#just saw another guilty post in the tag

[thesoftboiledegg]

Goddamn, what has to change for people to stop feeling guilty for liking Rick and Morty? Or, better question: what's going to make people stop giving even casual viewers a guilt complex?

[angelsdean]

ruthlessly deleting old 2021/2022 posts (not by me) from my dean studies tag like *click* un-incorporating that from my beliefs system! also the way SO many posts have me like ok uh-huh good aaand then say one completely wrong thing that loses me. it's so many posts.

[pandoraroid]

mosnster from the epic Underworld saga but it's Porter Solaire

[frost-queen]

All about the heart (Reader & Bridgerton Siblings)

Requested by: @mariexoxosblog, Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @cherrysxuya

Summary: Reader has a heart defect where you have a hard time breathing whilst running with your siblings.

Chatter filled the park as the Bridgerton’s arrived. Anthony in the front, looking over his shoulder to reply to Colin’s remark. Francesca running past him with Gregory. Eloise and Benedict walking side by side in silence. Francesca with mama as Daphne had her arm around you. Some gents and ladies turned their heads at the sudden disturbance of peace. – “Gregory! Hyacinth! Stay close!” – Violet called out seeing they were running off.

Hyacinth giggled loud, turning around to run up to Anthony. Anthony paused, blocked her way and picked her up to her dislike. She called it out when she got lifted up. Her complaints ending in laughter as Anthony set her back down. Gregory ran up to the tent, claiming the first chair as his by letting himself fall into it. Benedict jogged over to him.

Whistling loud with a nudge against his leg to get off. – “This is my seat.” – Gregory said stubborn. Benedict set his hands on the arms of the chair, leaning in. – “Go help mama.” – he replied with a cheeky smile. Gregory stared annoyed at him as Benedict kept nudging him to get up.

Gregory got up going over to Violet as Benedict sat himself down smiling. Francesca rounded him with crossed arms. – “You are the worst.” – she commented with half a smile. Benedict shrugged his shoulders, glad he had a good chair. Daphne saw another one of the folding chairs leading you to it. She sat you down happily.

She then went over to Colin to assist him into spreading out a blanket. Benedict grabbed the arms of his chair, hopping his chair closer to yours so that he could face you. – “Comfortable sister?” – he asked. You nodded. Benedict held his hand low with a luring smirk. You slapped your hand down on his with a laugh.

Benedict grabbed for you, tickling you. You squirmed against his grip, already feeling it come up. Feeling how hard your heart was pumping to get the blood flowing around your body. Your breathing becoming deeper, getting worn out. Anthony noticed it, running over. He slapped Benedict against his back to stop.

Benedict moved his hands up, looking questionable at Anthony’s glare. It gave you the time to seat yourself better and catch your breath. Immediately you were worn out. Anthony knelt before you, laying a hand on your knee.  – “Are you alright Y/n?” – he asked. You hummed loud, still trying to steady your breathing. It always took a while to do so. – “I’m not fragile.” – you said to your big brother with a smile.

Anthony took your hand, looking fondly up to you. – “No, but you mustn’t forget your limits.” – he reminded you. Benedict felt a bit guilty. He just wanted to have fun, like he did with Hyacinth or Gregory. You saw the sudden silence and guilt on his face. You moved Anthony aside to get to Benedict. Wrapping your arms around him. – “Thank you for not treating me any different.” – you whispered to him. Benedict hugged you back.

It wasn’t easy being different from your different. A heart defect they called it. A default in the heart that made it easier for you to get worn out. Your heart needing to put in that little extra effort to get the blood flow around your body. Gregory came over, tugging at Anthony. – “Come play!” – he said, pulling Anthony away. You waved him away, letting him know, you would be alright. – “I’ll just settle with my notebook.” – you told him.

Benedict re-arranged the chairs so that you were sitting beside each other. He took out his sketchbook and pencil. You opened your notebook scribbling down words. Poets. Little stories you loved to write out. Colin joined Anthony, Gregoy and Hyacinth by the tent for a game. Violet was sharing tea with Daphne and Francesca. Eloise laid down near them, trying to catch some more sleep.

Hyacinth and Anthony stood before each other. Gregory and Colin to the side. Hyacinth signalled to Anthony that she was ready to throw. She threw the hoop at him. Both Gregory and Colin trying to grab it. They missed as the hoop hooked around Anthony’s arm. He pulled his eyebrow cheeky up, making Hyacinth laugh. Anthony threw the hoop back as Colin shot his hand forwards, hitting the hoop with his fingers as it landed against Gregory’s head.

“Au, what was that for.” – Gregory called out, rubbing his head. – “Sorry.” – Colin apologized. Gregory picked the hoop up from the ground, giving it back to Anthony for another try. Benedict moved his head to the side, trying to peak at your notebook. – “Writing a poem about me?” – he asked teasingly.

You busted out in a laughter. – “You have to admit I am very interesting to write poems about.” – he brought his hands behind his back, stretching his legs out. His comment made you roll your eyes in a sarcastic way.

 “If Y/n wrote about you it would make people scream.” – Eloise commented with one eye half open. Benedict looked behind him to her on the blanket. – “Scream with terror.” – Eloise filled in with a loud laugh. Benedict moved his hand behind him to playfully slap at her but he couldn’t reach her. Gregory came running over to you. – “Y/n do you want to play with us?” – he asked.

“I would love to.” – you answered putting your notebook away. – “Be mindful Y/n.” – Violet called out as you went after Gregory. – “Yes mama.” – you responded getting pulled away by Gregory. You joined the others. – “Let’s play tag.” – Hyacinth suggested. Anthony looked over to you. – “Suggest something else Hyacinth.” – he spoke. 

You immediately knew he referred to you. – “I can handle it. Let’s play tag.” – you expressed not wanting to give your family limitations. – “Y/n are you sure?” – Colin spoke as you didn’t want to hear any more pity. – “Yes! Now let’s play.” – you said a bit annoyed. – “I’ll be it.” – Anthony moved his hand up, his other pressed to his chest.

Hyacinth and Gregory started to run away. Colin waited for you. You started easy, jogging off as you immediately felt it. Your breathing becoming shallow and loud. Anthony started to run as you staid still for a moment to catch your breath. You saw your brother run over to Gregory as he made his way over to you. With Gregory nearing, you had to run as well. You kept going feeling the pounding of your heart in your head.

Your legs feeling like it carried sandbags. The immediate feeling of tiredness in your legs as you knew you couldn’t hold it out any longer. You needed a moment to stop. Anthony noticed it slowing down. He looked around, going after Colin as he deliberately left you alone. – “Hey you could’ve tagged her!” – Colin called out taking a run for it.

“I choose whom I tag!” – Anthony breathed out. Anthony was able to tag Hyacinth as she was bummed out by it. You were near Colin, standing a bit still as Colin was shielding you a bit. Hyacinth came running over. Colin darted to the side as she focused her tag on you instead.

Squealing loud, you leapt aside, starting to run to avoid her. Hyacinth kept running after you. You weren’t a quitter so you kept running. Feeling your body tire out from the exercise. Breathing loud that it was more like panting. Your head turning a shade of red as you felt warm. Heart pounding in your head. – “Tag you’re it!” – Hyacinth called out touching your back.

The moment she tagged you, you stopped. Legs feeling sloppy as you let yourself fall to the ground. – “Y/n!” – your brothers called out. Benedict’s eyes widened, jumping out of his chair to run over. You laid yourself on your back, panting loud to catch your breath. Anthony and Colin rushing over to kneel at each side of you. – “Are you alright sister?” – Anthony asked worried. – “I’m fine.” – you answered out of breath.

“I just… need to catch… my breath…” – you replied, feeling your heart pound loudly in your chest. You noticed your siblings looked frightfully at you. – “I’m alright. I just need a moment to recover.” – you reminded them. Colin helped you sit up straight as you were still breathing loudly through your mouth. – “How about a game of cards?” – you suggested with a laugh. Benedict shook his head playfully. Anthony and Colin helped you up to your feet. Leading you back to the tent for some calmer games.

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[winwintea]

dreamies as your flight seatmate + ratings

PAIRING ▸ boyfriend!dreamies x reader 

TAGS ▸ none, crack, established relationship, haechans is the worst someone drop him out of the plane please

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸inspired by an insta post i saw for 127 and thought the dreamies deserved their own version.

Mark Lee

mark and you have 3 hours on this flight, so get ready for 3 hours of straight yapping from mark lee himself. he’s gonna show you pictures he has saved on his phone and goes into every single detail about the photo. you honestly just want to chill and listen to music, but if it seems like he’s given up, 5 minutes later he’ll bring up another subject. even if you’re gonna try to fall asleep he’ll wake you up, “yo, did you hear what i just said?” and you can’t get mad at him, who wants to see him sad? (4/10 seatmate, sometimes cooks, most of the time idk what he’s talking about)

Huang Renjun

renjun is probably one of those insane people on planes. he can get through the whole flight not talking to a single person, not listening to any music at all, not even looking out the window, just staring straight forward, lost in his own thoughts. if the flight map is available he’ll watch it for fun, otherwise he can pretty much entertain himself for however long the flight is. renjun would even read the safety manual for fun??? however if you needed him for anything, or if you wanted to watch a movie he’d be down you just need to ask, otherwise he’s gonna be in his own zone. (6/10 seatmate since he’s insane, but points only bc he’ll do anything if you ask him too)

Lee Jeno

jeno would be in your personal space, BUT IT’S NOT HIS FAULT DON’T BLAME HIM. he’d take up the armrests too but that’s because his arms are so big… and you wouldn’t want him to be uncomfortable. and lowkey you’re fine with the personal space invasion thing too cause he smells good. (you’re coping) and maybe during the middle of the flight he’ll put the armrest up and hold you in a big hug, just so you can feel more comfortable cause he feels bad for taking up so much room. “i hope this is comfortable enough for you, it’s just a few more hours, you can take a nap on my shoulder or legs if you want” (7/10 seatmate, he feels bad and i would feel guilty if i gave him anything under a 6)

Lee Donghyuck

haechan is an armrest hogger… and he doesn’t even need to. instead of talking to you though, he’ll be on his phone the whole entire trip, watching tiktoks OUT LOUD on his phone. you honestly wanted to watch a movie with him, but you aren't even going to consider it now. and when you catch him peeking over your shoulder trying to watch whatever tv show you’re watching, you give him an annoyed look, and turn the device so you can’t see him. (-127/10 seatmate, just wait until he takes off his shoes cause then you’re both getting kicked off by the stewardess)

Na Jaemin

jaemin is the embodiment of the BEST seatmate ever. he’s always checking in on you, making sure you have ample leg room, let’s you use the armrests even if you don’t want to. he brought a whole bunch of snacks to for you two to share and snack on. downloaded a bunch of movies and tv shows for the ride, but if you don’t want to watch a movie, that’s fine. want to sleep? he brought a neck pillow. want to just talk? he can do that. (10/10 seatmate this is why i have high standards in men)

Zhong Chenle

chenle’s company could either go one or two ways. one, he could spend the whole entire flight watching the basketball game with the third person in your row that somehow was also a golden state warriors fan? to which… fuck him cause how tf did you become a third wheel? or two, he and you spend the whole entire flight just shit talking the other passengers on the plane with each other. chenle and you would probably be whispering to each other and giggling away. (3/10 cause the first outcome is more likely. we know even if there’s no other person to watch it with, as long as there’s a game on he’s watching.)

Park Jisung

jisung… it’s a little too quiet… and a little too tense. the mood is almost way too awkward? “jisung… you can talk to me you know?” you turn towards him, and his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “oh i wasn’t sure if you… wanted to talk or… maybe you were gonna sleep-“ you shush him with your finger, and lay your head upon his shoulder. His whole body begins to relax and he no longer feels cooped up in the seat like he was at first, “Whatever we do, let’s do it together alright?” (8/10 seatmate, very awkward, originally it’s way too close for his comfort but he gets into it and will do anything you want <3)

[wishmemel]

cherry blossom springs, ft. fushiguro megumi

synopsis: megumi's oblivious to a lot of things. he's just never seen or lived. not really, not like you do. the sky is blue, the grass is green, and you’re sunshine. but what is he supposed to do with that and when did he get so lucky to be able to call you his? tags: megumi x f! reader, non-curse au, megumi’s pov, established relationship, fluff, characters are in uni (2nd year?) but have known each other since high school, sanrio lover! reader as always, reader is a spring baby cw: i don't think there's any! wc. almost 1.2k posted: 08/03/24 a/n: i've had this in my drafts forever, just felt iffy posting it since the word count is so low and it doesn't exactly come off as a story :(( but then i thought it was too poetic not to and it'd be a shame if no one else saw megumi the way i do so enjoy!!

Your pinky is interlaced with Megumi’s and even though you’re here—at your class, where you’re supposed to be—he’s reluctant to let go.

He’s only just found you, how is he supposed to let go so soon?

The two of you pause outside the door, locking eyes with each other shyly.

Megumi’s gaze softens, his tone hesitant and cautious, as if he’s still afraid that you’ll turn tail and reject him. “You’re… you’re my girlfriend, right?”

You blink at him, then giggle a little in response at his insecure question. “Duh, of course. What, you want a kiss to make sure?”

He’s already protesting, eyes wide, ears red, but you plant a quick kiss on his cheek before he can say anything, and he just watches, dumbstruck, as you wave goodbye at him, still giggling to yourself, before heading inside the classroom.

He blinks, dazed, and wipes his cheek, staring at the pink lipstick smeared on his fingers with a stupid smile.

You chatter off about your classes and he nods, pretending to listen while he’s captivated by the sight of your lit eyes and your bright smile. The high pitch of your excited voice is music to his ears and he's convinced he must’ve been unable to hear before he met you.

It’s like seeing love take form in a person. He can’t help but be drawn to you, and, more than that, he’s still dazed, head spinning from trying to wrap itself around the mere idea that you were his and he was yours.

He can call you his girlfriend now. He can talk about you all he wants without feeling guilty or self-conscious about the idea. He can hold your hand like this in public, your thumb softly stroking against the back of his hand in ways that make his heart race. He can stare at you like this for hours, enchanted by what you’re saying and not have you question him because you’re his girlfriend and he can look and no one’s going to stop him.

Is this what love is?

He can never tear his eyes off of you—things that should be embarrassing, he finds endearing. He has the urge to stare at you all the time and he’s always resisting the urge to reach out and touch you, even in small ways, even a little, like brushing the hair out of your eyes or making you pause so he can wipe away a stray eyelash. You have this way of keeping his face constantly hot and red—he’s always blushing and it’s so humiliating, but it feels like love.

He swears he can see little hearts floating next to your head when you speak to him, and it’s like all your words come out as music, lyrics that wrap around his head and go through his ears like some kind of alluring song he can never get enough of.

He sees Hello Kitty themed things and immediately thinks of you, wondering if you’d like a keychain that he spots on a student’s bag or some large sunglasses on another—all so ridiculous and shameless and so utterly you.

He finds it senseless how you don’t care about anyone else’s opinion, how you flaunt your style and your likes. He finds it ridiculous that he’s stopped caring the longer he’s with you too. But why look at anyone else, why think of anyone else, when you’re right there?

You’re his sun, the centre of his universe—life without you would go back to being dark and gloomy and unbearable.

You tap his shoulder. He flinches.

“Megumi,” you giggle enchantingly. “You’re not paying attention to me.”

Has he ever stopped?

“Come on, we’re going to miss our next class!”

Spring brings with it cherry blossoms and it seems like you can’t get enough of the beautiful pink flowers that decorate every corner of campus.

You love spring for more reasons than one—it’s your favourite season and you love to see the blossoming flowers, always stopping in awe to point out each new bud to him with buzzing excitement. He finds it contagious, he can’t help the smile that twitches at the corners of his mouth.

When the two of you are apart and he’s missing you, he sends you pictures of the pink petals fluttering to the ground to remind you that he’s always thinking of you. You send him selfies of half your face in class, barely concealing the wide smile that you bear.

Before your dates, he plucks flowers from the courtyard of your university, late at night so he won’t be caught, and brings them home to colour coordinate into blooming bouquets tied with white ribbons. But when he shows up he never tells you where he brings the bouquets from and you never ask, though you must have noticed the coincidences.

Instead, you have on your brightest smile, this tender look in your eyes that says, for me? you did this for me? every time and it makes it so worth it that he forgets the bleeding palms and the thorn scratches and the hours he spent coming up with arrangements until his eyes started mixing colours.

Spring brings with it your birthday and you haven’t said a word about it.

He’s sure you think nothing of the event—he wonders how you’ve spent it in earlier years—but he’s determined to make it everything you want, gaudy heart balloons, tacky surprise party, and all. Even if he hates such events. There’s nothing that isn’t worth sacrificing for you.

You're always giving—you insist on paying for his meals when the two of you go out together (though he never lets you), you're the first one to initiate any physical contact between you and him, and it's because of you that the two of you are able to talk through your problems (because lord knows Megumi is the type to remain silent and ruminate over such things.) For once, he wants to take the first step, he wants to give you something that'll light up your face. More than just "seeing him smile" like you claim. Something satisfying and worthy. He's sure he'll come up with something in time for your special day.

Spring brings with it rain and it means, more often than not, that you two forget your umbrellas at home and have to run to classes on the other side of campus.

Still, you’re always laughing beside him as he uses his jacket as a cover, and he finds his head whipping at the sight, trying to take you in as much as he can.

You see him staring. You laugh harder. You tell him to look ahead before he falls.

He thinks it’s too late, but he’s afraid to say that out loud.

Spring brings with it blossoming, blooming love like the flowers you adore and the growing smile he can’t wipe off his face.

Under the cherry blossoms, Megumi thinks he could love you like this forever. This is his third spring loving you, but it can’t be his last. He wants to make sure this love continues forevermore.

comments and reblogs are appreciated!

[kytiapseud]

In Defense of Epic Manwhore au

Okay, so I’m kinda nervous to post this but I feel like it should be said. I hope I tagged correctly for the topics I discuss in this. So, in defense of the Manwhore au as for the concept being coerced, it’s not like the god(s) said ‘you’ll die if you don’t have sex with me’. Odysseus is the one who brings it up. Although yes, the line of consent there is a bit murky with Odysseus more doing so to get out of situations rather than because he wants to. It’s totally valid for some fans to not be a fan of the au, not everything in fan spaces is for everyone. You are entitled to your opinion and get to make your fandom experience safe for you. There is something I saw though that felt like commentary about those who came up with/ enjoy the au. To me this felt close to attempted fandom censoring or those who try to ‘cleanse’ all fandom content to what they think is morally correct. Again, it is fine if you want to share your thoughts on something. But I hope no one comes after those who do enjoy the au. I haven’t seen that happen yet, I’m hoping it doesn’t. But the generalization about what it says about those who enjoy the au doesn’t sit right with me. For reasons like I mentioned above, about worrying it could turn into attempted censoring. Especially if anyone tries to get others to agree to black-and-white thinking about what they think is true. That could easily turn into justification to harassment, which I have seen in fandom spaces before. Particularly with anti-proshippers.

There may be valid criticisms to this au concept, but that doesn’t mean everyone who is a fan likes it for the same reasons. Let me address some of what I’ve seen though. The joking about Odysseus being a Manwhore coming from homophobia. Yeah, that’s possible (although personally I feel like a homophobe is more likely to not even mention gay things.) I don’t think that’s always the case though. I know there was one animatic I saw, the first thing I saw for the au, that had a joke in it that I didn’t like. I don’t judge this creator, and in fact it’s a common joke I’ve seen. Particularly with people wishing they didn’t see something. It just doesn’t vibe with me. In no way do I think that those who say such jokes have something wrong with them. People have different senses of humor and I think some use such jokes as a way to cope.

Anyways, I think some of the humor more comes from how unexpected it would be. I mean, we have a war captain facing foes who instead of choosing to fight goes for seducing them. It’s certainly interesting. I know some of the jokes come from the others not involved in the coupling being just shocked or grossed out. I think that more comes from like not wanting to see someone else talk about or get busy with another? I mean, some of these men probably consider each other to be like brothers. I imagine that would be weird. I think homosexuality wasn’t taboo in ancient Greece, I’m not entirely sure though I may need to do more research on that. So there could be some homophobia to the jokes, but I don’t think that’s the case for everyone. It certainly wasn’t for me. It could also be lgbt+ fans wanting to see more gay stuff in the story. Gay shipping isn’t uncommon after all.

I don’t think everyone who talks about the Manwhore au has no problem joking about sa. There can be many reasons why someone may enjoy a concept in media. You don’t know. Like how women are criticized for rape fantasies. I watched a documentary about sex once (I can’t remember which one this was in now) and there was a whole segment about the rape fantasy, discussing why this is an appeal to some women. It did not mean these women want to be raped of course. Part of it could come from a culture of feeling pressure to not experience any sexual feelings, so the scenario allowed them to experience something without feeling guilty about it. There isn’t always a clear explanation for why someone can find something sexy.

I think this started as a joke, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some who wanted something sexy in their Epic fan experience. I mean, having read the Odyssey in school (twice actually) I did not expect I would want to see Odysseus in such a scenario. But then I saw one sexy fanart of him with others and cough I ended up liking it more than I expected. Those who have seen my reblogs on this tag know heh.

There’s also the infidelity notion. I feel like given the situation, Penelope would understand. I also saw some comments that they could be poly, which is a concept I like for this. I’ve also seen mention that human relationships with gods have ended up tragically for the humans involved. I don’t think everyone who listens to Epic knows about that. I didn’t. But again, this goes back to it being fantasy. People enjoying picturing it the way they want to. It doesn’t have to be accurate to the myths. It’s fanfiction/au.

I think the infidelity notion to it didn’t bother me as much as others because in the original, he wasn’t faithful. Sorry for Odyssey spoilers I guess. Anyways, I was already used to him being a cheater. Although the one with Circe may match more with the coercion along the lines of ‘sleep with me for your crew’. The knife that’s been shown in some animatics wasn’t in the original. It’s been a while since I’ve read it so I’m not entirely sure about how that went down.

Referring back to if Odysseus wants it even if he was the one who offered (sorry if I’m all over the place with this, I have a lot of thoughts.) Seducing foes doesn’t necessarily mean he didn’t want it. There’s a character in a Sanders Sides roleplay I was in named Remy (Sleep), whose rp version was created/and played by the wonderful @queroze , who was proclaimed by them to be a manslut. His go-to to get out of situations, if he saw it was a fit strategy, was to seduce. Sure, he got into situations that weren’t great, but often he was the active one in the seducing. I wouldn’t say his go-to being to seduce meant it wasn’t always consensual. In fact, there’s many descriptions and some statements from Que themselves saying Remy loved bringing pleasure to his partners.

Then there’s the mention of the unlikeliness of the scenario actually happening. I don’t think this matters that much to be honest. It’s fandom enjoyment. Who cares if people want to enjoy something that doesn’t seem likely in canon? I personally couldn’t see seduction working, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t find the concept entertaining. Sure people shouldn’t insist it could occur to the creators. But aside from that, it doesn’t affect you. Enjoying fan spaces is way more fun if we let things stay peaceful.

I kinda want to write a fanfic now that adjusts to some of the critiques I’ve seen of this au. I know I said I probably wouldn’t, but I got inspired while planning this heh.

[gutterfuuck]

i literally have your post notifs on now 🫣 that conquerer mark fic was soooo good omfg 🙏🙏 while it’s kind of on the topic of bff mark, would you be able to do like…childhood friends mark that knows the reader is attracted to him (probably in love with him) and kind of uses it to manipulate her? or something similar idk LMAO i’m just in love w the childhood friends/friends to lovers trope and i think u could put a really fun and dark spin on it!

mdni! possibly uncomfortable for some, will add tags soon so please bare with me! not very smut like, some at the end.

this is just a small drable, i will extend on this idea! please enjoy!

i very love this idea; i already know exactly what i will do with this hehe. he's been aware of your little secret crush on him since you both started highschool, thinking nothing of it, thinking that you would eventually grow out of him… until you don’t. you were certain that you were destined to be.

that was until amber came along. you felt threatened, terrified that she would take him from you- she was gorgeous-and he knew it tore you up inside. when college came around; you almost gave up on him. you thought back to how he had knocked on your bedroom window floating one day making you panic and almost scream awake the entire neighbourhood. oh how you wished that he had stayed by your side.

you scrolled through the newsfeeds on your phone, watching back mark-invinvible's - fight today, pining for the sweet boy that you had fallen in love with. you felt as if you needed mark grayson to eat, sleep and drink.

he flew through your window, taking you by surprise as he nodded his head at you as a quick greeting, disappearing into your bathroom in his suit and emerging a second later in no shirt and pajama pants. "thought i'd do a quick check around the city before bed." he spoke, your eyes quickly glancing at his body, observing him. you were sure he wouldn't notice, you'd been doing this for years and he hadn't even paid you no mind.

that wasn't true. mark saw the way you looked at him. not just now, but all the time. he could see the way you mourned for him, heard the way you touched yourself for him, jerking off to the sounds of your hopeless shameful cries afterwards, slowly slipping into despair as you tried to wrestle with the realisation that mark was with another. he craved it. craved you, wanted you.

he wanted to get off…

you were his best friend, so when you watched him slump onto the end of your bed and listened to him complain about his relationship, you comforted him, you heard him. you felt guilty to admit it, but your heart fluttered at the possibility of amber being out of the picture. oh you felt horrible.

mark knew how you felt: euphoric. you were hoping on their downfall. mark and amber were actually only on a little break. “it’s just been rocky recently,” he would get back with her eventually. “we should try seeing other people.”

and he sees right through you, sees right through his pretty little friend. he doesn’t hesitate, his hand resting on your lower back. “i know you like me, i’ve seen the way you look at me.” he speaks and you flush, wanting the bed to open up and swallow you whole. you try to speak, but are interrupted by mark. handsome, strong, sweet mark. “i’m kinda pent up… just- i don’t know.. i don’t wanna make it weird,” he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, shrugging along with his words. take the bait.

“me and amber— not so active anymore. if you get me.” what was he getting at? you thought your heart was going to pop out of your delicate little chest.

and then he finally pops the question.

before long, you’re on your knees, mouth stretched around your best friend’s dick, drool leaking from the edges of your mouth as he rocked his hips into your face, “c’mon now, i thought you liked me… hah- are you gonna start being a good fleshlight or am i gonna have to go next door and finish inside of amber, huh?” his words were lost on you, the only thing you could focus on was the way you had finally gotten his attention; you were finally useful to him.

[drdemonprince]

When other people say that they do not have enough time to get something done, they (often, if they're quite healthy) mean they are taking into account the time it takes to do the laundry and arrange new pieces of furniture and cook dinner and meet up with friends to see a movie and run to the post office or the hair dresser and take the dog for walks and do the dishes and paint their nails and drive to the store and go to their cousin's wedding and go to the barbecue their friend is throwing on the weekend

they don't winnow their life down to just spending time at the computer, working from when they wake up until they cannot focus their eyes anymore, granola bars, coffee, and bottles of water all around them because of course they did not take time to have lunch or breakfast, only dragging themselves away from work when they are truly too exhausted to do any of it anymore, and then lacking the energy to do much of anything that remains of life but to eat a tiny bit more, sponge themselves off, and go to sleep.

i just saw a video of a fursuiter on their bed, legs kicked back, head propped on their hands, delightedly announcing that after many years of hard work they had finally finished their Master's degree. And some part of me, some sick withered part, thought really? you had time to do a Master's degree while also getting a fursuit done? and going to conventions, presumably? you had time in the day to research fursuit makers, have a sona designed and drawn by someone else (or to draw it yourself), to contact a maker to make a duck tape dummy of yourself, and to have a friend over to help you make it and to cut it off of you, to send it in the mail to the maker, to then get it and make videos? you had time to set up this beautiful bedroom that i see in your video, with a soft pink sham on the bed and LED lights behind your bookshelf and lamps and all kinds of stuffed toys? you had a life? you were out playing, and dancing, and pursuing your hobbies, and you did a master's degree?

because when i was working on my doctorate, there was nothing. three layers of foam on the floor with a fitted sheet over it. a folding card table from aldi that had cost $40 that my grandparents got me. no food in the fridge. no time to even get the internet installed, just stolen wi-fi when my laptop could pick it up. i woke up, got dressed, and slunk into the office. i sat alone in the dark working until my hunger made me furious and i could not write another word. and then i walked to the grocery store, got something to subsist on, went home, ate, kickboxing video, went to sleep. every day. with almost nothing breaking the routine.

and ive gotten better, so much better, but my brain still kind of works that way. i feel like i have to quit my job and stop being a writer if i want to have hobbies. to paint my bedroom. to marinate a meat for longer than fifteen minutes. to get a driver's license again. to take a trip. but i dont want to be like that any more. how do people know when to stop? i feel like i have to give everything my absolute all until there is nothing left or else i have done nothing. i feel that i would have to treat a hobby like a job to get it done. I feel that anything that takes more than two minutes is a huge waste of time i must feel guilty for. i am working on all these things. jesus i have been working on them for years at this point. but because i have been so successful at telling people to do less, i get pulled in. interview. workshop invitation. email. urgent in the subject line. call from my agent. meeting request from my boss. new book idea, better sell it now while my sales figures still look good. recording studio session. deadline. writing. can you talk about this. can you talk about that. tag. email. book idea. deadline. long heartfelt email. still so often i have to take my own damn advice.

and this is why i am getting a fursuit made!! and going to cons! and going to leather and latex events! and making socials that are separate for these things!! i am going to let myself be silly and soft and do frivolous things. i am so sick of what i do to myself, all the pursuit of seeming like a strong mature adult.

[silverzoomies]

Monster Mash

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: shameless smut, smut, kissing, porn with plot, halloween, zombies, biting, undead, undead!reader, gender neutral reader, zombie kink

word count: 11,996

a/n: first of three peter-centric halloween fics!! hopefully i'll get them all posted before the month ends!! timeline here is extremely fuzzy, and might not fall in line with canon. it's kind of super ambiguous.

the usual apologies: clunky writing, potentially ooc peter/other characters, inconsistencies, ending's super meh, etc etc etc. idk if peter would realistically be down to bang a cute, zombified reader. but hey, it's fiction. why the heck not!

tag list (i remembered this time!!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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October. Just a week before Halloween.

Peter didn’t celebrate the holiday too often these days. Not like he used to. Ever since he took up teaching at the X-mansion, he only participated in a handful of Halloween activities. The staple being - playing escort for mutant kiddos on trick-or-treating ventures. An activity he enjoyed a lot, since the kiddos referred to “Mr. Maximoff” as “the school's most awesome trick-or-treat buddy.” Which had nothing to do with Peter swiping a little extra candy - for the kids, of course - when the other teachers weren’t looking. Swear on his life.

Another Halloween festivity he loved? The school's annual, X-family Halloween party. The team generally left Peter in charge of decorations, considering it took him no time at all to set them up. Professor Chuck himself - legendary baldy - always played host at those parties. As per tradition - after the party died down - Peter cozied up in the living room with the team. They’d gather together to watch everyone’s favorite horror flicks on VHS.

He really couldn’t wait for this year’s festivities. Peter looked forward to those after-party, horror movie marathons every year. Movie nights with the team? Pretty freakin’ awesome. If only for two reasons: The abundance of sugary garbage to snack on. And the way Ororo loooooooved snuggling up with him on the couch. Being so hot natured helped. Living life in the fast lane - operating like a human furnace - sure had its perks sometimes. ‘Ro’s cuddling made an excellent distraction from Peter’s unbridled loneliness. Haha...

C-...Consider that a topic for another day. Moving on.

On horror movie night, Peter inevitably saw the jumpscares coming leagues before anyone else. It never failed. He’d call them seconds ahead of time. With ‘Ro lying at his side, and his arm wrapped around her waist. Peter would exclaim, “Jumpscare!”, breaking the tension heavy silence amongst the group. Spoiling whatever movie played. Everyone hated it, of course. Kurt growled at him. Animalistic, but nowhere near intimidating. Jubilee pelted Peter with popcorn.

Peter just couldn’t help himself. Those scares were so predictable and boring sometimes. Sure, he liked horror movies enough. With all the gnarly gore and twisted kills. But they never freaked him out, since he didn’t spook easily. His incomprehensible reaction time made terror a tough game.

All that being said...

Even with his totally outrageous bravery streak, Peter - guilty as charged - sure had his candy-ass moments.

This current mission proved, without a doubt, one of the spookiest situations he’d ever landed himself in. He could feel it in the air tonight. And not in the groovy, Phil Collins way either. An ominous sense of uneasiness crawled across his skin. Eerie vibes sent chills creeping up his spine like spiders through a web. Peter wished he could fast forward to Halloween night on the couch with ‘Ro. Heck, he'd even take decorating duty over this any day of the week. At least he could go all out, and have his own fun with it.

For an October’s night, the weather seemed uncannily coincidental. Drops of rain showered from a mass of black clouds. A sharp crack of lightning struck the ground, with a roar of thunder following in succession. It rattled the very foundation of the abandoned lab Peter found himself exploring. As part of a last minute, late night mission.

Below his feet, tiled floors laid in disrepair. Dirtying the mismatched laces of his untied sneakers. Peter snuck his way through murky hallways, his heightened senses buzzing on edge. Fight or flight kicked into high gear, making him all the more sensitive to any outside stimuli. Another echoing roar rumbled through the building, threatening to topple its cracking walls. Peter worried the ceiling might cave in at any moment.

A terrifying thought. But it happened to be the exact reason Hank chose Peter for this mission to begin with. Should shit hit the fan, Peter could skedaddle at the speed of light unscathed. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Unlike his other team members, who might risk being flattened like a pancake. Under the weight of, not one, but two floors above.

…Speaking of pancakes. Peter should definitely drop by a mom ‘n pop diner before heading back to base. He could really go for a fresh stack of late night hotcakes right about now. Warm and soft. With chocolate chips melting on the inside. Caked in sticky syrup and slathered with butter. Oooooh! And a little bacon on the side. Not too crispy, not too flop-

His mouth watered, and Peter blinked. Wiping his jacket sleeve across his lips, he redirected his attention to the task at hand. Focus, Quickie. He had a job to do, and he didn’t wanna be stuck doing said job all night.

The lab sat nestled off the coast of some island with a foreign name. Super hard to pronounce. Peter couldn’t remember it off the top of his head. Prior to this assignment, he’d never even heard of the place. But apparently, neither had anyone else. Hank sent Peter in search of what he dubbed leads on a mystery project. Something to do with scientific documents.

If he found any, he’d read their info over to Scott. Who would then relay that same intel back to Hank. Like an insanely boring game of telephone. Why Peter couldn’t speak to Hank directly was anybody’s guess. Too busy with his super secret project thingy-majig, possibly?

Hanging from Peter’s stereo belt alongside his old Walkman, a walkie screeched with a shrill chirp. A shock of alarm shot straight through Peter’s veins, making him jump. Scott’s voice crackled from the speakers.

“Any updates, Pete?” Scott asked, “Tell me anything you got. Even if it seems boring. Just hit me with it. It’s gotta be better than waiting around here in the lab, doing nothing.”

Peter held a compact flashlight in one hand, searching the lab’s pitch black halls. Most of the rooms he passed looked desolate. Barren and dusty. Save for the odd desk or empty cabinet. Peter wondered if they’d all been ransacked when the place closed down. The ceiling leaked rain from the floors above, dripping onto Peter’s bomber jacket. At the edge of his vision, he caught a rat scurrying by. But otherwise, not much else.

Pulling the walkie from his belt, he brought it up to his lips, “Uh. It’s dark and kinda spooky here. Saw a rat. Storm’s not gettin’ any better. It keeps shakin’ the whole place.” Peter shook his head, “If it doesn’t let up, I’m gonna have to split. Don’t wanna wait around to see what happens next, y’know? Over."

On the other end of the line, Scott breathed an annoyed sigh. Even through low-quality speaker fuzz, Peter could tell the sigh lacked any real spite.

“Peter. We’ve been over this. We aren’t using decades old, two-way radio communication. You really don’t have to say over. ”

Peter drummed his free hand on an empty desk. Following the beat of Sweet Poison by Naked Eyes, as it played from the only earbud he wore. He wanted to keep one ear open, just to hear Scott clearly. And mayhaps because he felt the teensy weensiest bit paranoid by his lonesome in the lab.

“Copy that. Over.” He grinned to himself.

The further Peter explored the lab’s halls, thick layers of mucky green seemed to take over. If he had to guess, he assumed Hank didn’t consider masses of moss “key intel.” Every few feet Peter stepped, he tore his way through another wall of cobwebs. Lots and lots of creepy cobwebs. Reduced to undying boredom, Peter took to karate chopping them. Might as well have fun in the face of ennui.

Half second flickers of lightning cast the lab in gleaming flashes. Bringing Peter’s attention to more rooms he missed. He wandered through some old offices. Or what he thought were offices, anyway. The trashed state of the rooms made it hard to tell. Nothing within them had withstood the test of time. Peter even tried poking around with some clunky computers. No luck. Dead as doornails.

“Found some computers. C64’s, I think. Haven’t seen one ‘a these bad boys since forever ago. But they’re totally busted.” Peter reported into the walkie, banging a fist onto one of the computers, “Yep. Busted. Over.”

Before leaving the room, Peter fucked around. Knocking over a computer monitor for no reason at all. He snatched a few, grubby pens from a lone desk. As well as a cracked coffee mug that read “I try to tell chemistry jokes, but there’s no reaction.” Just for the heck of it. Why not swipe some keepsakes, eh?

After what felt like a geological age of scouring, Peter eventually stumbled upon more filing cabinets. Stuffed to the brim with research documents and science-y records. Sighing, he pulled each drawer open one by one. Peter read the dusty files, sharing intel with Scott over the walkie. For every document Scott dismissed, Peter tossed them carelessly aside over his shoulder.

Antsy to wrap the mission up, grab some pancakes, and race home for a game of GoldenEye; Peter rushed through the last few folders. In hopes of finding whatever specific file Hank needed. But upon the last one, Scott broke some totally bogus news.

“Sorry about this.” Scott sighed, “Those files? Yeah. Hank says they’re all duds. No dice. You think it’s safe to keep looking? You might have to check the second floor.” He mentioned, to Peter’s dismay.

Peter bumped his head into the filing cabinet, groaning aloud. With a kick of his foot, he closed the last drawer and trudged onward. Oh well. The speedster could totally manage. At least he brought mix-tapes to keep his mind occupied. Along with extra tapes stashed in his belt pockets for good measure. Without music, he’d be so outrageously miserable on a mission like this.

Shining the dinky flashlight, he scanned the first floor area one more time. Just to be sure. The flashlight’s glow passed a set of double doors, leading to-

Wait. Back it up a sec. Double doors? Quietly singing New Order’s Blue Monday to himself, Peter moonwalked backwards to observe the doors again. Knitting his brows, he blinked. Stumped.

“Yo. Scotty. Got another room on the first floor. Gonna check it out real quick. Over.” Peter reported, clicking the walkie into place on his belt.

Another echo of thunder rattled through the lab, shaking the floors above. Lightning illuminated the halls in temporary flickers of white. Peter stared at the large set of doors, totally bamboozled. He couldn’t comprehend how he missed them before. When he knew for a fact he checked every nook and cranny. Inching closer, he eyed a sign pasted on one of the doors. In a rough scratch of permanent marker, the sign read:

Reanimation experiments in progress. Do not disturb!!

Reanimation? What, like…of the dead? Pfffbt. No way! Could this spooky place get any spookier? Peter swallowed an uncomfortable wedge in his throat. Shaking off any chills threatening to overtake him, he shined his flashlight through one of the door’s windows. Peter scanned the area for anything useful.

Inside, he clocked an operating table. Close to that, a lone cart cluttered with rusty, surgical tools. Cracked computer screens lined one of the walls, more advanced than they should’ve been. At least for the era they originated. Tangled cables ran along the floor, leading to something in the shadows. Peter couldn’t make it out.

He arched a brow, finally locking his sights on - Aha! Jackpot! More filing cabinets. Hopefully, they held his ticket out of this creepy place. Fingers crossed. Peter burst into the room in a flash, kicking up dust in his wake. Tearing through another wall of cobwebs, he surveyed the area again. Making a mental note of every cabinet he could see. Enough to keep him busy for the next hour, he guessed. Peter slumped his shoulders, huffing an aggravated groan.

Talking to Scott through the entire process made it more bearable. Being so no nonsense and straight forward, Scott had no problem retaining the info Peter shared from every file. Which saved the speedster any hassle of repeating himself, or having to explain things he didn’t understand. Science? Not really Peter's area of expertise. He thought himself more of a tech, or music guy.

Luckily enough, Peter found whatever documents Hank sent him after. A deep dive into every folder, in every drawer, in about a dozen different cabinets were all it took. Had Peter aged another thirty years? He sure as hell felt like it. No sweat! Mission accomplished. Time to bid the old lab goodbye.

Peter flew through the rest of the cabinets in less than a second’s time. Triple checking for any intel Hank might find compelling. He skimmed some records documenting the “reanimation of dead tissue.” Hm. Actually, blue beastie might potentially find that fascinating. “Reanimation” of the dead didn’t exactly sound too commonplace in modern science, did it?

In a folder, Peter discovered a file. Clipped with a photograph of - hellllllllooooo there! Someone…kinda cute. Very cute. Peter whistled, piercing the quiet thrum of distant rain. He read on.

Oh. The cute someone. They died. Tragically perished. Hit by a car back in the 80’s. What a bummer. One of the scientist's brought them to the lab as a test subject. Used for some twisted experiment in reanimation. The kicker? They proved to be the lab’s first and only successful trial run. Of around fifty different, reanimation trials. Yikes. That's...a lotta dead bodies.

These scientists successfully revived the dead? Peter doubted it. Over a decade had passed since then, and no one ever used the technology mentioned in the files. This lab's research couldn’t be as successful as they documented. Or something must've gone wrong, for them to give up and shut down the lab's operation completely.

Yeah. Treating human corpses like science fair projects for school? Super warped. Hank, wacky in his science ventures, totally found macabre shit like that interesting. Shrugging, Peter tucked the manilla folders he gathered under an arm. He grabbed his walkie, and reported to Scott.

“I got somethin’ else Hank might be into. It's totally messed up, he'll love it. But-uh…if that’s all he needed? I’m gonna jet now, ‘kay? I can’t take another minute in this scary ass place. Over and out.”

Before making his leave, Peter glanced around the room one last time. He appeared near the operating table in a picosecond, his brown eyes scanning the cart next to it. Curiously, Peter picked through some rusty, surgical tools.

Upon finding a scalpel in fairly okay condition, he swiped the tool and slipped it inside his back pocket. Whistling to Oingo Boingo's No One Lives Forever - in hindsight, kind of ironic - playing from his Walkman, Peter raised a foot to kick the cart. Watching it roll away into a nearby wall. Hasta la vista.

As Peter steered away from the operating table, a monstrous shadow loomed at the edge of his vision. His heart rampantly pounded in his chest, his senses still high strung. Jumping back with a terrified gasp, Peter climbed halfway onto the operating table. He fumbled for his flashlight, pointing the glow at the massive bundle of darkness. The light shook in Peter’s trembling hand.

But it-...oh. Phew! Nothing to be afraid of. Hah. What the heck was Peter gettin’ riled up for?

Like something straight out of science fiction, Peter’s shadowy monster proved nothing more than a giant pod. He squinted, moving towards it until close enough to observe it more clearly. The tech appeared big enough to hold a person of his size. Or, hell, maybe even someone of Beast’s size. Peter ran a hand along the surface of the pod, gathering a layer of dust on his fingertips. Scowling, he shuddered, wiping the dust on his jeans. “ EUGH! Eck-” Peter exclaimed to no one, “What’s up with this dusty, old thing??” Glass encased the outer layer of the large machine. It might've been see-through, if not for the unsanitary grime blanketing the entire thing. Years upon years of soot build up. Peter tried wiping the dust away with his elbow, to no avail. He couldn’t see inside, even with the aid of his flashlight.

Puzzled, Peter darted around the room in a silver blur, searching for clues. A switch of some kind? A secret code? He tampered with everything from the cracked monitors on the wall, to the colorful cables lining the floor. Peter even tried prying the pod open with a rusty hammer he found. Still, it refused to budge. Even with the power of speedster strength. Was it made of adamantium or something?

Sighing, defeated, Peter tossed the hammer away. It crashed into one of the screens hanging against the wall. Shattering the crystal display upon impact. Whoops. Oh well. How much more damage could be done to the place? Not like anyone would be making renovations anytime soon. Not in the middle of buttfuck nowhere island.

Making an accidental misstep, Peter slipped on his untied shoelaces. His ankle entangled itself in a circle of cables on the floor, and he lost his balance. Tripping, Peter stumbled backwards into some busted machinery, knocking his head. His back collided with the hard, metal surface behind him.

“ Auuugh. Shit.” Peter muttered. He didn’t understand how he could be so goddamn clumsy all the time, given - what the professor called - his mutant gift, “Ow. Dammit.”

He must have triggered a switch when he tripped. Suddenly, a loud hiss seethed through the air like a bus braking to a stop. A slow moving cloud of smoke rose from inside the pod. As it spread, filling the room, the fumes turned radioactive neon in color. It swarmed Peter’s nostrils, overflowing his senses with an earthy scent.

“Uhhh…uh oh.” He mumbled, “Is that supposed to happen?” Acting in haste, Peter scrambled to free his ankle from the cable’s tight grip.

A corpse reanimation research lab.

Nope. Noooope. He’d seen Return of the Living Dead enough times to know - whatever the hell’s happening now? Bad news. Couldn’t be good. Peter suppressed the urge to scream like a frightened child. A buzzing voice chimed from his walkie, startling him further. Dammit all, Scotty! He almost sent Peter into cardiac arrest for a hot second.

“Peter? Hey-uh, are you there? You alright? You didn’t stop somewhere for pancakes again, did you?” Scott crackled through the walkie, but Peter didn’t respond, “Better bring enough back for the whole class.” He joked, sarcastic.

Peter gawked at the sight before him in a mix of horror and confusion. Completely petrified, as Oingo Boingo played through his ear. The neon smoke emitted from the pod began to clear, revealing a body inside. A dead body.

Your dead body, to be specific.

Somehow, Peter recognized you. But that didn’t make any sense at all. He knew for a freakin’ fact he’d never seen or met you a day in his life. Unless… oh. Oh, holy shit. He hurriedly grabbed the extra folder he’d taken and opened it, just to glance between you, and the photo inside. And sure enough… The first and only successful trial run in reanimation.

Oh. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Peter’s eyes blew open wide. His stomach dropped twenty thousand feet through the ground, plummeting to the Earth’s core. Swallowing thickly, he observed your slumbering body from his position on the dirty floor.

Your skin appeared ashier than it naturally should be. Y’know, on account of being dead and all. It more closely resembled a subdued, greenish color. Kinda Frankenstein-esc. Stitches lined each and every one of your limbs. As if some psycho nut job took you apart and sewed you back together again. Judging by the info in your file, they probably did. Embedded into your neck, were two bolts on either side. Also very Frankenstein-esc. You reminded him of a wax dummy on the set of some low-budget, horror flick. It’d be kinda funny, if he didn’t feel seconds away from screaming in horror.

You could be a dummy, if Peter had any luck. Yeah. This mission? Surely just a super elaborate prank set up by the team. Like a haunted house tour, made to scare the silver pants off him. Those sly dogs think they’re so slick, huh? ...R-Right?

Peter took a deep breath, keeping his terrified gaze fixed on you. In his ear, the funky tune came to an end. The lab fell into a deafening silence. Only broken by the faintest pitter patter of rain, and a quiet clamor of thunder now echoing at a distance. Signaling the passing of the storm. One less thing to worry about.

Though, he’d much rather agonize over a building’s foundation crumbling. He could handle a weather-related disaster wayyy better than a zombie coming to life, to - potentially - gorge on his flesh.

Raising his flashlight, he pointed the glow at your lifeless body. Again, Peter breathed a long sigh to ease his panic stricken nerves. An interference of crackling static ripped through the walkie then. Loud, and shrill enough to cut glass. At that very moment, your eyes - once locked in eternal slumber - popped open freakishly wide.

Oh. Oh hellllll no. Fuck that. Fuuuuck that.

Peter’s hunch proved totally right. You weren’t just dead. You were undead.

“ Mmmmmm nope.” Peter mumbled to himself, swiftly shaking his head, “Nuh uh. Nope.”

Shaking with adrenaline, he glanced between your dead-eyed gaze, and his trapped foot. Okay! No problem-o! Not a problem at all. For an X-Man, zombies made an easy foe, right? Peter could totally just-...

Just vamoose! Make a break for it! Right now!

Like, now.

Peter hadn’t run away yet. Why hadn’t he run away? Hellllloooo? Ground control to Quickie! Time to make a quick exit, and head for the hills. Lest he become zombie chow.

Stunned, Peter remained petrified. In an uncannily slow movement, you rose from the pod like Nosferatu out of a coffin. Peter cursed under his breath, willing his terror to take a one way ticket outta there. He needed to come to his senses, and fast. Even as Peter tried to move, his paralyzed state caused him to fumble again. His movements lacked their natural fluidity, and his blood ran cold.

Like a total doofus, in his failed attempt to escape, Peter tangled his foot even deeper through the cables. Sometime in the last thirty seconds or so, he dropped his flashlight. Within the inky darkness, he could barely make out your shape as you moved. You groaned a long, croaky sound. Guttural, like an eldritch abomination.

Another crash of lightning showered your living corpse in a white luster. Peter made direct eye contact with you. A gaze between life and death.

A yell vibrated through his lungs and bounced off the walls of the room, as Peter finally screamed. Your slow moving, zombified body climbed from the pod much like a spider. Stumbling at first, you connected your bare feet with the dirty, tiled floor. Once you found your balance, a cracking sound erupted from your limbs. Your bones clicked and popped audibly into place. Peter scowled, physically cringing.

Another scream tore from the depths of his chest, “SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!” He shouted.

You dragged your feet in a limp, moving towards Peter with a slow gait. Stitched arms reached out for him in an unhurried motion, “ Luhhhhhhhh- ” You choked on a groggy gurgle.

Fuck. Fucking shit fuck. You definitely wanted to feast on his juicy brains and smooth flesh. No denying that. It had been, like, a decade since you last ate anything. And Peter probably looked like one hell of a snack right about now. Not even in a totally kinky way.

“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH! Hold yer horses there, baby! Yer gettin’ a liiiitttle too close fer comfort now! C’mon, huh? Do you really think I’m on the menu? ‘Cuz trust me. If yer gonna eat somebody? I shouldn’t be yer first choice! I really don’t taste all that great!” Peter yelled, throwing a hand out momentarily before returning to the tangled cables. He huffed an uneasy laugh, “SHIT! Yer not listening, are you? Ahaha! Yer gonna eat me. Totally gonna eat me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck-”

Peter tore at the cables wrapped around his foot. Acting as quickly as his petrified state would allow, he pulled the scalpel from his back pocket. But the dull razor’s edge refused to cut through the wires. Dropping the useless tool, he ripped into the cables one more time using all his strength. Only to free himself a millisecond too late. Always late. You lurched forward, making grabby hands. 

Quicksilver vs. an actual, real life zombie. If he made it out alive, that’d make one helluva story.

But-

Wait a damn minute. Hold the freakin’ phone. Why were you…looking at him like that?

The glazed over eyes of a living corpse opened up, all big and doe-like. Gazing at Peter in - no mistaking it - infatuated fondness. Your supple lips parted with a wide smile of pure delight. Like sunshine peeking through hazardous, storm clouds. You leapt forward unexpectedly, squeaking a raspy squeal. Burrowing your face into the warmth of Peter’s chest, you linked your arms around his neck. Holding onto him tight.

“What the-” He whispered, looking down at your messy head of hair.

Uh. Okay. So, that just happened. Weird. Why weren’t you feasting on his flesh? Wasn’t he supposed to be your first meal since zombie hibernation, or something? Didn’t you wanna go chomp chomp chomp, and turn his guts into mush?

Peter realized, looking at you up close, you appeared perfectly clean and preserved. You didn’t reek like a dead body. The earthy scent on your cold skin wasn’t too unpleasant either. It smelled herbal. Floral, even. Your smooth skin lacked any signs of rot. Aside from one or two lesions revealing rib or arm bones. Kinda...freakishly cool. The surface of your skin looked see-through, with veins weaving underneath like intricate wiring.

A little spooky, sure. But not all that scary to look at, surprisingly enough. Not like Peter expected, anyway. As you snuggled closer into Peter’s body, he began to realize how oddly affectionate you were. Very out of character, for a zombie. You squeaked an unintelligible noise, attempting to communicate. But you just couldn’t form the words. Maybe your speech capabilities fizzled out after years and years of unending silence.

Peter creased his brows, lowering his defenses and calming himself down. Another thirty seconds passed. His brains remained intact, and you hadn’t made him your next meal. He pulled the earbud from his ear, hooking them around his neck and pressing pause on the Walkman. Craning your neck back, your glassy eyes met Peter’s own. You grinned so big and joyful, gleaming the innocence of a pure-of-heart, golden retriever. Despite being totally bizarre, Peter found your sweetness...sorta...weirdly cute.

“Uhmmm…hi? Hey. Uh-why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” He laughed, a little uneasy.

Maybe your affection stemmed from something simple. If Peter were locked up in a cramped pod for so many years, he’d be ecstatic if someone finally freed him. You were probably just uber thankful he’d broken you outta that pod thingy. And you showed gratitude through touching, since you couldn’t exactly flurry him with thank yous. He could accept that. Sure. For now.

The walkie hanging from his belt droned a buzz, and Scott’s voice called out. Peter finally reached for it, maneuvering between his body and yours. Your arms stayed around his neck, your body hanging like a stubborn monkey’s from a tree.

“Peter? Do you copy? Peter, are you there, man? Talk to us. Please. Should we send someone over to assist?” Scott asked, his voice itching with alarm. “Yeah! Yeah, nah. Uh-hey, Scotty! Hey, I’m here. I’m oka-...dude, it’s fine. Nothin’ to worry about. Seriously. But…I do kinda have a situation here? Over.” Peter replied.

Scott exhaled a relieved sigh on the other end of the line. In the crackling background of the walkie, Peter heard Jean’s voice. She asked, “Did he say over ?” Followed by a series of hushed chuckles. Peter smirked to himself.

“Oh! Oh my god. Thank goodness, Pete. We were all getting pretty worried about you over here. What’s going on? Are you still at the lab? You said there was a situation. What kind of situation? Did that old place finally cave in?” Scott asked. Many, many questions.

Peter heard even more frantic, muffled conversations in the background. While he couldn’t understand them, he recognized the voices. The entire team had gathered, just to make sure he made it out alive. Awww. How sweet. They were worried about lil ol’ him? If Peter hadn’t had the bejesus scared out of him not even five minutes ago, his heart would’ve melted.

“Heyyyy, guys! Uhhhh…soooo…I might’ve found, like, a zombie? No joke. Like, a real zombie. But it’s not tryna kill me. It’s-” Peter paused, raising a brow. You fluttered your lashes, giving him a coquettish look, “Bro, I think it’s makin’ eyes at me. Legit. Kinda weird, right? Definitely not what I was expecting. But it’s totally fine. I got it all under control now. Over.”

A long silence fell amongst the walkie’s noise. Until Scott finally responded in monotone.

“Did we hear you wrong, or did you just say you found a zombie?” He asked, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief. As if expecting Peter to say - Psych! Fooled ya!

Peter parted his lips to confirm. But the abrupt tickle of a chilly kiss on his neck silenced him. You stood up on your bare toes, giggling sweetly. Across his hot skin, you peppered your chapped lips. Instantly, Peter froze in place again. Shudders rang through his body. He reached for one of your arms, tugging you to try and pull you off him.

“Uhm. Y’know what? It’s no big deal. B-But yeah, it’s a zombie fer sure.” Peter tugged your arm with more insistence, urging you to let go. But you persisted, giggling into the crook of his neck, “Like I said. No worries here. It’s not like I’m in da- haaah okayokayokay-”

Your feather light kisses became soft, kitten licks. Flicking Peter’s flesh with your slimy tongue, you squealed, tickled pink. Peter jolted, shivers sizzling down his spine. He tilted his neck to the side, wincing. Over the walkie, he heard Hank’s gruff voice.

“Peter! It’s Hank-” The blue beast said, as if Peter couldn’t already tell based on his growly tone, “Are you a hundred percent sure the undead creature isn’t dangerous?” He asked, buzzing through a scratch of interference.

Coldness slathered and swirled Peter’s neck in slow circles. Fluttering his eyes closed, he replied, “N-Not dangerous. Ohhhh. Definitely not dangerous. No danger here. All good. Over.” Again, he tried to pull you off.

Your discolored arms tightened their hold around his neck and over his shoulders. Cooing noises dripped from your tongue like honey, so sugary sweet. You swiped his skin with your tongue, nuzzling your cold nose into the heated crevice of his neck. Pressing your body closer into his, you squirmed, littering him with zombie kisses.

Peter tensed, apprehensive of your affections. He didn’t want to be too harsh or aggressive towards you. Worried that any sign of conflict might make you snap. For all he knew, you might go bonkers and brain hungry. Really, he should’ve gotten it over with and pushed you away. Before you took things a little too far. And you did. Your teeth sank into his neck, lightly nibbling his flesh. As you pressed yourself even closer into his proximity, your breasts - covered only by a ragged crop top - met the swell of his broad chest. WOOOOOAH! Talk about twisted! Sure, okay, maybe your bites turned him on, like, a little. Flooding his body with a pleasant, all-over shudder of pleasure. But he couldn’t just fold for a zombie, could he? That’d be disgusting!

It’d be gross, right?

A subconscious desire in the recesses of his lonesome mind told him he wanted - no, needed - the attention. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone like this since the pogs fad. Easy, now, Peter! Down, boy.

But…shit. As much as he wanted to give in, he couldn’t. Not for a monster. A living corpse, left cooking in a secluded pod for a decade. Cloaked in discoloration and held together by expertly crafted stitching. Not entirely mindless, but so dense, you hadn’t the forethought to ask - “What happened? Where am I? Who are you?” No. Instead, you went after him the moment you saw him, showering him in bubbly, zombie lovin’.

He…shouldn’t find that hot. His fingers shouldn’t be tightening around the walkie, and his groin shouldn’t feel as scorching as it does. Oh, man. Could Peter be any more doomed? He’d have to be mad desperate - way out of his mind - to reciprocate your affection. Raising the walkie again, he cleared his throat.

“Hiya, Beastie. A-Acutally, I think they-...the zombie really, really likes me.” Peter added for no reason at all. You nibbled him a little harder, and he winced again.

“Well, now! That’s good then, isn’t it? Better than the alternative, I’d say! If at all possible, Peter, you should bring the creature with you. I’d like to look it over. Maybe run some tests. Figure out what brought it to life! This could be the secret to reversing brain death!” Hank chimed, excited.

Peter rolled his eyes. Of course Hank wanted to poke and prod at you like some little, lab rat. He opened his mouth to respond, but choked before he could get a word in. Your dull teeth clamped roughly into his neck. Peter braced a free hand on your hip, his thumb digging into the cool, exposed flesh there. Now, suspicion began to dawn on him.

You could be a clever, little zombie. Capable of luring Peter in with flirtatious wiles and sweet touches. Once he let his guard down, what if you planned on tearing into his guts? Well played, smarty pants zombie. Well played. But Peter caught onto your little game. You couldn’t get anything past him.

Instead of slurping his blood like a 7-Eleven slushie, or ripping your nails into his taut muscles; you suckled his skin lovingly. Pulling tiny hickies into his neck. Squealing and giggling in that girlish fashion, playful with every nibble. Peter gulped, biting his lip between his teeth. No way in hell he allowed a zombie to give him hickies.

…Except he did. So what? No harm in it, right?

“Y-Yeah. Sure. I’m good. Great. Just hangin’ out with my new zombie buddy. It’s totally not gonna eat my brains. Like, zero percent chance I’m gonna die an ugly, zombie death. So, y’know, Beastie, don’t lose any sleep over it.” Peter responded, before following it up with a condescending, “Over.”

On the walkie line, Peter heard a series of groans and faint giggles. Followed by Hank’s voice, as he passed the walkie back to Scott. The X-Men’s laser eyed leader sighed, his tone unamused.

“Whatever, Peter. Just…just hurry up, will you? And bring those documents over for Hank. Thanks.”

Peter tried, and failed to keep his composure. A cutie pie zombie kept macking on him like a lovesick puppy, and he had no clue what to make of it. You sucked more sloppy, violet marks into his neck. Tugging his skin with your teeth and nibbling like you couldn’t get enough of him. Peter’s skin flared up in cold creeps, as you trailed your chilly lips to his shoulder. Pulling his jacket and the collar of his shirt aside, you spoiled him in more undead affection.

“Gotcha. Copy that. Ov- mmm -” Peter whispered a moan, replying with a rushed, “Overandout.”

He clipped the walkie back onto his belt. Attempting once more to pry you off him, Peter gave your arm a strong tug. A little more forceful this time around. As you finally dislodged yourself from his neck, Peter took a few steps back. Avoiding any stray cables on the floor.

Now, with some distance between the two of you, he cleared his throat. Peter brought a hand to his neck, grazing fingers over the love bites you left behind. Tiny splotches of purple pooled with offsets of scarlet. Faint teeth marks left grooves in his skin. He hissed.

Giving you the freedom to pepper him with hickies might not have been the smartest idea. Hopefully, you didn’t infect him with some sick, zombie disease. One with the potential to end humanity as he knew it. He couldn’t cope with the weight of that responsibility on his shoulders.

You gawked up at him with those big, adoring eyes. Excitedly, you squealed, hopping towards him with your eager arms outstretched. Hoping to pull Peter into another close hug, just so you could litter him in more nibbly, love bites. He raised an abrupt hand, maintaining distance. Peter cleared his throat again. His cheeks burned hot, doused in bright pink.

Totally not fair, the way an overly affectionate zombie got him blushing.

“L-Listen. Uh. Yer sweet, but-” Peter started. Subconsciously, his gaze drifted down your body. He observed the stitches sewn into your neck and limbs. His dark chocolate eyes followed the rips and tears in your skimpy shirt. The flimsy garment revealed a tiny peek of your - admittedly pretty - breasts. And Peter swallowed, his throat running dry, “Uhhh…you can’t keep doin’ this, okay? The-” He wiggled his long fingers, gesturing to his neck, “The hickie thing. If yer gonna come with me, we gotta lay down some ground rules. Alright? You get me, babe?”

You tilted your head to the side, blinking slowly. Gazing at Peter with a look that told him you didn’t understand. But you didn’t seem to give a shit either way. You reached for one of his hands, a dazzled smile curling into your lips. Purring a candied noise of affection, you brought his hand to your cheek and nuzzled his palm. Your lips gently kissed each fingertip. Peter pulled a face, knitting his silver brows.

“Why’re you so damn-” He shook his head, “Whatever. Listen. Can you, like, chill out? No biting, you understand?” Peter paused to make a chomping gesture, clicking his teeth. But this only made you giggle. Which, unfortunately, he found super infectious.

Peter chuckled, scoffing playfully, “Stop that! I’m totally serious! No biting. No licking. No kissing. Like this. You see this?” He gestured to the hickies on his neck, their trail leading under his shirt, “No more ‘a that, you feel me? I dunno how I’m gonna explain this to the crew back home. They’re gonna think we got, like, freaky ‘er somethin’. Yeah. Can you imagine that? Like I’d ever fool around with-”

Fluttering your off colored lashes, you tilted your head to the other side. You parted your chapped lips, squealing as you edged his fingertips into your mouth. Pressing the salty pads to your bitter tongue.

“Oh! EUCK! Gross! Don’t-” Peter scowled, jerking his hand from you in less than a millisecond. With a horrified look, he observed his fingers as if they were germ-infested specimens, “Yer a real weird one, babe.”

His guard fell. While Peter kept his perplexed eyes on his fingers, you leapt forward. Burying your face deep into the fabric of his shirt, you squealed. Gleeful and bubbly. Peter groaned, only half-annoyed. He made a move to push you off him again. But your precious, little purring noises changed his mind. Peter couldn’t find it in himself to put his foot down.

Turns out he had a weakness. Cute, overly affectionate zombies. Who woulda thought?

Whatever. Peter had wayyy more important things on his plate. He knew he should gather up those folders he dropped, along with anything else he lost during his freak out session. Once he did, he needed to get the two of you out of this dingy, old lab asap.

“ Mmmmm …n-need…” You hummed your first word, before squealing, “Loooooove~!” Your voice strained, rattling like you’d been pounding down cigarettes by the plenty.

Peter’s eyes widened, and he let his sizeable hands fall to your hips, “Di-...wait a sec, did you just talk? Holy shit! You can talk?” Peter asked, dumbfounded, “Woah! Wow. Uh…so…you got a name? Can you at least tell me yer name?”

Your case file hadn’t listed your name, leaving you reduced to a number. Pretty messed up, if anyone were to ask Peter. Either you still didn’t understand him, or you couldn’t remember your own name. Instead of giving him an answer, you nuzzled your face in his chest. You tittered, so soft and smitten, your ragged voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Cold, tiny zombie hands tickled the back of his neck, raking gentle nails down his torso.

Standing on your toes, you connected your cool lips with his neck all over again. You kissed your previous love bites, as if doing so would heal them entirely. Ashamed of himself for letting it happen, Peter stifled a groan.

"Y-...You don't remember yer name, do you?" He mumbled. Peter's strong arms wrapped around your back, pulling you in, "That is...a seriously messed up situation. But, hey, I'm here fer you. Don't worry, 'kay? We'll get you to a safe place, and you can start over there. Sound good?" His caring nature shined through. But male horniness abruptly overshadowed it, as your wet tongue tickled his skin.

A guilty part of him, overrun with sympathy, felt bad for you. Those scientists hadn’t treated you like the victim of an unfortunate accident. More like a toy. Meant to be ripped apart, played with, and abandoned. It seemed wrong to perceive you in a frisky light. But then again…you wanted love. You may as well have been begging for it.

Love. One of the first words you spoke since your undead coma. Not that much of a surprise, if he thought about it. As a science experiment, loneliness probably consumed you. Even before your decade-long slumber. In a way, Peter understood. He too felt haunted by a longing for affection for far, far too long. In his mind, that made the two of you kindred spirits.

Ahhhh …dammit. Peter just couldn’t resist you and your sweet wiles anymore. His self control steadily slipped from his weakened grasp.

“ Mmmmm! Wa-....waaaant…love~! Neeeed… mmm …lo-....love~!” You squeaked, your cold tongue curling over a fresh, purple mark.

“C’mon, baby. We can’t-...you really have to stop this. We gotta head back to base, like, now. Everyone’s waitin’ on me, and I-” Peter muttered, and you pulled back. Gazing at him with that mystified, doe eyed look. Like you saw the beauty of the cosmos in him, and him alone. Your lips sparkled, wet from your lovin’. Peter clutched your hips firmly. His jeans seemed...somehow tighter all of a sudden, “Would ya stop lookin’ at me like that?”

“Looooooove~?” You cooed, your voice taking on a lustrous, but groggy tone.

“Yeah. I know. But…” Peter sighed, letting his hands feel up and down your curvy sides, “Yer gonna get me in soooo much trouble. But, fine. You win, okay? What kinda love are we talkin’ 'bout here, babe? You wanna hug? Want me to-uhm…to plant one on you? Is that it?”

You perked up then. Peter took it as a sign you understood him, more than you let on before. He arched a brow. At this point, why even hold back? Because you were dead? So what! Who ever said zombies couldn’t be smokin’ hot?

If he messed around with you just a little, no one would ever know. Which…made the concept even more enticing. You could be his little secret. An affectionate secret he’d forever bury in the ground. In place of the grave those scientists never gave you.

Peter fluttered his eyes closed, finally giving in to your closeness entirely. Lowering his big hands, he grabbed your ass. His palms squeezed over the torn, booty shorts you wore. Never did he imagine - upon exploring some horror movie, science lab - he’d feel up a cutie pie corpse’s plump bottom by the end. What a way to end a mission. Life worked in some wildly bizarre ways sometimes.

Kissing a zombie? Not as gross as he thought it’d be.

Okay. Maybe for, like, half a second. But the earthy taste on Peter’s lips didn’t faze him much. Once he pushed past the initial ick, he embraced you fully. Peter decided he didn’t give a flying fuck how unsanitary zombie smooches might be. Uncoordinated lip motions lured him in further. Pinkish teeth grazing his bottom lip between kisses. Soon enough, they turned sloppy, and Peter found himself frenching the living dead.

Zombie make out session. An experience he hadn’t planned to check off his bucket list. But now, he could.

One of his hands gripped your ass. While his other held your face and pulled you in for more tongue action. In the midst of swapping spit, you sought every opportune moment to nibble him. Peter couldn’t help but be super into it. You mewled softly, giggling when he gave your booty a hard squeeze. Chuckling, he parted from your lips to look over your greenish face. Your eyes bulged so big and wide, pupils an off-grey color and impossibly huge. Wonderstruck by his very existence. Darting down to capture your lips again, Peter stumbled forward. He guided your body towards the operating table, knocking you into it. Your hips collided with the edge, causing a loud, vibrating clang. The rough motion worried him enough, he stopped sucking face just to confirm you were alright. Peter feverishly kissed your cold lips, his hands exploring your body. Feeling stitched skin under his fingers.

You pulled from him with a joyous squeal, but Peter followed. Confused as to why you stopped, until you dove for the untarnished side of his neck. Dull flats of your teeth chomped straight into his flesh, grinding a little too roughly for comfort. Peter winced with a start, ceasing his love on your bootylicious bottom.

“N-No! Noooo! Hey, baby, look at me.” Peter snapped his fingers to get your attention. Not that he wanted to be so demanding. But you needed to understand his boundaries, before you tore into his flesh and guzzled his blood. Instantly, you reacted, retracting your teeth from his neck. You moved to make eye contact, and Peter fixed you with a soft gaze, “What’d I tell you, huh? Look, it’s not that I can’t appreciate some neckin’. 'Cuz I totally can. And I really dig it. Like, a lot. But you can’t be munchin’ on me! Really freaks me out when you do that.”

You angled your head again, curious. Doe eyes gaped at him with fluttering lashes, innocently confused, “ Mmm. Giv-....Giiiiive…love?” You croaked, pawing at Peter’s chest over his shirt, acting so needy.

He couldn’t begin to understand what you meant, or what you imagined love to be in your head. Were you really so desperate to bite him? Or, were you asking for something else? Wanton, bedroom eyes dawned your pretty face. Plush, ashy lips parting. You pawed his chest again, your blunt nails scraping across his shirt. In your desperation to communicate your-uhm…needs, you jutted your hips forward into his jeans. “L-L…Lo-” You started, throaty voice oozing innocence. Though, the look in your lidded eyes betrayed said innocence, “Loooooove. Need. P-Please?” 

Peter’s eyes popped open, as realization dawned on him. Oh. You meant you needed-... Ah. He understood now. The unreasonably cute, living corpse he found - dormant in a pod for, like, a decade - wanted to bump uglies. Great. Awesome. What the hell was he supposed to do about that? Fulfill your unbridled desire? C’monnnn. Didn’t boning undead cuties come with any moral implications? If he took you to pound town, would that make him a necrophiliac? Peter really didn’t wanna be labeled a necrophiliac.

But hypothetically, what if he admitted his own desperation to himself? He always fumbled every time he tried to step up his game and woo the ladies. Not like he had any game to begin with. And tonight, there you were. Practically begging for him to take you. He should acknowledge the fact that, yeah - no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise - he found you very hot. So, ludicrously hot. Zombie traits and all.

And regardless of how many times he second guessed himself - at the end of the day - his dick didn’t have any qualms about zombie hanky panky.

Peter’s hand traveled up, thumbs curiously tracing the rough lining of your neck stitches. Before toying with the rusted bolts an inch or two above. Testing if you could even feel it. You didn’t react, and Peter wondered if scientists used those bolts to revive you. Did they awaken you Frankenstein style, with sharp surges of electricity? Or did you come to life by other means? A glowing, reagent liquid, maybe?

Hesitating for a fraction of a second, Peter tugged the front of your loose top down. A pair of off-green, zombie melons jiggled freely. Stitches circled each breast, and Peter may or may not have thought they looked hot as fuck like that. Call him inhumane, but he really dug your whole monstrous babe aesthetic.

His hands kneaded the softest pair of undead knockers he ever felt, making you squirm under his touch. Peter grinned, pleased with every choked squeak leaping off your lips. He flitted his dark gaze up to your face, then back down to your breasts; back and forth, back and forth. Admiring the delicate expressions you made, your precious face scrunched in pleasure.

“Damn. Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are? ‘Specially like this.” Peter chuckled, pinching and twisting your perky nipples, “Bet those bad guys never did. Sucks fer them. Yer a total babe. And sooo fuckin’ cute. Makes me want you all fer myself.”

Sooooo…about your…cooch situation. Yeah. Uh…Peter might’ve been somewhat worried about that. Taking your condition into consideration, he felt himself overcome with hesitance. Fearful that your-uh…flower, so to speak, may have withered away after a decade of darkness.

What about diseases? The thought made Peter squeamish. Even though you appeared and smelled relatively clean, you still hadn’t showered in a long freakin’ time. Then again, protection existed. Not to mention, you were so, so needy and cute. Your body looked undeniably amazing, and felt so soft. Fuck it. With some reluctance, Peter willed himself to test the waters. For your sake, but also for his own. Just to make up for the years he spent wishing he could get laid again.

A win-win for you both.

Tugging your tiny shorts down your smooth thighs - finding a little struggle along the way, since the meat of your thighs proved an obstacle - Peter snuck his fingers under the hem of your worn panties. The millisecond before his fingers met the supple curtains of your pussy, he second guessed himself for the zillionth time. Peter’s subconscious doubt pestered him enough, he almost withdrew his hand completely.

But the precious whimper you made gave him enough encouragement to keep going. His thick digits cautiously braved forbidden, undead territory. Finding an overabundance of cool, silky wetness between your lips. Peter swallowed hard, knitting his brows as he scoured for your clit.

“Jesus, baby.” He muttered. Judging by your bubbly squeak of delight, Peter assumed he found what he’d been venturing for. Leaning slightly forward into your proximity, Peter circled your stiff, little nub, “You want it bad, don’t you?”

“G-...G-....Gooooood! Mo-....More? More!” You mewled, clenching fists into his shirt. Mindlessly, you canted your hips, seeking his crotch. “Hey, it’s whatever you want, pretty.” He mused with a smirk, voice tender, “Relaaaax. I gotcha. I gotcha. ”

His fingers drew downwards, teasing for a beat before cruising into your silken entrance. Lush, deathly cold walls welcomed his digits in a loving hug. Beckoning Peter to sink them in deeper. You held his shirt like a lifeline, moaning an angelic, rattle of a noise. Pulling you closer into his warm body, Peter lowered his head to your shoulder. Thin strands of silver hair tickled your cheek. His thick fingers curled, hooking into a cushiony spot inside you. Your near-empty eyes saw hot flashes of light.

“L-LOOOVE~!” You whimpered through hitched cries.

“Mhm?” Peter laughed, impishly nibbling his lip, “Feel that lovin’? Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?”

Keeping you distracted for a temporary moment, Peter dotted your neck in warm kisses. Subtly easing his fingers in and out of your velvet pussy at a quicker pace. Your knees buckled, trembling the faster he moved. Until his motions became brutal. With a perfect curl, speedy digits rammed repeatedly into that spongy spot you loved. Your sugary sweet, unintelligible whines rose in volume, as your sticky, little, zombie cunt quivered.

You gnawed powerful bites as you came, your teeth digging into Peter’s neck. But this time, he allowed it. He forced himself to muscle through the pain, holding your shuddering body close, “ Shhhh. Shhh. It’s cool, baby. It’s - ahh - it’s cool. That's it.” He cooed with a careful tone, stroking the back of your head and threading fingers through your ragged hair.

Easing his fingers from your cunt, he double checked the digits, making sure nothing seemed off. Your release felt thicker and stickier than any living person’s, but didn’t have much of a scent. While usually he looooved to taste the aftermath of a total cutie’s orgasm, Peter opted not to. Sure, your wetness didn’t appear radioactive or hazardous. But the thought of guzzling zombie honey put him off a little bit.

“G-....Goood?” You ogled Peter with half-lidded, glassy eyes, your lips parting in an irresistible giggle.

Peter bit his tongue. Alright. Maybe he…could give it a shot. Just this once. Zombie love liquor couldn’t be deadly or anything, could it? Disease-ridden, maybe. But Peter knew a hyper-intelligent doctor who could whip up a cure for most ailments. Guess it didn’t matter anymore. By the time Peter second guessed himself yet again, he’d already sucked his fingers clean. A bitter thickness lingered on his taste buds. Peter salivated at the thought of drinking down more.

“ Mmmm … mhm …not bad.” He chuckled, lips humming around his fingers, "I'd go fer seconds." He added with a wink, making you laugh.

Yikes. If Hank only knew how reckless Peter acted in the presence of some zombified cutie. He’d lock him up in the infirmary and run a thousand tests on him. Just to make damn sure Peter hadn’t contracted anything lethal.

Politely pushing you off him, Peter turned his head. He double checked the perimeter for any signs of life, despite the lab being totally desolate. Hopefully Summers hadn’t sent anyone after him, since the speedster took way too long returning to base. Unbuttoning his jeans, he pulled his hard length from the fly. Almost immediately, you gasped in elation. Tickled squeals danced on your discolored tongue. Thick, and flushed a dark scarlet, Peter’s cock throbbed in his hand.

"I'm guessin' you like what you see?" He snickered, giving his dick a firm stroke, "I like what I'm seein' too...if you couldn't tell." Every word Peter said, every charming smile he gave, seemed to attract you considerably. Drawing more kittenish giggles from you.

With your freezing, zombie mitts, you ungracefully reached for him. Cold fingers squeezed his cock, stroking in a clumsy motion. Peter drew in a sharp breath, the cool sensation of your hands arousing his nerves. Even if your hand to gland combat lacked any skill, it felt damn awesome to be touched like this again. He stepped forward, his giant hands grabbing your hips. You played with him as much as your little, unbeating heart desired. Tugging his burning hardness with an overzealous grip.

You tried lowering yourself to the floor, your mouth falling open, tongue gliding over your lip. But Peter instinctively stopped you. His hands darted to your shoulders, pulling you into a standing position. He preferred if you didn’t take your biting addiction downstairs. Visitations of the oral variety were closed to any undead visitors. At least, for right now.

“Y’know, I don’t usually like goin’ all the way on the first date.” He spoke, fishing his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, “Like, call me an old soul 'er whatever.” Peter worked quickly, pulling a condom out of his wallet. He slipped the latex over his length, “But I can make an exception. Just fer you, cutie. But this stays between us, yeah?”

You nodded, pushing yourself up onto the dusty, operating table. Peter cringed, curling his lip out of concern for you. This couldn’t be sanitary. Dragging his attention from the filth under your bottom, you parted your knees. With your body angled backwards, you pointed eagerly at your panty-clad pussy. Soaked and dripping under the thin fabric. Peter’s breath hitched.

“Looooooove~? M-Ma…make?” You cooed, scooting a little off the edge of the table. As if tempting him to give in and fuck you already, you wiggled your ass. Like a beautiful, monstrous display of stitches and postmortem skin. All for the speedster's taking.

"I-I mean-uh...sure. If you really want me to. What kinda guy would I be to turn you down?" He awkwardly joked, fighting his nerves.

Peter pushed a strong hand against your inner thigh. Warm on your deathly cold flesh. He pulled your thin panties to the side, teasing your glossy slit with the head of his cock. You whimpered, cute noises bubbling in the back of your throat. Edging you for a beat more, he slid the teary eyed tip over your clit. Before sinking his length through your walls. Inch by pulsating inch, he bottomed out in a flash, tip kissing your cervix.

“ Wohhhhh, fuck.” He groaned. A new kind of coolness enveloped his cock, plushy and soft. Hooking your stitched legs over Peter’s shoulders, you tilted your body. Inviting him to submerge as deeply as your tight cunt would allow, “Oh, baby…yer so-...ah, fuuuuck. ”

"G……..Goo-......Gooood~!" You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut. Your strangled voice erupted in a mantra of lustful squeals.

By some act of divine intervention, Peter could feel the swollen, unyielding lusciousness of your pussy. Walls wringing his cock, like you wanted to suck him dry of everything he had. He swiftly rutted into your cunt, hard enough to make you bounce against the table. Peter’s sluggish eyes followed your breasts as they bobbed. Titties jiggling with such a soft, sexy whirl; He felt his cock twitch inside you.

Leaning down, Peter loomed over you, the rough fabrics of his clothes sliding along your bare skin. He kissed you tenderly, a little heedless. In the midst of fondling your precious, stitched breasts, Peter's hot palm curiously pressed against your chest. Feeling...nothing. No heartbeat, no blood flow. A little spooked, he refocused his attention. Playing with your bouncing, zombie titties again.

"Feels so-...you feel so good, holy fuck -" He moaned, his voice catching in his throat, "So pretty. L- ah ...love how tight you are." Playfully, Peter lost himself in the moment. He pulled a nipple between his teeth, suckling one of your Frankenstein tits, "Loooove these zombie boobies. Hah -oooohhh, shit-"

Lying in slumber for a decade must have left you majorly sensitive. In just a few more, aggressive, bunny humps; you came again. Hypnotic delight burst through your core, pushing you to the point of tears. Your pussy fluttered, sticky wetness gushing around his cock. Reaching up to link your arms around his neck, you clawed little etchings into his skin.

“M-Mmmmmooore~! More, mmm- ...more~!!” You pleaded, coaxing Peter to drill you with all the energy he carried. Not to toot his own horn, but - little did you know - he harbored enough energy for a hundred men. And then some.

"You w- fuck -want more? Want more, baby? God, yer gonna make me-" His voice wavered between moans, "G-Gonna make me lose it-"

Peter’s mischievous eyes met yours, as you gave him that doe eyed look he couldn’t fucking resist. Sharp jabs of his cock sped to a blur, slamming into your cunt in a brutal display of his strength. Keeping himself balanced, hands pressed to the table on either side of you; Peter showed no mercy. Abusing your precious, syrupy walls with a ruthless pace. But not fast enough that he’d tear his means of protection. A harsh surge of heavenly pain flared up inside you, as he tore into your pussy and bashed your cervix.

"LOOOOOVE~! Ah~! Peeeetur~!" In a moment of post orgasmic clarity, you called his name. Slurred, and barely recognizable. How'd you even know? Had you picked it up from his walkie conversations? Damn, his zombie buddy's more perceptive than he thought. Peter snickered, finding your pronunciation ridiculous. But the cute, needy sound of his name on your lips triggered something.

" ’Mgonnacum- ” Peter whined, his brutal pace more inconsistent and sloppy, “Gonna-...feels too good o h fuck oh fuCK -” 

A pearly white burst of thick heat stuffed the latex of the condom full, threatening to make it pop. Burying his nose deep in the crook of your neck, Peter moaned. Guttural whines ripped from his chest, drying his throat. Panting - not from exhaustion, but overstimulation - Peter loosened his muscles. In mellow, post nut bliss, he almost overlooked the sizzle of static buzzing from his walkie.

“Peter? Peter, answer me right now. So help me god. Everyone’s worried sick about you! Do you read me? Peter, I said, do you read me? Please!” Scott pleaded through a mix of agitation and genuine distress.

 Peter drew out a long, hard groan. Pushing himself up a little, he fumbled lazily for his walkie. A sluggish grin curled into his dimples, as he nibbled his lip and winked down at you. His eyes half lidded and hanging heavy.

 “Mmmm…’M fine. ‘M fine. ‘M fine.” He chuckled, overcompensating for himself. He knew he’d be in mega trouble with the crew by this point, “It’s all-uh…all good. Jeez, Summers. Did ya think I was dead ‘er somethin’? Haha…” Peter drolled, his tone slower than usual. He withdrew his softening cock from inside you, watching while you squirmed. On your back, you appeared a blissful, fucked out mess. Ultimately satisfied. Mission accomplished, “Don’t worry so much, bro. I was only takin’ my new, zombie buddy out to-uh…tooooooo…an arcade. Yeah. An arcade.”

On the other end of the line, a silence fell. Peter filled it with an, “O-Over.” to compensate again.

 “...You took the zombie…to an arcade?” Scott responded, an edge of irritated disbelief in his tone, “Peter, are you out of your damn mind? Do you not realize how much of a risk that is? I can’t even-...your priority for this mission was to retrieve those documents for Hank. Doesn’t it seem irresponsible to be dragging an unknown, undead creature around a public place? I can’t even believe you!” He heard Scott scoff, “Now, will you please return already with those documents? We’re all waiting on you. Bring the zombie too.”

“Uhhh…yeah. Sorry ‘bout that. Dunno what came over me. Sure. Okie dokes. Lemme, uh-” Peter spoke, playfully fighting you off. You reached for his neck, trying to pull him back down for post-sex cuddles, “Lemme grab ‘em. They’re goin’ hog wild with skee-ball right now. Crazy, right? They scored, like, sooooo many points. You should see all the tickets we got, man. We could totally get one ‘a those jumbo prizes. Say, Scotty, do you want, like, a giant Mighty Mouse?”

“Maximoff.” Scott replied sternly, without a beat of hesitation. His frustration oozed through the speakers, and Peter could feel guilt itching at his conscience.

In the background, Peter overheard someone - though he couldn’t guess who - mutter a, “Is Mighty Mouse even a thing anymore?” Oh. Once Peter returned, he’d be in for it. Royally fucked. Figuratively, and, thankfully, literally. In the short, momentary instance of silence between walkie communication; Peter disposed of the condom and straightened himself out. He disappeared for a millisecond, snatching a fresh towel from some luxury bath shop all the way in Paris. Dousing the cloth in warm water, he wiped you clean upon his ultra speedy arrival. Before helping you redress, making you look…somewhat presentable. 

“Fine. I totally get it, okay? Look, man. I’m sorry. But can ya really blame me fer wantin' to hang after the experience I just had? Doesn’t matter. Be there in a flash. M-Maybe don’t tell Hank, though. If you can hel-” Peter rambled sheepishly, slinging the towel over his shoulder. He stepped backwards, extending a hand for you to take. 

“Pietro Maximoff, I am beside myself with you!” Hank started, clearly agitated, cutting Peter off.

Peter groaned, mumbling quietly to himself as you took his hand, “He told Hank. He did it. He fuckin’ told him. Shit. I’m so fucked. I’m so, so fucked.” In a motion to guide you off the operating table, Peter pulled you forward by your hand.

“I have several questions. Why would you bring an undead creature to an arcade? What were your motivations behind taking the creature out, on a recreational activity? The potential danger or damage to the arcade and its patrons is far too high. And, furthermore, Peter, is there any scientific value to observing a zombie around arcade equipment? I understand you have this insatiable need to act out, but this is ridiculous! It is our duty, as members of the X-Men, to protect humanity from all threats. Including potential zombie related incidents at public arcades. Now then, please return the specimen immediately for further observation.” Hank ranted on and on and on and on-

A noise, like fabric tearing, cut uncomfortably through the air. Weak stitching around your elbow ripped loose, and Peter pulled your forearm clean off. Hank’s tirade met an abrupt end, as a blood curdling scream rocked the entire room. “Peter? Peter?? What’s happened? Peter, are you alright?” Hank panicked over the walkie.

Past the edge of terrified, shocked to the point of nearly pissing himself; Peter screamed. He wiggled his hand, trying to let go of your lone arm. But your hand held his tightly, your grip refusing to ease up. Once he finally freed himself, he expected your arm to drop to the floor. But your little fingers moved, crawling like spider legs. A zombie’s dislodged arm creeped up Peter’s shoulder over his jacket. Some real, Evil Dead kinda shit. He smacked at it, shouting like a housewife frightened by a mere mouse.

“YEAH!I’mfineI’mgreatI’mawesomesorryit’snothing.” Peter responded, rushed and unclear, “O-Over?” He cringed, scowling as you hopped off the operating table to retrieve your missing arm.

“...Pardon?” Hank asked, tone puzzled. Peter swallowed, shuddering while you pulled your freakish, deadite arm off his shoulder, “Are you…sure you’re alright, Peter? What’s going on? You’ve been acting awful strange tonight. Is there something on your mind?”

A lot. Peter had so much on his mind. Like, the totally real fact that he boned an undead, Frankenstein babe, for one.

“Uhm. It’s-...it’s nothing. Seriously, don’t even worry, Beastie. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Just-uhm…lab’s still-...there was some thunder, and the building-uh-” Peter nervously rambled, struggling to find his words, “Over.”

Another pause drew out long enough for Peter to realize his mistake. He cursed, smacking himself on the side of the head. How could he be scatterbrained, to forget his own lies in a matter of seconds? He had a feeling, deep in his gut; Hank would rip him a new one tonight once he got back. “...The lab? Peter…didn’t you just tell us you were at an arcade?” Hank asked, reasonably suspicious.

Peter’s voice broke as he replied, “I mEAN-” He cleared his throat, “Uhhh-...heh. I-I ran back! Forgot-uh...there was somethin’ I forgot. Like I said, doesn’t matter. I’m totally fine! I’m juuust peachy! Hang tight. I’ll be right there. Over and out.” Peter took a second to collect himself, clipping his walkie to his belt. He silenced the device, ignoring any further questions from Hank. Subconsciously, Peter took a step back as you reached for him again. His veins vibrated with a buzz of adrenaline. With your arm dismembered, you moved abruptly forward. Nuzzling your face into Peter’s chest, the same way you had all night. Still just as smitten with him. Groggy purrs rumbled in your throat.

Rolling his eyes, Peter patted your head, smoothing out your ragged, messy hair, “What am I gonna do with you? Yer nothin’ but trouble, y’know that?” He teased, pinching one of your cold cheeks, “Whaddya say we get outta here already? But I gotta make a couple ‘a pit stops. And you gotta behave yerself. Don’t get any funny ideas about eatin’ anybody.” Peter wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you close. Pointing at you with an accusatory finger. 

You tilted your head, confused again. Peter really couldn’t get enough of that cute, clueless look. Hank and Scott had no idea what they were talkin’ about. His zombie buddy? Totally harmless. You’d never even hurt a fly.

Okay. First order of business. Find a Mighty Mouse plush, just to really sell his arcade story. After that, he planned on snatching you some nicer clothes. Anything to protect your modesty. Thirdly, Peter wanted to teach himself some gnarly makeup tricks. Cover up his hickies. Yeah. No sweat! He could do all that in a flash.

Oh. And late night pancakes. Peter refused to skimp out on those. He’d been craving them all night, and his body desperately needed to replenish its energy. Surely, the gang back home wouldn’t mind. After everything, they totally wouldn’t be supremely pissed and fed up with Peter’s bullshit. And the waitress serving at whatever diner he picked? She wouldn’t bat an eye at some undead, zombified customer, would she?

Why's he even kidding himself?

Gathering Hank’s files, Peter tucked them under his arm. He zipped around in search of whatever other knick-knacks he lost, including his fallen flashlight. Stepping towards you, Peter brought his earbuds to your ears. He exchanged the tape in his Walkman for another, aiming to keep you entertained with music while he traveled at superspeed. As soon as the tune graced your ears, you leapt in place. Squeaking a surprise chirp. Your shoulders bunched, and you darted your hazy eyes around.

“Hey, easy, easy-” Peter reassured, cranking the volume down low so you could still hear him, “It’s just music, baby. It’s nice, right? You like it? You like-uh…you like the Monster Mash? Crypt Kickers? Bobby Pickett?” He gestured with his hands, suggestively raising his brows, “We had a graveyard smash, didn't we, eh?” You simply stared at him, clueless as usual. Huffing, Peter pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Seriously. What am I gonna do with you?”

You clutched your dislodged arm tight, cradling the appendage close. Throwing a quick glance your way, Peter shook his head. He pulled his goggles over his eyes, and braced a warm hand at the back of your neck. The few seconds before he took off, he leaned in close. Hearing that Halloween melody playing from the earphones you wore, he quietly sang along.

As much as he liked cuddling ‘Ro on Halloween, horror movie nights; A new idea crossed his mind. He might just snuggle up on the couch with someone special this year. 

[rainbowsky]

Hi- first have to say I love your writing, your organization, you’re just amazing! I’m a middle-age mom of four who has never, ever been in any sort of fandom or “shipped” a couple in 40+ years of consuming tv, movies, music, etc. Got introduced to TU via my teen daughter and very quickly was bjyx before I knew it was a thing, before I even saw any BTS. Googled the actors, saw some BTS, and just thought “of course.” I mean, of course! (TBC)

(Cont) I’ve read just about everything here but if you’ve answered this, pls point me to it. My question is, how do the “antis” or “solos” reconcile the BTS with their POV that DD and GG aren’t gay, hate each other, are using the other, etc? [redacted]

Hi! Thanks so much, I'm glad you're enjoying my blog. 😊

Sorry, I removed some of your ask because I don't like long asks, and you (perhaps unwittingly) included some theories/ideas I don't agree with and don't want on my blog.

As for your question, I have talked about similar topics quite a bit in the past. You can look through my 'solos belong to moling su sect' tag for my posts about solos if you want to dig a little deeper, but I personally don't think there's any point in going down that path. Solos are free to believe (or not believe) whatever they want, and it shouldn't really have anything to do with us.

This question is inviting me to psychoanalyze, theorize, and speculate about what they think and believe, but in my opinion there's nothing good that can can come out of doing so. I have done some of that in the past, and in my opinion it's totally pointless. If anything, it just helps create the perception that we should be digging into topics like this - something I definitely do not believe.

I have talked to solos about these topics in the past, and the thing that stood out to me about those discussions is that they're just different people who have different views. Might as well ask why anyone has a different view about anything.

If you've ever tried talking to someone who is opposite to you on the political spectrum, surely you've experienced how different and unwavering another person's views can be. Trying to unravel all of that can be a huge mess, and is ultimately just a waste of time.

The reality is, different people have different levels of investment in the type of material we focus on, they have different interests and motivations for being involved in fandom, they have different backgrounds and leanings, and they have different views and interpretations of everything they see. Even different turtles have different views and interpretations.

We don't need to spend a moment thinking about any of it. In fact I urge people to just avoid solos, avoid trying to speculate about them or digging into their perspectives or beliefs. It doesn't matter what they think, and most of their thoughts and feelings about this topic are hateful and homophobic. It is harmful to dig into and spread these ideas.

I have a whole post about that here.

I say this all the time, but we need to stay in our own lane. Focus on GG and DD and their projects. Enjoy being a turtle. We shouldn't waste our time or brain cells worrying about what haters and naysayers think, or why.

This isn't just about avoiding negativity or fan wars, is also about respecting other human beings. They have their own views and their own experience of GG and DD, and they have every right to experience it in the way they want to. It's not our role to try to change their perspective or even to evaluate and judge them. Live and let live. Yes, even when they don't extend us the same courtesy. Perhaps especially then. Be the change you wish to see in the world.

"Why don't people believe BJYXSZD?" should never be asked in a way that implies that anyone who doesn't is stupid or blind. And I'm saying that as someone who's guilty of doing that all the time. No one is obligated to dig into the evidence, and no one is obligated to believe.

There are a LOT of turtles who don't believe, either, and they're still turtles and they still love and support GGDD and still bring a lot of great value to this fandom. If we can accept them, surely we can come to terms with the fact that solos don't believe, either.

PS] Just one thing I wanted to reply to that didn't get posted from your ask - there is definitely no world in which solos believe that they were once a couple and broke up. There may be a rare person out there who fits that description, but the vast majority of solos don't believe that their idol is gay or has had any kind of a romantic relationship with the other one. A huge percentage of them are extremely homophobic or at least heteronomative.

[soft-girl-musings]

Perks of Being a Wallflower

Jake Lockley x plus size fem!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: rated T for thirsty jake, author does not dance but saw it on the tv once (i'm mostly kidding), mustachioed jake jumpscare (tagging for the haters), no use of Y/N

wc: 1.9k

fic summary: For Jake, a night on the town means sticking to the background, listening for signs of trouble. That all changes when he sees you at the dance hall.

A/N: still on the jake train and I am making it everyone's problem. just wanted to preface by saying, as a curvy girlie, i recognize that plus size folk are not a monolith. so everything in this fic is based on my own experience, etc. enjoy!

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Jake likes to keep his intel hotspots in rotation. 

Mondays and Wednesdays he'll head to the diner after a day in the cab, refueling and checking in with his network.

Tuesdays and Thursdays he'll hit the bars. Weekends are mostly for driving.

But Fridays? Fridays are for dancing.

Jake's guilty pleasure is scoping out the dance hall. The clubs have their appeal, but there's something timeless about the hole in the wall he’d discovered a while back. Nothing special, just a cozy ballroom with a bar, tables lifted on a platform framing ¾ of the room and turning the dance floor into an inverse stage.

Tonight he nurses a beer in the corner, listening to a couple of seedy characters describe some suspicious activity at a warehouse he'd been tailing. But he hasn't caught much of their conversation. Truth be told, he's a bit distracted tonight.

Because of you.

He'd seen you come in with four other people, two couples by the look of it. He'd been immediately taken by you: while some patrons came to dance in jeans and t-shirts, you'd dressed to impress. He'd shamelessly raked his eyes over your form, generous curves hugged by the bodice of your dress that trailed down over your ample hips. You walked with a timid sway, the movement inevitable even as you drew your arms about yourself, settling into your seat with care at a table clear across the room from him.

As much as he's tried to fight it, his attention always drifts back to you: poised and pretty, eyes scanning the room as one couple, then another leaves you for the Latin-dance-of-the-week group lesson hosted like clockwork every Friday. The instructor drones on, but Jake is zeroed in on you: all softness and warmth, criminally tucked away from the rest of the fun.

The warehouse can wait.

__________

You don’t consider yourself the kind of girl someone crosses the room for.

That’s probably why you don’t notice the determined stranger making his way across the crowded dance floor, eyes trained on you as he adjusts his cap with a smirk.

You’re taking another sip of your overpriced cocktail when you hear an unfamiliar voice below you.

“Not a fan of the rumba?”

You finally register the man standing by the corner of your table. He’s handsome, you have to admit, his dark features highlighting kind brown eyes, creased from his almost too-eager smile. When you realize he’s talking to you, your words are still slow to come out.

But he doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s the mustache, isn’t it?” He grins sheepishly, dragging a palm across his lower face. “Knew it’d skeeve some people out, but I thought I’d give it a go.”

“No,” you say too quickly for your own liking, “It’s, ah– nice. Suits you.”

You’re met with a cheeky grin as he steps closer, eyes half-lidded as he leans in. “I’m Jake. Nice to meet a friendly face.”

You eye him warily, wondering what his angle could be. A quick glance around the room confirms there’s only so many unattached women surrounding the dance floor. You sigh internally. The game is always the same: keep them entertained until the girls they really want to talk to come back from the bar, or the bathroom, or stray just far enough from the guys they arrived with.

Might as well play along. 

Settling back into your seat, you tell him your name. His grin widens as he echoes it with something bordering reverence, and you bite your cheek to keep from smiling too wide.

Jake props one elbow on the table, looking up at you. Seems like he’s not going anywhere for a while.

“I gotta know– you not a fan of the rumba?”  He asks again, staring up at you dreamily. You don't catch it, your eyes flitting between him and the dance floor. The lesson is over, and couples spread out to dance independently.

“Hm? Oh, um– it’s alright,” you say with a shrug, arms wrapping around your middle again. “Just not a dancing night for me.” 

Truth be told, it’s been ages since anyone’s invited you to dance. You’ve contented yourself with watching, although something deep inside aches for someone to ask you to–

"Dance with me."

You raise an eyebrow, struck by his bluntness. "I'm sorry?"

He leans in, both arms now resting on the table. "Dance with me, doll." His grin widens as he drinks you in. Your cheeks heat under his gaze, and you almost believe the admiration behind his eyes.

You press your lips together and look back to the crowd. "No thanks."

"I promise I don't bite," he teases, baring his teeth for effect. The slight gap in his smile catches your eye and you look away again. He's definitely a charmer.

"I…" you trail off, searching for an excuse but find you're hesitant to give it. 

Your self-sabotaging streak wins out. "Sorry, I have to keep the table for my friends." You nod toward the couples you came with, each person settled in the arms of their partner as they stumble through the rumba on their own. Your frown deepens; it does look fun.

Jake hums and props his head on one hand. "Don't tell me you only tagged along to watch their purses? Not the best of friends," he adds, critique mixed with sympathy.

You almost tell him that this wasn't the plan, you were meant to have a date tonight. A date who suddenly couldn't make it once your friend had caved and sent him a picture of you– a snapshot you'd both hoped wouldn't "fatfish" but was flattering enough to entice him to commit. Clearly he didn't.

You consider telling him everything, so lost in thought you don't realize he's been saying your name. He calls you once more, and you snap back to the present, tearing your eyes away from the dance floor.

"Sorry, what was that?"

As you speak, Jake walks around the table until he's closer to your side. He holds out his hand.

"C'mon, one dance." He asks again, angling his head to catch your eye. "Please?"

The last of your resolve absolutely crumbles at the way his voice softens with every word. As if you have something he wants. As if you could reject him and make it sting. 

Oh, what the hell.

"...Alright. One dance." 

You didn't think he could smile any wider, but he does– tossing his cap onto the table and trailing a hand through his thick black curls, he's all crow's feet and smile lines as you accept his hand.

Jake weaves between dancing pairs with you in tow, until you reach the middle of the floor. Your eyes dart around at the couples surrounding you, but a gentle touch under your chin brings your attention back to him.

"Just focus on me, yeah?" His voice is still soft, keeping you grounded in the eye of the busy dance floor. You nod, letting out a shaky breath.

"Right, so–" Jake clasps your right hand and raises it to chin level. He moves your left hand to cradle his shoulder, and places his right hand on your shoulder blade. It takes everything in him not to squeeze the flesh under his palm; you're just as warm and soft as he'd thought you'd be.

He talks you through the basics, how to time your steps and the flow of each movement. Every so often, he’ll lift your chin again, since you keep looking at your feet to keep up.

You catch on quicker than you’d expected. Even though your cheeks are blazing, you feel yourself loosen up– your body relaxing, your hips swaying a bit more freely. 

Jake can tell: he’s never short of praise and encouragement, and has to remember his own advice to stop himself from watching your hips the whole time.

"Alright," he warns, "here's something a little tricky-"

As soon as you feel his hand flex, you know what to do. You step out and deftly spin under his arm, hips swaying with a cheeky flourish for effect.

Jake barks a laugh of surprise, arms settling back into place as you complete the step.

You let yourself crack a smile. “You third wheel enough of these dance lessons, you’re bound to pick some things up.”

“No kidding,” he affirms, resuming an easy rhythm for you both. You’d think he was born with that grin on his face, the way it hasn’t faltered since he introduced himself.

One song bleeds into another, but neither of you notice. Instead, you draw closer together, your frame more relaxed and your heart racing. With every beat, you fight back the budding intoxication of the moment. Because this can't be real; this can't be something that lasts. No matter how many praises he showers, winks he offers, or lingering brushes against your hips, shoulders, seemingly anywhere he can touch you, you know you won't be hearing from Jake once you leave this dance floor. That's how this always goes down.

The song ends and you both slow to a stop. Slightly breathless, your hands trail up to Jake’s shoulders, thumbs tracing the fabric there as you work up the courage to ask one last question.

"So… is this the part where you go back to your friends and tally up who got the big girl to believe you were interested?"

Jake's brows knit together, his hands pressed to your shoulder blades to hold you steady. "I don't-"

"Oh please, you don't have to pretend. I survived high school, I can take it." You smirk, worrying your lip to keep your disappointment at bay. This was a nice fantasy, but you know how this ends.

The band starts to play a slower tune, and his eyes meet yours. In a flash of flexed arms and footwork, you’re suddenly looking up at him, body tilted back as he dips you. A cheeky grin is plastered on his flushed features.

"Doll, you misunderstand." He draws you back up, bringing you cheek to cheek as the stubble of his warm face scratches your skin. He continues, voice low and close to your ear:

"We're dancin' because it'd be criminal to leave such a pretty wallflower unplucked all night." He starts to sway in time to the music, still holding you. An invitation to stay, to do this all again.

You lean back; his rapt attention is trained on you like before, the warmth in his brown eyes seeping into your cheeks. Your face blossoms into the widest smile, your soft angles catching the light and making you look downright radiant. 

"That's… so corny." And you laugh, a rich, uninhibited sound pouring from your lips until tears nearly spill down your cheeks. 

Jake takes it all in– the vision that you are. His hand trails down to the softness at the small of your back. The way you quake from laughter sends a thrill up his spine, and he chuckles in turn. If he wasn’t holding you, he swears he’d be a little weak in the knees.

You rest your forehead against his shoulder as you calm down. “What’s one more dance?” You breathe, letting yourself move in time with the music.

Jake bites his lip and nods, taking your hand again. “Thought you’d never ask, doll.”

With a flick of the wrist he spins you out, eliciting another laugh from you as he pulls you back in.

The warehouse can definitely wait: his night's going to be spent drawing that sweet sound from your lips as long as you'll let him.

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A/N: when I say "brainrot," i mean i couldn't sleep until i set this gd thing to publish (don't ask me what time)

huge shoutout to @hon3yboy @chrissymodi-frost and @mrsnadeem for letting me ramble in your DMs about dancer!Jake, all my love my darlings <3

addtl tag list: @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi

tysm for reading!

[puma-riki]

No One Noticed...

Synopsis: You've never seemed to make friends well. Sure, you had people you knew and were well acquainted with, but no one ever seemed to get closer to you or want to. You think that no one notices you and you'll continue the rest of your college years alone like all the years before. Except Ni-ki notices just about everything you do.

Pairing: Nishimura Riki x Fem! Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor (or attempts at), slight angst, smau + written parts, idiots to lovers, university au

Warnings: consistent cursing, kms/kys jokes [Subject to change every chapter]

Characters: Enhypen (all), Eunchae (lesserafim),Keeho, Soul, (P1Harmony)

Status: Ongoing (Start: 092124)

Taglist: bee-the-loser iaintseggsy channieismylove yangjungwonnie luluvhs nikiswifiee kingofthekards skepvids sammie217 sh0dor1 sirens-dreams starfallia polarisjisung minhosimthings @mochiwonz @jiiyen @strawberrieswithchocolateo3o | Comment on any chapter from No One Noticed... saying you want to be added to the taglist!! or send me an ask !! | bold could not be tagged :c

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03. Existential dread + written

[name]:

Each day seemed to blend together. Every morning was the same—you'd get up, go to your classes, have no social interactions at all, and then come back to your apartment that your parents were working hard to pay for, just for you.

You felt guilty. Your parents were so proud of you for getting into the college you worked your ass off to attend. They shared their excitement for you to start your own little life with school and all the new people you'd meet, people you could bring over during holidays. They'd imagined the friends you'd make filling their table, sharing stories on how you guys had met and cheerfully sharing the same adoration for you as they did.

You would be sad to share the news that you'd be coming home for break empty-handed, for the second year. You don't know why it'd seemed too hard for you to connect with people. It's not like you've never talked to a person before. you had been in plenty of extracurriculars in high school, one of which was theater. You were good at what you did—organizing, tech work, always making sure the show ran smoothly. People appreciated you, right? You were in the group pictures, but never fully. Cropped out, a half-figure on the edge of the frame, while everyone else beamed in front of the camera. You never got invited to the after-parties. You never even knew they happened until you saw the Instagram posts the next morning. It hurt, but after a while, you got used to it. You showed up, did your part, and slipped out quietly, unnoticed, as if your presence didn't really matter. And now, college wasn't much different.

Enough depressing talk of the past. At least in college, no one expected you to have a social life. Everyone was busy, and being alone was almost normal. But even knowing that didn’t make it feel any less lonely.

You huffed as you pushed your key into your apartment's lock and turned it. Upon Entry, you were embraced by the warmth of your heater and the orange hue of the small lamps scattered about your place. You kicked your door shut and toed off your shoes, then made a beeline for your bedroom.

Your room had the same feel as the rest of your apartment. A small lamp shone down on your desk next to the door, scattered with half-finished homework. A stained-glass lamp glowing softly on your dresser, adjacent to your bed. Your bed was right next to the window that overlooked the city street. You sat your half-drunk boba on your nightstand next to yet, you guessed it, another lamp. You sat on your bed and looked out the window and watched all the people walk by, blissfully unaware of an admirer from above.

The city lights flickered to life outside your window, reflecting against the glass as the sky deepened from pink to blue. It was beautiful, but distant, like everything else. You sat by the window, staring at the people below, moving with purpose, with company.

You watched the streets below. Some people were rushing off by themselves, some were linked in arms with each other and chatting, others stood idly against walls or walked in and out of shops.

Couples linked arms, friends chatted, even strangers seemed more connected to the world than you were. Your eyes caught on a guy wiping down tables outside a nearby restaurant. He looked up as a girl walked out, her uniform and jacket marking the end of her shift. He opened his mouth, like he was about to say something, but hesitated. She walked right past him, not even sparing him a glance. His face fell just slightly before he turned back to his task, scrubbing the table with renewed intensity.

You stared, feeling a tug of recognition. Was he disappointed in her, or in himself? You wondered if you'd ever been the girl, completely unaware of someone’s desire for connection, too wrapped up in your own world to notice.

Probably not.

You tore your gaze from the window and pulled your phone from your pocket. A reminder came up on your phone.

Ni-ki biology tutoring session @ 2 tmrw !!

Right, that was tomorrow.

You've been in the tutoring program for a while now. Strangely, Ni-ki was the only one person who signed up for sessions with you this semester. usually, you have a session every other day.

It felt strange seeing his name on your screen, knowing you’d never actually tutored him before. Sure, you’d seen him plenty of times in class—he sat right behind you in biology, close enough that you could hear him tapping his pen against the desk during long lectures. But beyond the occasional brush of elbows when passing each other or mumbled exchanges, you hadn’t really spoken to him.

There had been a few moments, though. Little things, like the time you almost bumped into him while walking through the classroom door. You had both been moving at the same time, awkwardly shuffling in that way where neither of you knew who should go first. You’d blurted out, “Sorry!” and glanced up at him. He had met your eyes for barely a second before replying, "You're fine," in a tone that felt neutral—neither cold nor warm—and that had been the end of it.

He never made an effort to continue the interaction. He didn't ask how you were, or even give a polite smile. It was just... transactional, like you were two bodies moving through the same space but living in different worlds.

You wondered if he even remembered. Maybe to him, you were just another face in a crowded class, nothing more than the girl who sat in front of him. But now he’d signed up for tutoring, and you’d be sitting face-to-face, forced to acknowledge each other beyond the occasional shared oxygen in the lecture hall.

You were curious, but not hopeful. It would likely be just like every other connection you’d tried to make—brief, functional, and shallow. He’d come for help, you’d give him what he needed, and that would be that. No new conversations, no shared inside jokes or study sessions spilling into friendly coffee chats. Just another person passing through your life, barely noticing you.

But at least with Ni-ki, you had a chance to speak again, to break the silence that lingered between you every time he shifted in his seat behind you.

The reminder blinked off your phone as the screen dimmed. you dropped your phone onto your stomach and laid back on your bed. its softness makes you feel weightless.

The ceiling looked exactly how it had the day before. The lamps glowed softly, casting a warm light that didn’t reach the cold emptiness inside you. You closed your eyes, feeling the loneliness settle in your chest like a weight you’d carried for far too long.

Not that anyone noticed.

[frost-queen]

My mortal flaw // part 6 (Reader x Zuko)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @iixchloee, @cherrysxuya, @zhochikennugget,

@ficsmoothie, @reallysparklychaos, @deafeningartisancandy, @multifandom-lover01, @smilefortae, @bravelittlebastard, @mysticwitchcraftco, @roseazura, @katie-tibo, @savannah0111, @defnotriri, @darkened-writer, @avrilh, @anea08, @mymoonempress, @tcey0, @romantic-reader , @lionheart178 , @pink-www , @aloe-7 , @tomblythslut, @camilo-uwu , @lunalixya , @karmaswitch , @vewnyy , @h33seungs-babe , @junieshohoho , @buggs-1 , @elakari

@astrowerld, @tejasvkris, @thewhimsicalmoonchild, @xenop0p, @hagridshaircare, @nxcxllxsevens , @stormy-stardust , @babyred7 , @kikig000, @lavendarhearts

Summary: Reaching the city of Ba Sing Se, Zuko hopes his sister wouldn't find him here. When you get mistaken for Katara, an unfamiliar boy wages his presence in your life to the dislikes of your prince. How will the great city of Ba Sing Se work out for you? [series]

Iroh was fanning himself, craving for some water… or tea for that matter. Up ahead he saw his nephew pushing forwards. It wondered Iroh, how Zuko could go so long without something to drink. Not able to take another step, Iroh stopped, leaning against a rock. Puffing loudly from walking for almost days now through the Earth kingdom.

“Let me help you.” – you said, jogging up to him from behind. Barely having any strength in your legs as well. The weight of travelling for days on foot without much food or water heavy on you. Joining his side, you moved his arm over your shoulder, to keep him upright. Iroh waved his hand at you, letting you know it was alright.

Iroh nearly sunk through his knees as you kept him upright with all your might. – “Perhaps we should rest.” – you suggested helping him gently down. Iroh exhaled deep sitting against the rock. – “Get up!” – Zuko’s voice startled you. He stared at his uncle, having walked back. – “Zuko surely we can…” – you began gesturing at him.

Immediately silenced by him. – “I said up!” – Zuko cut through. The rest of your words swallowed back in. Iroh was already making his way to get up as you had enough of it. – “No!” – you called back. – “We’ve been walking for days now without proper food or water.” – you reminded him. – “Give us a moment.” – begging as you approached him.

“We don’t have a moment.” – Zuko replied, gesturing behind you. Without any other words, you knew what or rather who he was speaking off. His sister Azula. Ever since he knew she was hunting him down, he had been fixated on moving forwards. If anyone allowed him, he’d track the entire length of the Earth Kingdom just to stay way ahead of her.

Reaching for his hand, you clasped your hands around it, lowering his arm. – “I know you worry, but look at your uncle.” – you told him, forcing him to take a look. Zuko shifted his gaze from you to his beloved uncle. Seeing him puff to catch his breath. – “Give him a moment… that is all I ask for.” – surely the sympathy for his uncle would make him fold.

Zuko closed his eyes with a soft sigh. – “We’ll leave in three.” – he outed pulling his hand away. You bowed your head to him out of gratitude. Turning around, you rushed back to Iroh. Kneeling before him as you took out your flask. Taking the top off it, you offered him the little water it carried. –“No… I cannot take this.” – Iroh said, knowing it didn’t hold enough for the three of them. Shaking your head, you didn’t want to hear it. – “Take it Iroh. I’m not thirsty anyways.” – you lied to not make him feel so guilty.

You offered him the flask once more. With a little persuasion, he accepted the water. Drinking the little from it with some guilt. Iroh gave you back the empty flask as you putted it away. – “Can you go a bit further?” – you asked him, wanting to be sure he was strong enough to continue the journey. Iroh nodded. You made some way for him, getting up so there was room to help him up to his feet.

You dusted Iroh’s clothing, taking him by the arm afterwards. – “One step at a time.” – you told him. Iroh smiling back at you. Zuko waited for the two of you to join him before taking the heavy lead again. Forcing a way through the Earth kingdom with nothing but trees, rocks and ground around for miles. You so hoped you’d encounter a little village soon, just to have a proper meal and sleep.

You were relieved, feeling blessed when you finally saw the city rise on the horizon. It gave you so much strength, you could practically run to it. The three of you walked through the city gates worn out. Iroh looked curiously around. – “I know this city…” – he said taking an observing eye. – “Ba Sing Se.” – he finished.

It made you widen your eyes a bit, having read so much about the great city of Ba Sing Se in books. Never being able to visit it. In truth when you still lived with your tribe, you weren’t able to visit much things. Never going further than your own tribe. Now you were seeing the world with the fire prince you were promised too. All in pursuit of the Avatar. – “Now where can we eat?” – Zuko asked, secretly being hungry for a while too. Iroh chuckled when he heard Zuko’s stomach grumble. Iroh motioned for the two of you to follow him.

You noticed Zuko looking wary over his shoulders. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, seemed to startle him. – “She wouldn’t dare come here. We’re save here.” – you reassured him. Zuko took your hand from his shoulder, holding it for a few seconds before he let it drop at your side once more. – “For now.” – he replied, going after his uncle. Taking a deep breath, you waited a second before going after them. Iroh and Zuko walking into a place.

You were about to head in as well, feeling a sudden hand on your shoulder, put you to a stop. – “Katara.” – a male voice spoke, turning you firmly around. The gesture made you gasp. The boy blinked surprised, then his expression faltered. – “I’m sorry… I thought you were someone I know.” – he said lowering his hand on you. – “You mean Katara?” – you asked seeing him nod.

“You…you kind of … I thought…there aren’t many water tribe girls walking around the Earth Kingdom.” – he told you with a chuckle. It made you look down at your own clothing. They had been through hell, but they were still significant Water tribe clothing. – “If you know Katara, then you must know the Avatar?” – you asked thinking back of when you first heard that name. Kyoshi island. Where the Avatar’s friends nearly ripped you away from Zuko.

Thinking you might be a prisoner, when in fact you aren’t. The boy quirked up an eyebrow at you. – “Do you know where he is?” – you wanted to know. Just curiously, not even sure if you would give the information to Zuko if he did tell you. – “Why so curious about him?” – the boy curled up a smirk. You smiled sheepishly back at him, pulling your shoulders up.

Hoping it didn’t came over as obsessed. The boy than laughed loud. – “I was only teasing. So not Katara what are you doing so far away from your tribe?” – he asked slipping an arm over you. – “First of all, it’s Y/n. Princess to you” – you told him with an elbow punch to his stomach. 

The boy felt the air being sucked out of his lungs, coughing, holding a hand on his stomach. – “Second that is a long story I’m not sharing with you.” – you finished crossing your arms. The boy chuckled again, straightening his posture. – “Royalty. I see now.” – he laughed out. – “The name’s Jet, princess.” – he dramatically bowed before you, making you roll your eyes at him. Jet looked all smug at you. – “Shall I treat your highness to a meal?” – he asked speaking so annoyingly sweet.

“I will provide my own meal.” – you told him, remembering your company. Looking over your shoulder, you wondered why anyone hasn’t started missing you. Surely one of them must have come to look? Shaking the awful thoughts away, you turned around, seeing Jet fall in line with you. – “I will eat alone!” – you called out, shutting the door behind you. The establishment was not overcrowded. Looking around, you searched for your company.

You sighed disappointed, seeing them sit in the corner, already enjoying their meal. Making your way over to them, you came to sit in front of them. – “How sweet to wait for me.” – you said with a sarcastic undertone to Zuko. – “It’s getting cold.” – was the only thing he replied. Too busy slurping his soup with noodles.

Sighing softly, you picked up the spoon letting it swirl in the bowl. Your gaze got drawn to the doors, seeing them open. Seeing Jet enter almost made you spew your soup out on Iroh’s face. Coughing loud, you nearly choked as Jet made eye contact with you. Looking questionable at the company you were with. Zuko gave you some hard slaps on the back to settle down.

Pushing his hand away, you watched Jet come to sit at a table, giving him enough clearance to stare at you. – “Yuk.” – Iroh’s disgust pulled your attention away. – “This tea is cold.” – Iroh said trying to get the taste of his tongue. –“Just drink up old man.” – Zuko replied annoyed, not caring one bit about tea.

Iroh wrapped his hands around the cup. You watched, blinking in wonder as there emerged a warmth from the tea. Eyes widened as you knew Iroh had just heated the tea up in his hands. He blew the steam away before taking a careful sip. It made you look around, hoping no one had seen it. The last thing you wanted was another chase.

The three of you stepped out, fully satisfied. Now all you wanted to do was rest and sleep for days. Iroh was mumbling to Zuko, probably about looking for a place to stay as you followed behind them. Mindlessly looking around at your surroundings. – “Y/n!” – you suddenly heard, eyes widening as it only could be Jet. You turned around, seeing Jet jog up to you. Iroh and Zuko turning curiously around as well.

“I mean princess.” – Jet teased once he was near you. Zuko looked over at his uncle, trying to get some validation that what he was seeing was true. And not some hallucination. – “Are those your protecters?” – Jet motioned with his head at Iroh and Zuko behind you. – “I mean as a princess I figure, you must be protected well.” – he curled up a smile as you laughed sweetly.

Zuko took an annoyed step forwards. Uncle Iroh quickly grabbing him by the arm, pulling him back. Zuko stumbled back, looking confused at his uncle before slapping his hand off. – “No, they are my…” – you paused, not sure how to phrase it. Shaking your head, you didn’t want to go further into detail, not wanting to risk revealing any identities.

“I can show you around? Are you looking for a place to stay?” – Jet asked ruffling his hand shyly through his hair. Zuko looked disgusted at Jet’s gesture. – “We are. Do you know any good places to stay?” – you asked feeling a sudden pull on your arm. Stumbling back as Zuko stepped in. – “We’ll find our own place.” – he made clear with a glare. Jet took a step closer to Zuko, getting toe to toe with him.

“Where I come from, we show princesses more respect.” – Jet said, angering Zuko. Both men glaring at each other. – “She has my respect.” – Zuko made clear. Jet scoffed. – “Clearly.” – he answered smug. Zuko felt his anger boil, wanting to throw hands with him. – “Nephew.” – Iroh said to break things apart. Zuko huffed annoyed, turning round as he grabbed you firm by the wrist.

Pulling you away. Jet took out his sword. – “Hands off her.” – Jet shouted as Zuko paused at the subtle sound of Jet’s sword getting pulled out. Zuko turned glaring at the sword pointed at him. – “Let her go!” – Jet called out. – “Don’t worry princess, I’ll show you respect.”

You stared between Zuko and Jet. – “Let’s… let’s settle down. There is no need for swords.” – Iroh started. – “Shut up old man.” – Jet shouted, silencing him. – “Don’t tell him to shut up.” – you answered bothered at Jet’s tone. You stepped away from Zuko, coming to stand in the middle of them. Zuko wanting to pull you away, but you slapped his hand away. – “You should be treated with respect.” – Jet told you, taking a step back, yet his sword was still up pointing at you.

“You should be taken care of. By somehow who treats you right, princess.” – he finished. – “Like you?” – Zuko shouted with mockery at him. It made Jet clench his jaw. – “Clearly he doesn’t!” – Jet shifted his sword towards Zuko. Zuko inhaled deep, readying himself to launch at Jet if Iroh hadn’t stopped him. Stopping him by his shoulders. – “Enough!” – you called out losing your patience. You were too tired to handle this.

Not wanting to spend another second with these bickering men over respect, you walked off. Iroh coming quietly after you, not wanting to stop them any longer. Jet lowered his sword, gazing at your departure. He got startled when Zuko was up close with him. – “Leave my betrothed alone!” – he threatened before going after the two of you. Jet blinked stunned.

Iroh found a place to stay. A room shaped like a square. On three sides there were beds, curtains pulled before them for privacy. You went straight to one of the beds, pulling the curtains behind you. Zuko sat down annoyed in the middle of the room. His uncle joining him across from him. Iroh set his freshly set cup of tea down on the low stand between them. One look of his uncle, made Zuko sigh loud. – “I was civil.” – Zuko snapped at his uncle. Iroh quirked his eyebrow up. Communicating in silence as he knew how to handle Zuko.

Zuko sighed loud placing an elbow on his knee, chin resting on his knuckles. – “Who was he even?” – Zuko called out annoyed. – “How did he even know Y/n? Y/n’s never been here. Where did he even meet her?” – Zuko said bothered to his uncle. Whining about the fact another boy knew you. – “And the nerve he had.” – Zuko slammed his fist on the table, startling Iroh as it nearly spilled his tea.

Iroh quickly picked his cup up to protect his tea from any further stomps. – “Are you perhaps jealous nephew?” – Iroh casually spoke. – “No!” – Zuko replied, slamming his fist again on the table. – “Why should I be jealous? She is my betrothed. I’m not jealous over some guy taking an interest in her. She’s not going to abandon the agreement for him.” – Zuko let out clearly agitated.

“Then why are you getting so worked up over him?” – Iroh asked knowing just how to nudge his nephew just that little more. – “He’s a guy!” – Zuko shouted getting up annoyed. He stormed over to his side, pushing the curtain out of the way. Iroh chuckled amusingly.

Laying down on your bed, you smiled bashful, having heard it all. Jealous Zuko was something you never thought you’d encounter. Here he was getting all worked up over Jet. It didn’t take you all to fall asleep. Having been too tired to go on for any second longer. Day making way for night. Sudden noises made you wake up from your slumber. Moving restless in your sleep.

The noises getting louder as it made you jump up. Afraid it might be anyone to rat you out. Getting out of bed, you moved the curtains aside. Seeing the room was empty. Both Zuko and Iroh’s curtains still closed. Taking a calming breath, you ventured into the room. Sneaking out to see what those noises were. With one last glance at the others, you left the room.

Sneaking your way into the corridor to where the noises were coming from. Getting closer to it. Hearing it come from just around the corner. Ready to peek around the corner and be faced with the noises. A sudden grip on you, made you spin rapidly around. A hand getting pressed against your mouth to deafen out any screams. Eyes widening as he brought a finger to his lips, shushing you. Jet.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

I'm sorry for the way I acted and spoke.

No ifs, and, or buts about it. Not gonna try to justify the way I acted.

I was aggressive and uncouth, and I know I definitely hurt people, if nothing else, by being aggressive.

I didn't mean to start a "witch hunt" on any of the blogs involved in the screenshot post, including @soapskneebrace , @groguspicklejar and @glossysoap .

But I know that I *am* guilty of causing a commotion and causing people to view those blogs in a bad light.

I deeply regret the fact I was aggressive, that I caused a commotion/"witch hunt" and that I basically "broadcasted" a bad image of these blogs to my followers (and anyone else who saw my account/posts on the dashboard).

That was wrong of me and I won't try to justify it for any reason. I was blinded by my hurt, but that doesn't make what I did any better, nor does it suddenly make me innocent.

This makes me a gigantic hypocrite, because I did not realize, in my anger/revolt, that I was guilty of doing to these blogs the same thing I was accusing them of doing to Myka.

I apologize if my actions caused anyone to go harass any of the three of you and, especially, the ones that have had to turn off their anon asks, because I assume you got some hate as well. I didn't intend to encourage anyone to speak to you in a disrespectful way, if that was the case.

I don't think any of the blogs involved are bad people. I don't think they're evil. I only wanted them to recognize a bad behavior. Their behavior doesn't suddenly make them bad people. They made a mistake. And I don't want any one of them to think I believe they're a bad person.

My actions came from a place of hurt, worry, and, especially, frustration, at the belief that someone (Myka) who was already not doing well mentally was shown so much disgust and hatred that they were driven to a point of harming themselves for it.

Not just that, but it also frightened me, very much so, to see people be so callous about someone taking their life. I felt like those blogs should take accountability because realistically their actions still hurt another human being. But that doesn't mean they/you deserve harassment or to be treated poorly.

I would also like to add that Gaz erasure *is* a real thing and I whole-heartedly agree that there are plenty of situations of that in the fandom. Have seen them myself and even Activision often excludes Gaz from their own materials. I don't support Gaz erasure in any way.

My hashtag was in poor taste and I know it can and likely will be taken out of context. I enjoy Gaz as a character, love him, and did not intend to ever make it seem like I ever believed Gaz erasure didn't exist. My hashtag, however, spreads a harmful narrative and viewpoint that I don't believe. That is not what I meant when I used it but it is what ended up happening, and for that I'm deeply ashamed.

All I was trying to do with the hashtag was call attention to the misinterpretation of the original post, because it was never meant to exclude Gaz in the first place. The hashtag wasn't meant to say Gaz erasure doesn't exist.

I understand how disgusting that tag is and how easily it can/will be misconstrued, as well as the fact it will give way for bad people to say bad/toxic things about Gaz as a character. I will be deleting the hashtag off all my posts and I appreciate wholeheartedly that you all called me out on my use of that hashtag. You were all correct, and my behavior was wrong.

That being said, I try to be an honest person. I'm not gonna delete any of the posts I made, nor any of the asks I've answered, much less the first post I made explaining my actions. I don't think it would be fair or right of me to delete them and wash my hands of them or act like it didn't happen. I want to be held accountable for this. It happened, I'm sorry, and I'm not going to delete them and hide.

Finally, you're free to call me gullible for believing sheheal when it comes to Myka's death, and I will embrace that, because I'd rather have stood by them and have it be proven to not be true/be a hoax, versus not have stood by them and have it be proven true and feel like I was complicit in it. I know it's selfish of me to want to ease my conscious or feel less guilt, but I don't want to be a cynic about someone's death or pain.

I hope you're all okay, this was not an easy situation to deal with, for anyone involved and I hope you all have support systems in place and ways of clearing your heads. I hope you're all healthy and safe.

All of you are welcome to reach out to me if you need to. We can discuss it more because none of us acted alone and I don't want any of you to feel alone.

[leighsartworks216]

I Come With Knives Pt13

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I'm depressed, have barely eaten all day, and haven't taken my nightly meds yet. All this to say: this is not proofread. (I will be eating and taking my meds right after I post this)

Warnings: references to slavery, discussions about fears, self-doubt, references to abuse/torture, references to blood/gore/viscera, hurt/comfort, light angst

Word Count: 1,635

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

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You probably wouldn’t have agreed if Karlach hadn’t jeered you on. Tensions were high, the Absolute was hanging over your heads like an executioner’s ax - what could it really hurt?

“Close your eyes, little ones. Be still as stone to earth. And remember to breathe.”

Fidgeting uncertainly, you do as she asks, but you reach over and take Astarion’s hand. He’s quick to hold on, and soon it feels like your world has been tilted on its axis.

When you open your eyes, your hand is empty, and you’re no longer at the circus. You seem to be standing somewhere in nature, but it feels… off, somehow. A manufactured illusion. A waterfall, split by rocks, spills into a river. The river creates a divide between you and Astarion, with only a thick log bridging the gap. If the tadpoles weren’t protecting Astarion, one slip and he’d be reduced to nothing. You didn’t like thinking about it.

To your right, the druid stood. “Ah. Glorious. Your bond is sweeter than nature’s dew. I see you. Know you. But do you know one another?”

You share a look with Astarion. Something silent is communicated with just that one glance - don’t tell her anything true. Karlach may have egged you into this, but telling a random stranger your deepest selves didn’t sit right with either of you.

“A tumultuous past haunts you both - the same story with different tellers. The heart is fraught, so let us begin with the joyous.” She looks at Astarion with her glowing eyes. He feels as though she is looking straight through him into the very core of his being. “Astarion, when is your lover happiest?”

Your heart thuds as he contemplates his answer. His eyes study you, a slight crease between his brow. It’s… difficult to allow yourself to be seen. You’ve shown him so much already, allowed him to witness the horrors you faced, but seeing was far different than speaking it aloud. This question wasn’t something so simple as What is their favorite color? It requires an answer that can only be formed through observation. And, gods, you had no idea how he saw you.

He offers a slight grin, though his brow remains tight. He must sense your worry. “Any time they’re with me, of course,” he said haughtily.

You chuckle slightly. It’s not a lie, and from the glimmer in his eye, he knows it. “It’s hard not to be.”

He steps forward on the log when the druid prompts him to. She turns to look at you. “Now I ask you: when is he happiest?”

If he wishes to play this game of half-truths, you’re happy to indulge him. He smiles when he catches that same look shining in your eye. “When he’s elbow deep in gore.”

He chuckled. “Guilty as charged,” he agreed, before leaning in conspiratorially. “Sometimes literally…”

You stepped onto the log. Even if it was an illusion, you worried for a moment about slipping and falling in.

“Your bond beats in pleasure. It is an honor to behold,” the druid waxes. “Many things delight the heart, but only one makes it sing. Tell me, what do they desire more than anything?”

A salacious grin tugs at his lips. You give him a pointed look. Whatever unholy thoughts crossed his mind are tempered, for now. “A glass of wine under the stars.”

“As long as it’s with you.”

He steps forward. Zethino poses the same question to you.

“Revenge.”

“Oh yes!” he exclaims, becoming giddy. “Yes, please.”

You step forward. You could touch him now if you wished, merely an arm’s length away.

“Our touch has been one of sunlight, but now we must ask the deep. The difficult. Fear sits in the soul of all - to tame it, we must name it. What do they fear most?”

He can see the answer in your eyes. Even just posing the question makes you uneasy. You frown, memories flickering within your irises. He wishes to reach out, touch your cheek, assure you he’s here. But something in the druid’s energy tells him he can’t. Instead, he does his best through his answer alone. “Gale’s cooking.”

It startles a laugh out of you, catapulting every horrible, real fear away in an instant. All you can do is nod as your giggles taper off. He takes a small step forward.

“Astarion - what is his deepest fear?”

With a new confidence, a new self-assurance, you grin as you say, “Breaking a nail.”

That, too, shocks a laugh out of him. He makes a show of checking his nails. “Well, when you look this good…”

You take your own small step forward, and you don’t hesitate to take his hand the moment you’re within reach. “Thank you,” you whisper. The words come spilling out before you can stop them, but you mean them so truly. Where he feared having his truth told to strangers, you feared giving your truth any voice. To speak your master’s name was as good as tying a noose ‘round your neck.

He leans his forehead against yours. “Of course, my love.”

The druid sighs, smiling brightly. “I press my finger to your bond and find a shield impenetrable. It is… beautiful. Your love is one few have - cherish it.”

-

The day is a staggering success, you think. Sure, you had to fight a few cultists, but the aura of contentment around everyone upon the return to camp was reward enough - a few cuts and scrapes weren’t going to dull that anytime soon.

But even as you go about your routine, lighting a new candle you got from a vendor and setting it in the metal pan, listening to Astarion scoff at a poorly thought out plan from a couple thieves he’d overheard, something uncertain clings to the back of your mind. You must not hide it as well as you think, because Astarion sighs and takes your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing your fingertips.

“What’s on your mind, dove?”

You sit down fully across from him, frowning as you watch him tenderly care for you. “I keep thinking about the druid,” you admit. “The love test.”

“Thank you again for not divulging everything. I trust you with that information, not a random carny.”

“That’s the problem, I think.” You meet his eyes and you look so utterly uncertain. You search for answers in him, trying to find them before you have to speak the questions aloud, but you come up empty. “She asked how well we knew each other, and- and I know it’s silly. I mean, we know each other well enough to skirt around the truth, but…”

He hums. “You’re worried we don’t really know each other as well as she thinks.”

You nod.

“Well, then, there’s only one thing for it. I don’t have a mystical waterfall, but I think we can make do.” He lowers your hand to his lap, and you subconsciously turn your hands over so you can play with his fingers. He smiles at the gesture. “When am I happiest?”

You study him. Your eyes flicker over his face, taking in every minute twitch, slowly but surely putting the truth together. “I don’t think you’ve been happy in a long time,” you whisper.

He grins, but it’s sad. His eyes betray it all. “I’m starting to learn how to,” he assures softly. “You haven’t been either, have you, love?”

You shake your head slightly. You couldn’t recall a time before your slavery where you were happy; all those memories lost to time and torture. But even now, out of arm’s reach from her, joy was fleeting. A moment here and there, stolen from time, but never consistent. “I am happy with you,” you add. “What do I desire most?”

He sighs. The answer is already one he’s familiar with. “Freedom.” He squeezes your hand, eyes sharpening with determination. “And we will be free. Soon, my dear. You can be sure of that.”

The difficult question, the druid was right about that. Neither of you wanted to ask, and neither of you really wanted to tell. But both of you stayed there, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“Your deepest fear,” you begin, quietly, “is forever feeling like a slave to someone else.”

“Is that yours, too?”

You tear your eyes away to watch as you lightly thumb at the blunt edges of his nails, trailing from one finger to the next. His nails were always so well kept and tidy despite the dirt and viscera that haunted your daily lives. “It used to be. Now…” You inhale shakily. “I’ve made so many wonderful friends. And I’m terrified to go back to- to her. But losing all this - losing you - scares me more than anything.”

He frowns. He can’t say you won’t lose them. This mission you’ve found yourselves on is dangerous; you risk your lives every single day. And once it ends, it’s a terrible truth that everyone will go their own separate ways.

What he can do is bring your hand back to his lips and press a kiss to your palm. He can close your fingers around it and get you to hold that symbol of his love safely. And maybe that’s all he needs to do. Really, what could he possibly say? Any assurance would be like rubbing salve on an arrow still embedded in your side.

And perhaps it’s enough, because you lean forward and wrap your arms around his waist, and he wraps his around your shoulders and back, pulling you close. He’s determined to find better answers to the questions, one day. You both will find consistent happiness, and desire something as simple as a good book. And you won’t be afraid of being alone again.

One day.

---

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