fully into his lap without hesitation.  

you didn’t resist, letting him wrap his arms around you completely. he tucked your head under his chin, his hands running soothingly up and down your back.  

"you’re somethin’ else, sweetheart," he said quietly, his breath warm against your hair. "don’t know how you put up with me."  

"you’re not as bad as you think," you whispered, your fingers curling into his shirt.  

logan huffed a laugh, low and rough, and you felt it vibrate through his chest. you stayed like that for a while, the room quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of his breathing.  

when you finally pulled back to look at him, his hand came up to cradle your face again, his thumb brushing over your cheek. his expression was softer than you’d ever seen it, an openness there that made your heart ache in the best way.  

"you okay now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  

you nodded, leaning into his touch. "yeah. thanks to you."  

logan’s lips quirked into a small, crooked smile. "good."  

he kissed your forehead then, slow and deliberate, as if sealing the moment between you.  

"c’mon," he said after a beat, his arms still loosely around you. "let’s get some sleep. i’ll stick close, just in case you start overthinkin’ again."  

you laughed softly, letting him guide you to your feet. "you sure you’re not just making excuses to stay near me?"  

logan raised a brow, smirking. "damn right i am."  

and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe that things could really be this good.  

logan’s hand lingered on yours longer than it should’ve when you passed him a cup of coffee the next morning. it was a small gesture, fleeting, but it sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the steaming drink. his touch was rough, calloused, yet careful, as if he was afraid of pushing too hard.  

“thanks,” he mumbled, his voice gravelly from sleep.  

“don’t mention it,” you replied, flashing him a soft smile. you weren’t used to mornings like this - quiet and unhurried, where logan wasn’t already halfway out the door or brooding in some corner.  

he sat across from you at the table, his gaze flickering between the mug and the window. the sunlight caught on the silver streaks in his hair, softening his usual sharpness. you didn’t say much; you didn’t need to.  

the silence between you had shifted - no longer heavy with unspoken tensions but something... lighter. 

you found yourselves alone in the training room later that day, an accidental coincidence, or maybe not.  

“you’re getting sloppy,” logan said, his tone gruff but without the usual edge.  

you rolled your eyes, leaning on the padded wall to catch your breath. “says the guy who hasn’t sparred me in weeks.”  

he smirked, stepping closer, his shadow falling over you. “you sure you’re ready for me?”  

“always.”  

the first hit came quick, but you dodged it, twisting away with a grin. sparring with logan wasn’t just training; it was a dance, a test of wit as much as skill. and for the first time, it felt like you were evenly matched - not just in the ring but in how you read each other.  

he pulled his punches just enough, and you met his strikes with the same restraint. when he caught you around the waist, pinning you down to the mat, his breath warm against your ear, you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you.  

“what’s so funny?” he asked, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.  

“you’re holding back,” you teased, still trapped beneath him.  

“don’t get used to it, baby,” he shot back, the nickname slipping out like second nature. his eyes widened slightly, as if realizing what he’d said, but he didn’t take it back.  

instead, he released you and stood, offering you a hand up. when you took it, his grip was firm but not rough, steadying you as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t fall.  

“same time tomorrow?” you asked, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing.  

he nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “yeah.”  

that night, you found him in the library, a glass of whiskey in his hand and an old book on the table in front of him. he didn’t look up when you entered, but you could feel the shift in the air, the way his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.  

“mind if i join you?”  

he shrugged, gesturing to the seat across from him. “free country.”  

you sat down, pulling a book off the nearest shelf more for show than anything else.  

“you always this friendly after sparring?” you asked after a moment, your voice light.  

logan chuckled, low and rough. “depends on the company.”  

you raised an eyebrow. “so i’m good company now?”  

he didn’t answer, but the faint smirk on his face said enough.  

for the next hour, you sat in companionable silence, the crackle of the fire the only sound. every now and then, you’d glance up to find him watching you, his expression unreadable but softer than usual.  

when you finally got up to leave, he spoke, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “sleep well, darlin’.”  

it wasn’t much, but it was enough to send you to bed with a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the fire.  

days turned into weeks, and the fragile bond between you grew stronger with each passing moment. logan wasn’t one for grand gestures, but he didn’t need to be. it was in the little things - the way he’d save you the last cup of coffee in the morning or how he’d linger just a second longer when your hands brushed.  

he still had his rough edges, still growled and grumbled more often than not, but there was a softness beneath it all, a quiet care that he didn’t try to hide anymore.  

and you? you found yourself falling into a rhythm with him, a push and pull that felt as natural as breathing.  

one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourselves on the porch, the world bathed in golden light.  

“you ever think about just... getting away?” logan asked, his voice thoughtful.  

you looked at him, surprised. “getting away from what?”  

“all of it,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “the missions, the danger, the... noise.”  

you considered his words, your gaze drifting to the horizon. “sometimes,” you admitted. “but i don’t think i’d ever stop looking over my shoulder.”  

“yeah,” he muttered, his jaw tightening. “me neither.”  

you placed a hand on his arm, your touch light but grounding. “but we’re not alone, logan. we’ve got each other, right?”  

he looked at you then, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the truth in your words. after a moment, he nodded, his hand covering yours.  

“yeah,” he said quietly. “we do.”  

and for the first time, it felt like maybe, just maybe, the both of you were exactly where you were meant to be.  

logan’s lips crushed against yours the moment you closed the door to his room. it wasn’t the first time you’d stolen a few moments together like this, but tonight felt different - more urgent, more consuming. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body searing through the thin fabric of your shirt.  

“you’ve been drivin’ me crazy all day, darlin’,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice low and rough. the words sent a shiver down your spine, and you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.  

“yeah?” you teased, breathless. “what’re you gonna do about it?”  

logan didn’t answer with words. instead, he backed you up against the wall, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a heated path in their wake. your head tilted back, a soft gasp escaping you as his teeth grazed your skin.  

“keep quiet,” he murmured, his voice barely above a growl. “walls ain’t exactly soundproof.”  

you bit your lip, trying to stifle a laugh, but it quickly turned into a quiet moan when his hands slid under your shirt, his touch rough but careful. he kissed you again, deeper this time, and you could feel the tension in his body, the restraint he was barely holding onto.  

you were just about to lose yourself completely when the doorknob rattled.  

“logan? you in there?”  

both of you froze, your heart leaping into your throat. scott’s voice was unmistakable, and it was far too close for comfort.  

logan pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he muttered a string of curses under his breath.  

“stay quiet,” he mouthed, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of annoyance and amusement.  

“logan, we’ve got a situation downstairs,” scott continued, his tone impatient.  

“yeah, yeah,” logan called back, his voice gruff. “gimme a minute.”  

you clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh, and logan shot you a warning look that was entirely undermined by the faint smirk tugging at his lips.  

“you’d better not be doing anything stupid,” scott added, his footsteps retreating down the hall.  

as soon as the sound of his boots faded, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your shoulders shaking with silent laughter.  

logan shook his head, a grin breaking through his usual scowl. “you think this is funny?”  

“a little,” you admitted, though your cheeks burned with embarrassment.  

he leaned in again, his lips brushing against yours in a way that made your knees weak. “then maybe you need a reminder to keep that mouth of yours quiet next time.”  

your laugh dissolved into another kiss, and this time, neither of you cared about the risk of getting caught.  

you were laughing, leaning on the kitchen counter as bobby attempted some ridiculous story about his latest stunt with his ice powers. the way you lit up the room - head tilted back, eyes crinkled with amusement - was magnetic. you always had that effect, drawing people in like moths to a flame.

logan had walked in moments earlier, unnoticed, and the sight of you surrounded by laughter hit him like a sucker punch. it wasn’t your laughter, though. it was bobby’s face - bright, playful, maybe a little too damn charmed by you - that set his teeth on edge.

“funny guy, huh?” logan’s gruff voice cut through the chatter, his presence suddenly filling the room. the atmosphere shifted immediately. you glanced up at him, smiling instinctively, but his expression was unreadable.

“logan,” you greeted warmly, though there was a flicker of confusion in your eyes. “what’s up?”

“just passin’ through,” he muttered, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. his gaze flicked between you and bobby before landing firmly on the latter. “don’t let me interrupt.”

bobby blinked, glancing at you and then back at logan. “uh, no, you’re good. i was just telling her about the - ”

“yeah, i heard,” logan cut him off, voice flat. “guess you’ve got a knack for stories.”

you frowned, catching the sharp edge in logan’s tone. “bobby was just being funny,” you said lightly, trying to defuse whatever this was. “it’s nothing serious.”

logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering to yours. “sure doesn’t look like nothin’,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch.

bobby, either oblivious or too nervous to address the tension, quickly excused himself. “uh, i’ve gotta go... do, uh, something. catch you later!” he darted out, leaving you and logan alone in the now-silent kitchen.

“what the hell was that?” you asked, crossing your arms as you turned to face him.

logan shrugged, nonchalant. “what was what?”

“don’t play dumb,” you said, your voice tinged with exasperation. “you were acting... weird.”

he scoffed, pushing off the doorframe. “wasn’t actin’ any kinda way.”

“logan.” you stepped closer, searching his face. “if you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

he avoided your gaze, tension radiating off him. “don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

you sighed, frustration bubbling up. “why are you acting jealous?”

his head snapped toward you, eyes narrowing. “jealous? me? of that kid?”

“yes, you,” you said, throwing your hands up. “you don’t need to be. bobby’s just... bobby. he’s a friend.”

logan’s expression darkened, his voice low. “didn’t look like ‘just a friend’ from where i was standin’.”

you stared at him, incredulous. “are you serious right now? bobby and i were literally just talking.”

“yeah, well, maybe i don’t like the way he looks at you,” logan snapped, his voice rougher than he intended. the words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken for a beat too long.

you softened slightly, stepping closer. “logan,” you said, gentler now. “you don’t have to worry about anyone else. it’s you. it’s always been you.”

his jaw worked, his defenses still up, but your words seemed to chip away at the wall he’d thrown up. he didn’t respond, but his posture shifted, less rigid now.

“can we just... not do this?” you asked, placing a hand on his arm. “please?”

logan sighed, the tension finally easing from his shoulders. “yeah,” he muttered, his voice quieter. “sorry. didn’t mean to...”

“it’s okay,” you interrupted softly. “just... trust me, okay?”

his gaze met yours, a flicker of something raw and unspoken in his eyes. he gave a small nod, the smallest crack in his usual gruff exterior. “i’ll try.”

logan was quieter than usual after the kitchen incident. it wasn’t like him to sulk - if anything, he preferred to keep himself busy when something was on his mind - but today, he lingered. even as you moved through your routine, you could feel his eyes following you, his presence hovering like a storm cloud.

when you finally had enough, you found him in the gym, pretending to focus on some heavy bag that had long since given up under his relentless punches.

“logan,” you called, stepping into the room.

he paused mid-swing, turning toward you. his brows were drawn low, jaw set tight, but the flicker of hesitation in his eyes softened the edges of his scowl.

“what?” he asked, the single word gruff but not unkind.

you crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “are you gonna talk to me about what happened earlier? or are we just gonna keep pretending everything’s fine?”

he scoffed, wiping his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder. “don’t know what there is to talk about.”

“really?” you raised a brow. “because it seems like you got upset over nothing and haven’t let it go since.”

he muttered something under his breath and turned back to the bag, but you weren’t about to let him escape this time. you marched forward, planting yourself in front of him, forcing him to look at you.

“logan, talk to me,” you insisted, your tone firm but not unkind.

his eyes flicked to yours, reluctant but unable to resist the pull of your sincerity. he took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “it’s nothin’, alright? just... don’t like the way people look at you sometimes.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the quiet admission. “logan... you know you don’t have to worry about that, right? no one else matters to me.”

“yeah, I know,” he said, his voice low. “it’s just... hard to turn that part of me off, y’know? seein’ someone else lookin’ at you like... like they could just take you away -”

“no one’s taking me away,” you interrupted, stepping closer. “not bobby, not anyone. i’m here. with you. always.”

his gaze dropped, the tension in his shoulders finally starting to ease. “you say that now, but... things change. people change.”

“not me,” you said firmly, reaching out to take his hand. his calloused fingers curled instinctively around yours, the contact grounding him in a way nothing else could. “i don’t care how many people look at me or talk to me. none of them matter the way you do.”

he let out a heavy sigh, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “you’re too damn good for me, y’know that?”

“don’t start with that,” you said, squeezing his hand. “i’m here because i want to be. because i care about you. and you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

a small, wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for the first time all day, the storm in his eyes began to clear. “guess i’ll just have to keep you then.”

“damn right you will,” you said, grinning.

he chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your heart ache in the best way. his free hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch gentle despite the strength behind it. “you’re somethin’ else, y’know that?”

“yeah, i’ve heard,” you teased, leaning into his hand.

his smile softened, and before you could say anything else, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, full of all the things he couldn’t put into words. it wasn’t rushed or heated, but it left you breathless all the same, your hands finding their way to his chest as his fingers threaded through your hair.

the kiss deepened, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer, and for a moment, everything else fell away. no jealousy, no doubts, no outside world - just the two of you, tangled in each other.

you broke away only when the need for air became too much, your forehead resting against his as you tried to steady your breathing.

“feel better now?” you asked, a little breathless.

“maybe,” he muttered, but the small smirk on his lips told you all you needed to know.

the kitchen was bathed in the warm glow of evening light, the scent of garlic and herbs mingling with the rich tang of tomato sauce. you stood at the stove, focused on stirring, the rhythmic motion soothing as you lost yourself in the process. the soft hum of a song you’d been playing earlier still lingered in the air, blending with the faint sounds of the mansion outside. it was a rare moment of quiet, just you and logan, finding comfort in the simplicity of cooking together.

“you’re gonna burn dinner if you keep staring at me like that,” logan’s voice came, deep and teasing, from behind. the heat in your cheeks had nothing to do with the stove, but you couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips.

you didn’t turn around immediately, taking a moment to savor the way he always seemed to make your pulse quicken without even trying. when you finally met his gaze, the corners of his mouth were curled up in that smirk you’d come to know so well. he leaned against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, eyes glinting with amusement.

“maybe i just want you to distract me,” you teased, tilting your head and letting the words hang between you. you felt a rush of exhilaration at the way his eyes darkened, the smirk giving way to something deeper, more intent.

“oh, i can do that,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and closing the space between you in a few long strides. his hands found your waist, strong and secure, pulling you close enough that the air between you was charged. his fingers splayed over the fabric of your shirt, and the touch sent a shiver up your spine.

“i can’t reach you if you’re too high up,” he muttered, eyes glancing down at the counter, then back up to yours. before you could react, he lifted you effortlessly, setting you on the edge of the countertop. the sound of a spoon clattering to the floor barely registered as you let out a startled laugh, the warmth of his body pressing into yours.

the soft hum of the sauce simmering behind you was forgotten as logan leaned in, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that was warm, tender, and almost unbearably slow. your heart stuttered, a sharp jolt of longing coursing through you. the heat between you seemed to seep into your skin, filling every space with the kind of comfort you didn’t know you craved until now.

“log - ” you started, but the word dissolved into a soft breath as he deepened the kiss, the rough edge of his stubble scraping gently against your skin. the kiss was unhurried, as if he were trying to savor every second, every touch, before the world outside could pull you away.

“damn it, we’re gonna set off the smoke detector,” you managed to say when he pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest heaving slightly. the smoke detector was already starting its impatient chirp, but he just chuckled, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

“let’s forget about it for a while,” he whispered, and you knew he wasn’t just talking about the smoke.

but reality had a way of reminding you of its presence. the faint, acrid smell of burning garlic reached your nose, and a flash of smoke curled into the air. the sauce, left unattended, had turned from a rich, warm red to a deep, unappetizing black. you gasped, scrambling to reach the pot and turn the burner off, but logan’s hands were at your hips, holding you steady.

“log, the sauce - ” you said, half-laughing, half-panicked as you glanced at the mess.

“who needs it?” he replied, voice low, eyes full of mischief. he dropped a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another, and you let out a laugh that felt free and light. the room filled with the sound of the smoke detector blaring, but it was drowned out by the rush of warmth between you two.

“you’re impossible,” you said, but the words carried no real heat. there was no room for anger or frustration when he looked at you like that, eyes full of fondness and a quiet intensity that only he could muster.

“and you love it,” he said, a playful challenge in his voice.

you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your forehead to his. the noise of the world outside the kitchen seemed to fade into the background as you let yourself sink into this moment. the soft warmth of his breath mingled with yours, a simple comfort that filled the space between your ribs. he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, the touch gentle enough to make your chest ache.

“yeah,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips. “i do.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “good. ‘cause i’m not planning on going anywhere.”

the smoke detector was still blaring, but now it felt like a distant noise, a reminder of the chaos that had been and the peace that was now.

“well, we might need to deal with that,” you said, glancing at the beeping alarm.

“after dinner,” he said, leaning in again, his voice deep and inviting. “we’ve got time.”

you nodded, closing your eyes as he pressed his lips to yours, the world around you fading away until it was just the two of you, a promise, and a kitchen full of forgotten dishes and warm, tender moments.

🌀 logan howlett : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours, @meadow-field

@hazydespair, @stupid-little-birdie, @aoi_targaryen, @urlocallocachica, @person-005

@christinamadsen, @zaggprincess2, @lokixryss

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[rskket]

agape

agape (αγάπη) — an ancient greek word for “love”, spec. selfless, unconditional love that transcends circumstance

odydio drabble, bittersweet ending, edited

word count: 1594

Contempt. Rage. Hatred. He laid these sentiments against his comrade, comparing them, trying to conclude which fit most perfectly. Not one of them lined up, did not connect, and failed to decipher the puzzle. The birth of such a child would generate mystification, a mystery that would shield the truth of its creator, never to be revealed through regular means: a clever veil tied taut with wire. 

 Repulsion. Heartache. Perhaps envy. Did a word exist to describe this labyrinthine man? A feeling or ambience? It was a fruitless endeavour. He would not live to hear of a solution. He doubted the man himself would, either. 

Fervour. Adoration. Lust. Hate and love are so close; the line between them is narrow and penetrable. It is impossible to distinguish one from the other. It is a struggle many relationships face: Aphrodite’s very being destroys marriages and births new ones, displacing joy and sorrow as blithely as her son aims it. Complicated emotions, best equipped for this man, yet it does not feel correct. None of it does. 

“Is there something you wish to say?” His words break through. The flimsy facade shatters as easily as pottery under the impact of his words. Before him sits a man who wears everything on his sleeve: complacent and selfless and cruel. The mystery in question falls apart at this sight, and Diomedes wonders why he would ever doubt his nature—as a naïve one would. 

He scoffs, swipes an undisturbed goblet of wine. The liquid splashes against the table and stains the smooth wood blood-red. The man gazes at him with an inviting quirk of the lips, urging a reply in that alluring manner Diomedes despises. It pulls him in, makes him curious for more, has a stronger effect than any siren song. He is helpless. 

“What makes you think that?” he retorts airily. He has to avert his eyes from the stone walls and tapestries, taking in their intricate form and craft. He knows the king’s own hands built this palace; it is clear in the scrupulous detail and care in each brick, placed lovingly by a ruler’s rough hands. The tapestries are the work of delicate handmaidens and serfs, perhaps even the queen’s elegant touch. It is a palace befitting generations upon generations of kings. Diomedes admires, not envies. 

Odysseus shifts and adjusts his position. He places his face directly into Diomedes’ line of sight, and he leans in closer, in contempt of his previous attempt at escape. The latter pretends not to see him. 

“My dear friend,” Odysseus hummed, and Diomedes knew Odysseus had caught him. The snare is so cleverly placed that he cannot help but stumble upon it. It keeps him wrapped around the king of Ithaca’s fingers, like a witch’s curse. “I know you best; that look on your face is irregular.” 

The accusation embarrasses him. “I’ve no clue what you mean.” 

Knowing victory, Odysseus resigns. He backs away from the other, granting him but a moment’s worth of illusioned mercy. The smug look on his face never fades—it’s the look of a man who exploits his companions for sport, a man to be feared, a man who will know you better than you will ever know yourself. Diomedes’ emotions are his expertise: he knows where to strike and when, and he can strum his own tune out of another’s strings. Yet Diomedes wonders if his cunning was ever that profound, or if he just wills it so out of egotism. 

“You’ve been staring at me,” Odysseus observes. “You think I don’t notice it, but I do.” 

“I know you notice.” 

This amuses him. “You act like I don’t. You never acknowledge it, you simply turn away and act ignorant.” Diomedes feels a pang of irritation in his heart, right alongside the crippling ache that persists throughout. There is a cruel delicacy in how these two emotions can coexist so discordantly, but when it comes to this man, why would one expect anything less?

“What am I to do,” he says, “when I know you will torment me relentlessly?” 

He laughs—a cold, malignant sound. Diomedes fails to find the humour in any of this. His heart is being squeezed tightly, his iron grip unyielding; the sharpest sparks of flame empowering his fingers, scorching him, disintegrating any semblance of depth he might contain. And yet he sits so calmly, unbothered, seemingly oblivious to the agony he causes solely by existing. 

“Relentlessly?” Odysseus echoes. “No; I fear I don’t have that in me.” He exhibits innocence as if it’s natural to him, but Diomedes knows him far too well. He notes how the man fails to cast doubt on the word ‘torment.’

He scoffs. A substantial amount of concentrated effort is required to keep him from stabbing a meat knife into Odysseus’ heart, to allow him to feel the pain Diomedes suffers tirelessly in his presence. Instead, he stabs the knife into the boar laid neatly on his plate, slicing with excessive force. He has little desire to eat any more, but it’s the best escape he has from Odysseus’ penetrating stare. 

“Though,” Odysseus begins with that accusative and perceptive lilt in his voice, “I doubt you mind as much as you seem to.”

Diomedes coughs, a chunk of meat caught in his throat. He reaches for a goblet of wine, but trifling Odysseus snatches the cup before he can. He must relish in this suffering—the suffering he caused. The Argive king shoots him a glare through a sheen of tears. 

“Am I right?” He pushes the goblet even farther from his reach. Torment was a well-chosen word for the game he plays, a constricting and sadistic sport. “Your reaction tells me I’m right.” 

“Odysseus.” It comes out as a rasp. 

“Tell me,” he demands. “Tell me that you like the torment—my torment. Say it.”

“I hate it,” Diomedes coughs. His own spit is struggling to push the food down, screaming for assistance. He slightly hopes he dies. “I hate you.”

The goblet of wine is brought to his lips by a calloused hand. He more than allows the intrusion. The cup is tilted a little, aggravating and impossibly far, permitting only a small stream of wine to soothe his throat. He could snatch the goblet out of Odysseus’ impossibly nimble hands, but something prevents him from doing so. There is something so enticing about the act; how Odysseus’ smile greets him over the cup, a hand placed carefully at his jaw to aid the precision of his hold. He slowly forgets about the increasing threat of death by choking as the smooth red liquid finally forces the meat from his throat. Their proximity, once seemed unreachable, barely contained. Diomedes cannot breathe, no longer because of the boar; but now because of the arbitrary weight being forced on him. It feels greater than Atlas’ endeavour. Crushing, violent, intensifying. Odysseus draws away. A stream of coloured liquid tumbles out of Diomedes’ mouth at the corner. He hardly notices, or cares, his gaze firmly fixed on the man in front of him. Odysseus’ smile grows, one of humour. With a tender swipe, he cleared the mess from the king’s mouth. The wine coating his thumb is brought to his own lips, as he glibly finishes it off himself. 

A word comes to mind, suddenly. As if everything is clearer, and Pallas Athene herself induces the revelation in him. At a loss, he says: 

“Is this what they call agape?”

Odysseus is taken in a delicious confusion. “What?”

“This feeling.” The man in front of him, not divine, entices him as such. “I am overcome with it. I have not named it, but-” 

“You need not name it.”

Diomedes stops. The revelation that was so close just a moment ago falls from his grip and shatters on the floor, into a million pieces, never to be recovered. He watches as Odysseus grows cold. An illusion, one he so naively fell for. A fool, he is.

“I don’t believe in it.” His smile has faded. Now he appears annoyed, maybe remorseful. Diomedes cannot fathom the switch, will not accept it. 

“You don’t believe in love?”

“Not yours.”

It hurts. The ache returns, stronger and more intense. For a moment, he hoped it would cease. He hoped he would grow comfortable with the feeling so that it no longer bothered him. But evidently, that was foolish. Foolish, he is, and will forever be; as long as he is caught in this web. Impossible. Unattainable. Hopeless. 

Odysseus no longer regards him, does not acknowledge his pain, not even to tease. He knows he has won, and he regrets the victory. Not for his friend’s sake, but for his own, Diomedes knows. A shiver broke their game. 

“It’s growing late,” Odysseus notes. He rises from his seat and snaps the chiton at his shoulder. He’s distancing, placing space between them. But it will not repair what damage has already been done. “Have a maid fix a room for you.” 

He leaves. The elusive Odysseus, a fleeting wonder. Diomedes always hungers for more. It is not enough, the masochistic role he takes. Contrarily, it’s sickening and exhausting and miserable, but it is not enough. It will never be enough, he fears.

Through all this pain emerges a new melody—one he heard sung all his life, but not one he knew: agape. Unconditional, devotional, divine. Agape.

[classica-meretrix]

Maintenance

pairing: tech x fem!reader genre: fluff(?) content/warnings: suggestive, use of y/n summary: while helping tech with a wiring issue, things get a little. . . heated a/n: based on s1 e8 "reunion" of bad batch, don't love the ending but someone might so I left it!

“Y/N, I need you on the bridge.” Tech’s voice was wrapped in static, making his words crack as they came over the com-link.

“I’ll be right there,” I replied. I turned back towards the center of the room, abandoning my work gathering explosives. “Tech needs me,” I called to the others. “I’m going to the bridge.”

I hurried out of the armory, making my way to the top of the ship. When I got there the blast doors to the bridge appeared to have been forced open. I was silently impressed that Tech had managed them without the brute force of Wrecker or the mechanical help of Echo.

“Tech?” I called into the room.

“Over here,” he responded, his voice slightly strained.

I found him on his back under the main control desk, one leg folded, the other lying open to one side. He had his visor down, sparks flying from whatever he was working on.

“What do you need me for?”

He muttered something under his breath before properly answering me. “I’ve managed to get the power back on, but I can’t access the computer. There’s a sensor I can’t bypass.”

“Okay, slide out and let me have a look.”

“I can’t.” His hands stopped tinkering with the control panel as he turned to look at me.

“What do you mean?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. He flipped up his visor, sliding off his helmet. “The sensor was badly damaged when the Jedi were attacked. I have to hold these wires or it’s no use to you.”

“Fine,” I huffed, dropping to the floor. I cautiously slid between his legs, placing a hand on either side of his abdomen. I tried to ignore our close proximity, turning just enough to see the sensor.

“I’ll need your torch.” I failed to keep my voice even, wavering as I spoke. He used his free hand to offer me the tool. He was unusually quiet.

“Okay, hold on. I need both hands.” I laid my weight on him, flipping over the rest my back against his chest.

Tech’s breath was coming in short bursts, the plastoid-alloy material of his armor pressing into me. I took the torch, hurriedly working to override the sensor. In any other circumstance Tech would’ve been unhelpfully lecturing me on what to do, or talking my ear off about something entirely unrelated. Now he just held the wires in place, occasionally clearing his throat my ear.

“Almost done,” I informed. I set down the torch, flipping back over to grab a pair of pliers. In the process I locked eyes with Tech, his pupils blown as he struggled not to pant. I hurriedly flipped back over, accidentally pressing my leg against the crotch of his armor. He sighed at the contact, his eyes closing.

“Fuck, sorry,” I mumbled, working even faster to disable the sensor.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice rough and low.

I fumbled with the wires, struggling to remember which one to cut. I felt like I was burning, and I’m sure my face was flaming red.

“The blue one,” he reminded, taking notice of my fumbling. I was too focused on the way his voice rumbled in my ear, his breath on my neck, to process what he said right away, my actions delayed.

“Right,” I mumbled. As I cut the wire, an idea came to me. I shifted my hips, ‘accidentally’ rolling them against his crotch. He breathed out a series of curses.

“What are you doing?” His voice was warning, but his free hand came to my hip, holding me in place.

“Fixing the sensor. Like you asked,” I teased, moving again, ever so slightly.

“Don’t tease,” he chided. I had never heard him sound so harsh before. His lips now grazed the shell of my ear, his voice hardly above a whisper.

“I don’t take orders from you.” I knew what I was doing was dangerous, but that hardly mattered anymore. The sensor was almost completely forgotten.

Tech slid his hand from my hip to the edge of my shirt, slipping under the fabric to splay his hand on my skin. His armor was cool and smooth, save the thin lines of carbon residue from old blaster fire.

“Then I’ll just have to teach you,” he hissed in my ear. I cut the last wire. The sensor would be easily bypassed now, but neither of us moved.

“I’d like to see you try.” His hand slipped to the edge of my pants as he placed a chaste kiss on my neck, pushing my head to one side. He continued his assault, nipping at my skin as I whimpered. He had just reached my shoulder, his fingers slipping under the edge of my waistband when loud thuds came from the doorway.

“Well, well, well! What do we have here?” Wrecker’s voice echoed throughout the bridge, making it even louder than normal. Tech’s hand flew off of me, his head falling back as we both jumped. I hit my head against the bottom of the control table in an attempt to move away from him, forgetting the lack of space.

“Fuck!” I cursed, my hand flying to my forehead. Tech instinctually pulled me back down to his chest, holding me against him.

“Slide out,” he whispered to me. The others' footsteps were getting louder. I did as he said, him following shortly behind me.

“Sorry, were we interrupting something?” Wrecker questioned, a teasing smile plastered on his face as he giddily rocked back and forth on his heels.

“No,” Tech replied, his usual sarcastic tone returning. “Just injuring a fellow soldier.” He turned to me. “Are you alright?”

“I think so.”

“Let me look at it.” Hunter stepped forward, gingerly removing my hand to look at the mark.

“Hey, what’s that blinking light?” Omega asked, pointing to the control desk.

“It detects other ships approaching,” Tech explained. “Probably just a malfunction.”

Just as he finished talking three empire ships flew over the bridge, shaking the cruiser.

“We need to go,” Hunter stated, grabbing Omega’s arm.

We had just gotten to the base of the engine and Tech was already going on about the technological marvels of their craftsmanship. He ran his finger along the metal.

“The blast primer coating was specially designed to withstand temp—“

“Shut up!” Wrecker yelled, pushing him forward.

“Save it for your wet dreams, why don’t you?” I teased, sliding off a ring and landing beside him.

A few yards up Omega turned to Hunter. “What’s a wet dream?”

“Nothing,” he snapped, shooting us a glare over his shoulder as he hurried Omega forward. Wrecker let out a booming laugh as he ran to catch up. I made to follow but Tech caught my arm, pulling me back. He left very little room between us, ducking down to whisper in my ear.

“My wet dreams have nothing to do with blast coatings. In fact, they often resemble our little encounter on the bridge.” He pulled back, giving me a cheeky smirk before running to catch up with the group, leaving me stunned.

[theramseyloft]

Is a street pigeon potentially as good as a domestic breed when it comes to being friendly?

Street pigeons are domestic birds. They're mixes of stray racers, rollers, and tumblers, mostly, with a few other breeds thrown in depending on what's bred and flown in that region.

But I do know what you mean, and yes.

The pigeon that inspired the therapy bird project was a feral found emaciated in a parking lot.

That's they day he came in from wildlife rehab with a mourning dove next to him.

He was 5 weeks old in that picture.

Those are fully unsheathed flight feathers.

It took him 6 months to grow in his full set of adult feathers.

And he, of his own volition, became my medical alert bird.

Initially, he alerted for anxiety attacks, which were debilitatingly severe at the time.

By which I mean that, under a certain degree of stress, I could not understand spoken words any more and may not realize I am being addressed.

Pigeons are hard wired to map patterns, and Ankhou could tell when I was about to shut down when I couldn't.

He would go get my husband if he was home (before he got a job where he could work from home) and lead him back to me.

And he eventually figured out how to use my hands and echolalia to bring me back out of it by himself.

He figured out that I was diabetic before I had any idea and it wasn't until I got my blood sugar back under control that I found out he had developed an alert for blood sugar spikes.

Ferals are hands down the most intelligent domestic pigeons because they have had to survive by it.

They are more willing to cooperate than breeds in human care because they depend on their flock mates to help them ensure one more day of life, be it by looking out for predators or remembering where to find good food and water.

Most of them, especially as adults, are extremely flighty and skittish, because they have learned to be and their lives have depended up to that point on paying attention to lessons learned.

And you can pretty much guarantee they come in sick and full of parasites.

But if you can either adopt one from a rescue after they're cleaned out and healthy or get one you save treated and have the patience to work with them, that keen intelligence makes it easier for them to work through a developed fear.

Just keep in mind that like a feral dog or cat born in an alley or under a shed, that feral pigeon probably has very good reasons for being skittish.

And just like a dog or cat born stray, a feral pigeon can come to trust and rely on you like family.

[ozwriterchick]

Back to Us - Chapter 8

Summary: Y/n wakes after an accident to her Avengers team-mates. But something isn't quite right and only Steve and Tony can see it.

Characters/Relationships: Steve Rogers x Reader; Tony Stark; Natasha Romanoff; Other Avengers Characters

Content warnings: Mentions of an accident (no details yet); If I missed any, let me know

A/N: If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Not beta'd so any mistakes are my own. I don't write smut, but there are allusions to smut in my stories.

Back to Us Masterlist

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 1201 (approx.)

GIF by dazedandkaitfused

Another month passes by with the Avengers going on more missions.  Some with you, some without you.

Steve walked into the lab to talk to Bruce and was surprised to see you there.

“Y/n” he exclaimed. “It’s good to see you, does this mean you have your full memory back?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, or maybe not, but I’m no further along in my memory recall than I was at the Romania mission.  I decided to come back to see if Bruce can help with the Flashback program he created.”

“Sure” Bruce responded.  “It’s still experimental so I can’t guarantee anything, but we can try for sure”

Bucky walked into the lab at that moment.  “Hey Y/n, what’s shaking.”

“Hey Buck, I’ve missed you” you say to him with a huge smile. “Fancy going drinking tonight?”

Steve frowns at the 2 of you.  “Oh can it Captain.  Why don’t you go back to your fiancé, or did she find out about you and dump your sorry ass already?”

Steve walked out of the room, shaking his head and headed to the gym to vent some frustration on the poor punching bags.  Tony was sure he’d be forking out for some new ones in the not too distant future.

Bucky looked at you. “That was a bit harsh Sweets.”

“No lectures Barnes” you said.  “Just drinking, before I start this flashback program with Bruce tomorrow.”

Later that night, Bucky takes you to the local bar on his bike.  You love the freeing feeling of the wind in your face, your arms wrapped around Bucky’s abs, even though there was no romantic spark between you.  A few of the others joined in on the party, happy to have you back and wanting to celebrate.

“Cap not joining us?” you question nobody in particular. “Typical..”

“Sweets.  Harsh” Bucky reiterated his comment from earlier.

“I don’t get why you’re jumping to his defence so much, Buck.  I mean I know he’s your friend and all, but you know what he did.”

“All I’m saying is there is more to the story than you know Y/n.  So just be careful what you say without all the facts.  You wouldn’t want to say something that you can’t take back.”

You blow him a raspberry. “Whatever, come dance with me Barnes.”

You and Bucky are having fun on the dance floor, dancing and singing along to the songs when Steve walks in.

“Hey Steve, How’s Noah?” Nat enquires of him.

“He’s doing as well as can be expected, missing Y/n of course.  He’s with Pepper, so I know he’s safe but I wish things were back to normal already.  What’s going on there” he asks, pointing to Bucky and Y/n.

“Nothing serious, she’s just blowing off some steam” Nat tells him.  “You know Buck would never.”

“I’m done with this” Steve declares.  “If things don’t move along with this flashback program Bruce is going to try, I’m either just going to tell her, or I’m leaving and moving on with mine and Noah’s lives.”

“Well that’s a bit dramatic, but whatever you think is fair Cap.” Nat replied.

NEXT DAY IN THE LAB

You’re laying on a bed, all wired up and ready to go.  Bruce starts the program, which basically sends you to sleep, allowing you to access memories that your brain is subconsciously stopping you from remembering.

You see more missions and they all make sense.  Some are successful, some not so much.

You wake, realising you’ve been “under” for about 3 hours.

“How was that kid?” Tony asked genuinely curious as this was the first time they’d put Bruce’s theories to a physical test.

“Meh, I saw a heap of missions, some went well, some didn’t.  Nothing earth-shattering.  Is that all my life has been the last 4 years?” you asked sounding a little disheartened with the fact that there’d been nothing other than the missions coming through.

Your brain was struggling to reconcile that you’d had no significant relationships or even good hook-ups to remember this whole time.

Tony looked apprehensive, in truth, he was weighing up in his mind how much to tell you. “Well, no it isn’t, but you got a heap of memories back today, so we should try again tomorrow, see what more comes back.”

“Ok. Yeah, I am super tired after that so I think I’m going to go rest for a while.  I’ll see you for dinner later tonight” you responded.

You get back to your room, turn on the shower and jump in.  You always felt soothed in your muscles and soul when you’re under the running water.

You’re glad to be getting your memories back but you still feel like there’s so much missing. 

You’re startled as you hear a cough at the bathroom door, turning to see Steve standing there, leaning against the door frame.

“Rogers, you can’t be in here, we are not picking up where we were when I left.  You shouldn’t see me like this.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen it all before, but ok, I’ll wait in here for you.”  He said, moving into the bedroom.

You yell after him “No, you’ll leave, I’m not doing this with you Rogers.  Seriously, have some respect for me if you don’t have any for anyone else, even yourself.”

You take your time, going through your skincare routine and a few other things that were unnecessary.  If he is waiting in the bedroom for you, you’re going to make him sweat, or get fed up and leave.

You wrap your hair and put a towel around your body and saunter into the bedroom.

You see that Steve is lying on the bed, eyes closed.  Thankful that he seems to be asleep, you start getting dressed. 

“Well, isn’t that a great view to open your eyes to”

You shriek and grab the towel covering yourself.  “Geez Rogers, you about gave me a heart attack.  I thought I told you to leave.”

“Sweetheart, I just want to talk to you.  That’s all I’ve wanted this whole time.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart, Captain.  Save that for your fiancé, if she’ll even talk to you after I work out who she is and let her know what you’ve been doing.”

“Dammit Y/n, just give me a chance.  Sometimes things have simple explanations.”

“Listen Steve, I’ve already told you, no explanation can fix the fact that you cheated on your fiancé with me, when I had no idea.  You took advantage of my lack of memory for your own gain.  One day I might forgive you but I don’t think I can ever forget it.  I just hope you’ve come clean with her.”

Steve sighed “Honestly, I haven’t, I keep trying, but each time she shuts me down.”

Steve gets up off the bed, kisses you on the forehead and says “Just know that when you’re ready for the truth, I’ll be here” and with that, he leaves the room.

You thought you’d got him out of your system but that kiss left you a bit flustered.  You sat there for a while wondering what he meant and what truth he could possible tell you that would change anything.

Tag List: @wolfbeanpotion @vioplay19 @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @crazyunsexycool @zaraomarrogers @bitchy-bi-trash @mrsnikstan @harrysnovia