#like i said hopefully that makes up for it !!!

[tallaennatargaryen]

Wife Speak

Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: You asked Bucky to install the security camera a month ago, and he still hasn’t done it. You take matters into your own hands, to his vexation.

Warnings: Bucky's been too busy to do what you asked, you put yourself in slight peril, worried!Bucky, gentle manhandling, protective!Bucky, mention of previous injury, my own lack of construction know-how so I apologize for any inaccuracies, no use of Y/N

This is my first time writing in second person so hopefully I did okay! This was inspired by this short I saw on YouTube.

You were good at a lot of things. The team’s go-to “girl in the chair,” there was no one better at intel, strategy, quick escape plans, and getting into just about any system you were presented with. You’d had the Avengers’ lives in your hands countless times, and never led them to put a foot wrong. Somehow, you, a girl with just a bachelor’s degree, a–perhaps excessive–perfectionist streak, and a mini fridge full of energy drinks to help you stay sharp on overnight missions, had become indispensable to the Earth’s mightiest heroes.

But you couldn’t install a security camera above your front door.

As smart as you were, you were probably equally as uncoordinated. All the bruises in odd places told the tale of your frequent misfortune. Walking by itself often presented a perilous challenge, so standing on a ladder, balancing precariously with expensive equipment and sharp objects in your hands seemed like a perfect recipe for a trip to the ER and a costly bill for tech replacements.

Which was why you’d asked your husband, a super soldier with a metal arm and a keen eye for home repairs, to do it.

A month ago.

And three weeks ago.

And two weeks ago.

And last week.

You were tired of waiting. Bucky, of course, was busy, and often away on missions, but you only ever asked him to do it when he had a moment to spare. He’d said he would, every time you’d asked, but there was still no camera above your front door. On top of it all, the camera had been Bucky’s idea, a little extra security for when he was away on missions; it was one of Stark’s smart cameras, which could differentiate between a mailman dropping off a package and a criminal about to break into the house. Bucky didn’t exactly know how all of that worked, but he was good with the installation, and you both knew better than to assign the job to you. But the camera had sat there for a month, collecting dust on the dining room table, and despite all his promises, you knew it was time to take matters into your own hands.

And maybe get a little payback while you were at it.

It was a warm spring day, and the front door was open to let the breeze in but the screen door was in place to keep the bugs out. Bucky was in the kitchen, making lunch, so he’d be able to hear everything easily, between his proximity, the open door, and his enhanced hearing. Smirking to yourself, you set up the ladder as quietly as possible, knowing that that alone would tip Bucky off and make him come rushing out before you were ready. If this was going to get done today, you needed to execute the full plan.

Picking up the electric drill and the mount for the camera, you put one foot up on the ladder, and held down the trigger of the drill for a few seconds, causing a loud whirring sound to tear through the quiet midday air. Just as you took another step up and held down the trigger again, Bucky’s voice carried out from the kitchen.

“Doll?” he questioned, and it took everything in you not to laugh. You gave no answer, instead only whirring the drill once more as you climbed to the top of the ladder. “What are you doing?”

You might have felt bad about the panic and concern in his voice, but if he’d done this a month ago when you’d asked, you wouldn’t have to go to such lengths to have it be done. Natasha had called it wife speak, when women use their sly little tricks to get their husbands to do what they need to. She used it with Banner, Pepper used it with Tony, Wanda used it with Vision; it was a universal language amongst women when requests and orders just weren’t cutting it.

Holding the mount up against the wall, you furrowed your brow in concentration as you tried to figure out how to hold the mount, place the screw, and drill it in all at the same time with only two hands. Judging by the purposeful footsteps pounding towards the front door, you knew you wouldn’t have to keep trying to figure it out for long. Still, you kept up the ruse, because he needed to think you were serious about doing it yourself if he was going to get it done right this minute.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Bucky asked, voice raising with alarm as he found you balancing precariously on top of the small ladder. Paying him no mind, you decided to just wing it and put the drill into the head of the screw, pulling the trigger to send the screw spinning into the wall. For extra effect, you added a little wobble, just enough to make Bucky worry more but not so much that your uncoordinated self would actually fall. “Honey! Stop! What are you doing?”

“What?” you responded innocently, still not turning around. “I’m putting up the camera.”

“Why?” His hands grasped at your waist, but you pushed him away as you continued your ruse and placed the next screw.

“Because it needs to go up?” you said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was, hello, and you’d asked him to do it so many times. Once more, you placed the drill into the screw head and let it rip, watching it spin into place. Maybe you could do it yourself. Maybe impatience was all it took to overcome your incoordination. 

“Baby. Baby, baby, baby.” Bucky’s hands were on your waist again, this time with a firmer grip so you couldn’t brush him off so easily. “Come off the ladder.”

“It needs to go up, Bucky,” you insisted, milking your moment of acting for all it was worth.

“I know, so I’ll do it, okay? Just please, come off the ladder.”

“I’ve asked you a million times over the last month to do it and you still haven’t, so I’m gonna do it and then I’ll know it's done.”

The drill was slightly stuck in the screw head once it was screwed all the way in. You gave it a tug, and the force of it combined with the resistance of the drill to come loose caused you to tip backwards slightly; for a moment, you thought you might fall, but you regained your balance after a second or two. Still, it was a second or two too long for Bucky, who’d had enough of asking nicely and being patient. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he declared, using his strength and his grip on your waist to lift you off the ladder and set you on the wooden boards of the porch like you were little more than a doll. You almost grinned at the move, as being on the receiving end of his enhanced strength and fierce protectiveness always made your stomach do somersaults. By the time he spun you around to face him though, you had regained your self-control and regarded him with a displeased scowl. “What are you doing, huh, doll? You know I don’t like you up on that thing.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huffed, “Well, someone has to put the camera up, since you’ve proven yourself incapable.” You turned to step back onto the ladder, but Bucky grasped your arm gently and pulled you to him, maneuvering at the same time to take the drill and the remaining screws from you. You resisted, but even when he was diluting his strength, you couldn’t hope to best him, so instead you started to complain, “Bucky-”

“I know, doll, I know,” he said, voice soft as he pried the drill and screws out of your hands. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your nose for extra contrition. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done it when you asked me to, but I’ll do it right now, okay? Just…please stay off the ladder?”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?”

Bucky chuckled in amusement, his free hand rising to cup your cheek and pull you closer so he could press a sweet kiss to your lips. You melted against him instantly, as you always did, because Bucky always kissed you like he was trying to transfer his heart from his body to yours, deeply and wholly and with every ounce of love that he had. After a moment, he pulled away, though he kept his nose touching yours as his twinkling eyes gazed at you adoringly. “It’s not because you’re a girl, it’s because it’s you, doll. The last time I trusted you with a drill and screws, you drilled your sleeve into the wall and broke your finger trying to pull it free.”

Nose scrunching and lips pouting, you did your best to fight off a smile, trying to lay it on just a little thicker to make sure you would get what you wanted. “Promise you’ll do it right now?”

“Pinky promise.” Bucky held up his pinky finger between you, and you locked yours around it. “You can stay and watch if you want, just to be sure. I think you’ll like the view.”

Rolling your eyes, you gave him another quick peck before stepping back and nodding for him to climb up the ladder. Once his back was turned and he was on the top step, your mischievous smirk returned in full force, not only because of your triumph, but because you really did like the view.

[rexhya]

What if the prince found out we were terminally ill and coughing blood and wasn’t suspected to live more then 6 months?

yandere!prince who doesn't initially notice the changes to your body. even he who watched you like a hawk couldn't detect the subtle differences from when he'd first seen your light sickness to when it was too late.

The trouble started up about a month ago, you'd contracted a cold from one of the other maids, that was nothing special. In fact, your other symptoms went away not long after but the hacking stayed persistent. You gone to see a general medic but he'd simply said it was a bad cough.

How wrong it was of you to trust him. "Are you still alright?" Anul asked, the two of you were in his room, his head resting on your lap as you ran cards through his hair.

"Yes I'm okay." Anul frowned, and flipped his body upwards so now he was facing you.

"You look pale, I should take you to Rosenwar. Rosenwar was the royal families personal doctor, she'd been serving the Royal Family for years, you had no place being tended to by someone of such importance.

"No, no that's quite alright, I've just been having allergies from the seasons changing that's all. There's no need for a doctor I'm quite alright." you patted Anul's hands as they cradled your face delicately. For a few moments he said nothing, simply stroking your cheek with his thumbs, his expression unreadable.

"Okay." he said, and his lips pressed to yours softly, it was the most innocent kiss you'd received from him in all the time you'd spent.

If only he knew it would be the last, he would have held It longer.

His coronation was only 3 weeks from now, days had passed without since that day in his bedroom and he was ready to be done with all the ceremonial and technical transfers from prince to king that kept him away from you.

Around 2pm in the afternoon, the hazy summer light falling into his bedroom, Anul found you on his bed, your back was turned and you were breathing so softly he almost didn't look at you, as to not wake you up.

But your sleeping face was never one he could resist. His heart fell into abysmal. Velvet red blood pooled at your mouth, it's why your breathing was so soft you were unconscious. He's frantic and scared at Rosenward examines you with her team of nurses, he's halfway into a heart attack when the doctor tells him you're most likely going to wake up today if not tomorrow.

He stays with you the entire time, abusing his power to keep the nurses on round the clock care for you, though your vitals never change and your heart never stops.

When you do finally open your eyes, Anul wants to scream at Rosenward, that wasn't today or tomorrow, it took a week for your body to recover from whatever horrible disease had gotten to it.

You look thin, Anul tries not to cry. "Sweetheart?" he asks tentatively, like speaking would somehow send you back into a week long coma only this time you'd never return.

"Water." you croak and the man brings you a glass within seconds.

Soon enough your body is examined, you contracted a rare disease from that maid, (one he's kept in mind to already kill). Mortuupulmonis only affected 1% of his kingdomes population, and worst of all, it had no cure.

He's wasted about two weeks of his coronation preparation time when he finds this out. The doctor estimated about a 6 months before he ran out of time. The coronation is post poned until then (his father is livid as usual) but Anul doesn't care not even in the slightest bit.

You get worse and worse everyday as Anul pours millions and millions of coin into finding a cure for you, he even goes international to make a statement and hopefully received something, anything but with not luck. He feels hopeless by month 3, your body is piratically crumbling at the seams and all he could do was watch. By month four he's broke, there was no more cures for him to spend, no more medicines to buy, there was nothing.

Nothing but you and your hosiptal bed srounned by things you loved.

"How you feeling today?" Anul whispers. "Mm." you haven't been much into talking these days.

He does his routine, clean your bedding, force feed you anything you'll take that day and check in with Rosenward on things you know didn't matter.

You were going to die, he knew it, you knew it, they both knew it.

On month six Anul doesn't renounce his coronation. Instead he stays by you side until the very end, even after youve took your last breath, Anul would probably stay with you until l your body rotted.

If only he knew. He would've kissed you harder.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Lunch

Did someone say accidental mini series? 🙈

You all liked Breakfast so much, I thought I'd make you some Lunch too. Hope you're hungry!

Word Count: about 1.5k

Thunderbolts* (platonic for now) x F!Reader, no warnings, just some domestic sweetness. Bucky x F!Reader if you squint. It's still brewing.

They were never really around for lunch. It was your prep time, organising. Quiet. You couldn't decide if you liked it better that way. You made meals to reheat and they helped themselves. It was getting to the stage where, with a fully stocked kitchen and batch cooking, you had more and more downtime. Valentina had requested your exclusivity, so taking on other clients was out of the question. You peered through the glass door of the oven and willed yourself to wait a little longer. Not quite yet.

“What's cooking?”

“Pie.”

“Smells done.”

“Uhuh, not yet it's not.”

“Sure? I think I can smell burning -”

“It's not burning.”

“What's burning?”

“The pie.”

“Nothing is burning, John. Bucky just thinks he's the next Top Chef.”

The timer dinged and you checked through the glass again.

“You gonna take that out?”

“Patience, Barnes.” You counted to 20 and opened the oven, pulling out a beautiful, golden topped pie.

“That looks…”

“Perfect.” You smiled happily.

“Amazing,” John grinned. After everyone’s initial trepidation, it became very clear that the way to a Thunderbolt’s heart was very much through their stomach. You’d been given limited information on their backgrounds - some were more infamous than others - but you could tell immediately that hot, homemade meals had been in very short supply for all of them.

They all seemed to have their favourite times of day to pay you a visit. Bob was usually up first and watching you make stacks of pancakes for breakfast, Ava came hunting for snacks mid-morning. By lunchtime, John was always starving and vocal about it. Yelena liked something sweet in the afternoons, and Alexei began hovering anytime after 5pm, heavily anticipating what was on the menu for dinner.

Bucky seemed to have no specific time.

Some days he wandered through just as you were packing things away. Other times he showed up before anything had even made it into the oven. He never asked for anything, not like the others - just leaned against the counter and observed. Quiet. Watchful. Not unfriendly, but unreadable.

At first, you thought he was just keeping an eye on things. Habit. Distrust. You didn’t blame him - it was clear none of them were used to softness.

But then you started noticing the patterns. How he always lingered just a little longer than he needed to. How his eyes flicked toward your hands when you were kneading dough or slicing fruit, like he was cataloguing the motion.

How, every once in a while, he’d pass you a fresh towel without being asked. Or wordlessly refill your water glass. Or sit with a cup of coffee, hours old and probably cold - just to stay in the kitchen a little longer while you worked.

You hadn’t expected that.

You weren’t sure what to do with it.

“You, uhh, cutting that now?” John asked hopefully.

“Don't you want lunch first?” You asked, looking at the pile of bagels you'd already prepared.

“Oh yeah. Didn't see those,” he said sheepishly, “what's in the pie?”

“Plums,” you told him, holding up your purple stained fingers.

Bucky looked up at you, at the deep purple that had seeped into your skin, then back at the pie.

“Tell you what,” you continued talking to John. “Have lunch while this cools a little and I'll whip up some cream and a sauce.”

Like a kid, he fist pumped the air and darted off to find the others.

You could feel that Bucky wanted to say something, but he didn't. Instead, he watched you take out the tupperware of chopped plums from the fridge and tip them into a pan. You poured sugar over them and stirred the sticky, sweet mixture. Across the counter, he inhaled. The scent of sugar cooking and plums filled the kitchen.

The others started wandering in, taking plates and arguing over bagel fillings. Yelena came around to you at the stovetop and wrapped her arms around you.

“Thank you,” she murmured, squeezing so hard you thought she was trying to practice her heimlich manoeuvre. She peered into the pan. “Plums?”

“To go with the pie.”

“Bucky's favourite, again,” she grumbled.

“And I'll make your favourite next.”

“The cake? With the -”

“Chocolate in the middle. Yep, I know.”

She nudged you gently with her shoulder.

“Favouritism,” she warned, shooting a glance at Bucky.

“Not from me there isn't.” You challenged.

“Sure, sure,” she smirked and rolled her eyes, moving around to where Bucky was sitting. “Cookies, that pizza with the really thin crust… Not your favourites at all, right, Barnes?”

“Pretty sure everyone likes those, Lena.” He shrugged.

She looked at you, then back at him.

“Hmm. I'm watching you.” She warned. Then, “Alexei, no! That one's mine!”

“Snooze you lose!” He laughed loudly, leaving Yelena chasing after him for the last Swiss cheese bagel.

Bucky put the last two on plates, and pushed one in your direction.

Like vultures, they started circling. Bringing their plates to the dishwasher and hovering while you whipped cream in a glass bowl. Bucky came around the counter, reloaded the dishwasher correctly, and then took the bowl and whisk from your hands.

“I can do that,” you insisted. He flexed his hand, the dark vibranium catching the light.

“I can do it faster.”

“I'm quickly discovering that patience is a virtue you don't possess,” you laughed, taking out a huge knife from the drawer.

“Watch what you're doing with that thing.”

“You watch what you're doing. Don't over whip that.”

“Yes ma'am,” he grinned.

“I watch this show all day,” Alexei beamed, looking between you both.

You tore your eyes from Bucky and focused on the pie, cutting neatly through the centre, then turning the stand and cutting again, and again, into equal slices. Ava passed you the first plate and you used the flat of the knife to lift the slice from the rest of the pie.

It was glorious. Deep purple, filled to the brim and covered with golden sponge and surrounded by rich, crumbly pastry. You placed it gently on the plate.

John sighed, “goddamn that looks -”

“So good. Shotgun first slice!”

“Lena! I should get first slice!” Alexei complained.

You leaned over to look at the cream Bucky was still whisking, “you can stop now. Thank you.” You swapped the plate for the bowl and dolloped a spoon of cream on top of the pie, followed by a drizzle of the jammy, sweet sauce.

You looked at the assembled group, at lovely Bob who hadn't once argued over who was first, who was better, and you handed him the plate.

“Thanks!”

“Not fair.”

“He's literally the only one who never argues about food. Except Bucky, I guess, but then that would be favouritism, wouldn't it, Yelena?” You arched your eyebrow.

They stopped complaining once they all had a plate in hand.

“I marry the pie.”

“This is heaven.”

“I can marry you?”

“No thanks, Alexei. I'm taken.”

“I'll convince you. You'll see.”

No one else was listening to Alexei. All eyes had turned to Bucky who didn't look up from his plate.

Yelena clicked her tongue, “s'good pie,” she said slowly, as if waiting for someone, anyone to make eye contact with her. Eventually, Ava did. She tilted her head marginally in your direction and then flicked her eyes to Bucky. Ava shrugged.

They finished the pie and filtered away to enjoy what remained of their day off.

You grabbed your tote bag and keys, calling out, “I’m running to the store - text me if you need anything.”

“You have her number?” Bucky asked no one in particular.

“You don't?” Ava asked, surprised. He didn't answer. Only the low hum of the dishwasher and the quiet clink of dishes settling as they cooled filled the kitchen. The tower felt still, peaceful, for once.

You were gone for over an hour.

The store turned into the producers market turned into the bodega that somehow imported your favourite olives.

He swallowed, slowly. “Didn’t want it to go to waste.”

When you pushed the door open, he was there. Bucky, fork in one hand, pie plate in the other, standing barefoot in the kitchen like a man caught red-handed. He froze, mouth full, guilty as hell.

You stopped in the doorway, raised an eyebrow. “Second slice?”

You walked over, set your bag on the counter. “That was my slice.”

He looked guiltily at the pie. “You didn’t have one?”

“I was waiting.”

He hesitated, then held out the plate like a peace offering. “We could share?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “Only if I get the bigger half.”

He sighed. “Deal.”

You leaned side by side at the counter, passing the fork back and forth, the pie disappearing in easy silence.

He cleared his throat, voice low. “What you said to Alexei earlier… was that real?”

“What, when he proposed to me over pie?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Well -” You paused, then shrugged. “Well no, actually. Saying no is still taking some getting used to. It's… recent.”

“Oh.” He looked down. “Sorry.”

You took the plate from his hand and stole the last bite. “I'm not.”

Tagging on request: @doilooklikeagiveafrack @althea-tavalas @tellybearryyyy

[wcnderlnds]

bruises ★ choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: for the last ten years of your life you’d had nobody but yourself, your father missing for a decade, then you meet thanos. it was something at first sight, a mutual obsession then a spanner gets thrown in the works. ・❥・word count: 1.4k ・❥・warnings: 18+. a little dry humping, swearing, drug mentions, death mentions bc squid game. ・❥・ authors note: i’m excited about this so… hopefully you guys are too. i’m cooking. HOPEFULLY. this chapter is just a set up, it’ll kick off more in the next ones.

“Hey, Senorita.”

The deep voice was like honey to your eyes causing you immediately to spin and come face to face with probably the most handsome man you’d ever met. His dark brown eyes, sharp jawline and bright purple hair – he was goddamn beautiful. It was like you were immediately mesmerised. He’d only said three words to you and you couldn’t tear your eyes away, watching with intrigued as he started rapping at you. It tore a giggle from your throat, a sound that you hadn’t heard from yourself in a long time. When was the last time someone had even made you laugh? It felt like a lifetime ago.

Ten years, to be exact. That was when your father had gone missing. Up until that point, life had been great. Childhood had been full of love and laughter until your mom fell ill. Your father hadn’t been able to pay for the medical bills and had vanished off the face of the Earth. Everyday you waited by the front door waiting for him to come home but it never happened. He’d been gone for a decade. Losing him had hardened you, made you build up walls, rarely letting people in. No, you were fine by yourself. You didn’t need anyone. They’d only let you down like he had.

“Do you rap for all the girls you meet or am I special?” You folded your arms across your chest, your lips upturned in the smallest of smirks.

“Nah, only you, Senorita.”

Sarcastically, you placed your hand over your head, pretending to swoon. “Aren’t I lucky?”

“I’d say I’m the lucky one,” he threw a wink her way causing her heart to almost skip a beat.

How was it that this man you’d known for only a few minutes could have your heart racing? Nobody you’d ever met before had this effect on you. It was confusing, annoying and exhilarating at the same time. He hadn’t taken his eyes off you once since he’d started talking to you. Most men barely maintained eye contact but he was looking at you like you were the only person in the room. Nobody had looked at you the way he was.

The second the first shot rang out through the arena, you began to panic. The fight or flight in you was telling you to run, your body almost turning around and making a run for it until you heard his voice again.

“Don’t move,” his own voice was strained, panicked. He’d just witnessed someone die right in front of him, their blood splattered across his face so of course he was on edge.

“I-I can’t do this,” you breathed. Your heart had tightened in your chest, the familiar feeling of a panic attack beginning to ring through your body,

“Promise me you won’t fucking move.”

“… okay.”

When the doll turned around again, you made a run for it, expecting Thanos to be by your side but instead you turned your head to catch a glimpse of him pulling out a cross from his jacket and popping a pill into his mouth. You couldn’t judge him. The poor man had someone shot right in front of his face, whatever he needed to do to get through this was no business of yours.

Thankfully, you made it to the end and, to your surprise, so did Thanos. With whatever pills he took coursing through his veins, you weren’t exactly sure that he’d make it — not with the way he’d been jumping and dancing around. It was like he was on another planet.

You were glad he did, though.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Thanos,” you moaned into his mouth, his lips moving hungrily against yours. You had no idea how you’d ended up in this position. Well, actually, you did. Getting back to the living quarters, there had been a brief moment where everyone had panicked, the guards letting everyone know how many had survived and that there would be a vote. Thanos had been sitting by your side, his hand resting on your knee. His touch had sent sparks down your spine, igniting a fire within you that you didn’t know could exist. No man had ever made you feel like this. Every hook up, every kiss with someone had been meaningless but a simple touch from him was more than enough to send you spiralling. What was it about him that had you acting like this?

“Call me, Su-bong,” he mumbled against your skin as his lips trailed down your collarbone. Your jacket had been discarded on the floor in a flurry of hands and kisses. One of his hands was gripping your waist tight, the other moving to hike one of your legs up around his waist.

Your back was pressed against the wall, Thanos pressing his crotch flush against you. You groaned when you felt the feeling of his hard length pressing right against your core. He ground his hips against yours, tearing a moan from your lips. If he wasn’t surrounded by people (not that would really stop him) he’d be ripping your panties off and fucking you stupid against the wall at that moment.

“You like that?” He bit down on your neck a few times, determined to mark you up. It wasn’t like you could really hide it either but in the moment you didn’t really give a damn. His lips, his cock grinding against you, it made thinking rationally difficult.

“Yes,” you gasped, tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck as you met his thrusts. “Keep going.”

So he did, his thrusts becoming more erratic. He knew he’d have to pull himself away before he bust in his pants but he wanted to make this last just a little bit longer. His lips trailed back up to yours, hand fisting in your hair to yank your lips back to his. Just as you were right there on the edge, he pulled back, tugging at your lip before he distanced himself from you. “Sorry, Senorita. As much as I’d love to fucking devour you right now, I can’t go the rest of these games making a mess of myself but don’t worry. I’ll be sure to make it up to you.”

The cocky smirk on his face as he handed you your jacket back had you wanting to say fuck it and have him take you right then and there but you maintained some self control. Shrugging your jacket back on, you smoothed your hair back into place and headed out from behind the bunks. Just in time too because the guards had come through with all the equipment to vote.

“You’re voting to stay right?” He looked at you expectantly as you walked to stand with the crowd, his arm slung casually around your shoulder.

“Duh, I need the cash.” In reality, you were terrified but you needed the money. For the last few years, you’d been living on your friend's couch. Your mom was gone, your dad was missing and the only member of your family that you knew was crazy. Or so you’d thought.

The vote was simple. Vote cross to leave or circle to stay. It was with a shaky hand that you pressed the circle button, pressing the patch to your chest and heading to stand with the rest of the people who had voted to stay. Thanos had pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek when you’d made your way back to him. He seemed just as obsessed with you as you were with him. That was new for you, too. Most of the time you felt insecure, unworthy of attention but here he was after knowing you for a couple of hours, unable to keep himself from touching you.

It was split down the middle, coming down to player 001. Thanos had been whispering some stupid joke in your ear so you’d missed his face when he passed. When you looked up at the numbers on the board, you waited with baited breath to see what he picked.

Circle.

The majority had voted to stay. That meant more games, watching more people die. You could do this. You had to do this. Besides, you had someone on your side now. Thanos had vowed to protect you. Along with him came his friend Namgyu so you weren’t entirely alone for the first time in ten years. It gave you a tiny bit of confidence, the boost you needed to get through this.

That was all shattered when you saw the face of player 001. Your heart falling into the pit of your stomach.

Your dad.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @gemzyy @bettelaboure @gdinthehouseee @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @forevervibezzzz1 @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 @riddlerloveb0t @youlikeex @str8t2video

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

Alone at last. None of those assholes around to harsh your vibe or ruin your furniture. Just you, Mark, and a horde of bugs. 

NSFW, time to jerk it fellers!

[Invincible Varients X Reader]

13 * Cave-In Fever [10.4k]

[Part one]  [Ao3]  [12]

"Pain works on a sliding scale,

So does pleasure in a candy jail."

Candy Jail - AJJ

        The grand tour felt like an open house. Your arms wrapped around Baldie's broad shoulders, one of his arms wrapped secure around your waist as he hovered you above the attractions. Torch light weakly reaching a few feet ahead. Baldie didn't seem to mind the re-lit stick burning in his hand. He'd dealt with lava baths after all. 

        He took you over thinning and thickening paths of pale bugs. Always skittering. Leaving large patches of black ground perfectly walkable. You let him carry you anyway. Tired from the power drain. Embarrassed from the conversations of days past, your earlier crying, but when he smiled at you- it seemed to wane. It was nice to have someone be nice to you.

        He flew you from the rocky foyer to a smaller low-ceilinged room. Every surface drilled into and filled with cream colored jelly bodies. Eggs and developing young.

        "We'll never run out of food." You say to the room that stretched beyond the torch light. 

        "Hopefully they don't taste as bad as they look. He said they're edible." Baldie's laugh reverberated through your body. He turned, floating you back toward the entrance. 

        "I'm guessing..." You take a long look at an older bug, feeding the young something mashed from its mouth. It looked like a pale, oversized, "Shrimp."

        "That'd be nice." Baldie hums. "Think we'll find cocktail sauce?"

        "I wish." You smile as he leaves and floats into the next cavernous room of your new home.

        The air thickened. You immediately start to sneeze. Baldie blasted off, "Bless you, bless you, bless you." You shake off sneezing but not the itch in your eyes and throat. Spores catch fire in the torch, expended before they can catch on the carpeted walls. A blue, green, and white nebula of mold grew thick on every possible surface. Even the carcasses of the dead. 

        Bugs meandered throughout, clicking with their parapets, communicating. You wonder what they were saying.

        "Foods gotta eat too, I guess." You cringed at the mold blooms. Pretty but you couldn't image it in your mouth. Rotten cotton candy. Oh, God, you could imagine it. Ew.

        Baldie paused. Watching a bug inspect a particularly fat bloom, sort through the fibers, and pick off a tiny piece. Proudly crawling across the floor. Baldie followed, hovering slow above it. You watched, interested as the little worker climbed over its brothers and sisters, up its mother's segmented belly, into and out of her mouth after delivering the load. 

        "Do you think they eat any of it?" You watch the worker disappear into the mold farm. 

        "Probably not." Baldie says, "They get all the nutrients they need in their larval stage. Work until they run out of energy and die." 

        "Brutal." 

        He shrugs, "It's just the way a lot of bugs are. Sacrifice everything for the betterment of the hive," he flicked the torch toward, "The queen."

        Your Mark was never a science buff. He was a C-student, through and through. 

        "You like bugs?" You ask.

        "I like that we can eat them." He says, "I did a science project on leaf-cutter ants in seventh grade. Then one on fig wasps in eighth. I remember everyone cringing at the pictures I put up and I dunno, it just didn't make sense to me. They're like crabs but tiny. What's so scary about them? And what's wrong with something looking kind of weird, you know?" His voice falls off, self-consciousness taking over. 

        You smile at him. "So you do like bugs. Bug Boy."

        His cheeks warmed. "There's no way that's your nickname for me."

        You looked at the lenses, big, black, fly-like. You don't say it but he knows it.

        "No." You say. "It's uhm-"

        "Chrome Dome, right?" He doesn't seem ashamed of his lack of hair just a little worried- worried that you don't like it. His warped skin. That you think he's ugly, to be cringed at like a bug.

        "It's Baldie, actually." You admit. 

        "Better than Chrome Dome." His smile is the same sad, self deprecating one from earlier. 

        "Still it's not my best." You say and the realization hits you aloud, you say it without thinking, "If it's just us down here, I could actually call you Mark."

        His fingers on your waist flex, chest puffs, cheeks go pink. "Really? I- I mean if that's not weird for you."

        It kind of was, but you needed to work on reassociation if you were going to be living with him. "Yeah, and the other guy could be Mark Two."

        He was the fifteenth variant Angstrom Levy grabbed. A near after thought. But you made him the first, the favored, on top of the world. He wants to kiss you but doesn't. Sure, you're looking at him nice, but he doesn't know if you're there yet. He'd wait for you to lean in. If you ever did.

        "Works for me."

        He took you back to the fire, smoke starting to coil and collect on the ceiling. There'd have to be long periods of dark to let the smoke dissipate. Disappointing, but being with you was worth the setback.

        He sighed because this couldn't last all night. "We have to go back."

        You stiffen against him. "What? You said-"

        "For one night and one morning, okay?" His words loosen your body. "We need to make your disappearance more ambiguous. They saw which way you went tonight. We have a plan, don't worry." 

        You narrow your eyes, set on his lenses and the honey-brown eyes hidden behind them. "One night, one morning, that's it. I can't stand to be around those assholes any longer than that."

        As long as he wasn't one of those assholes, you had a, "Deal."

        ***

        Mohawk didn't open his eyes, laid back, hands behind head on his cot. Playing nonchalant, though he'd been listening for you the whole time. "Look who it is, back from fuckin' the scraps." 

        You scoff. "Unlike you, I don't live for sex."

        "Yeah, you live for Mark Grayson- who is me, baby."

        Your nose wrinkled. Baldie sent an apologetic look and found his own cot to lay on. You both knew if he defended you, Mohawk would only get rowdier. The fact that he was poised for sleep was as rare as a calm toddler. 

        "I live to make you hit yourself in the balls." You sit on your cot for the first time in a few nights. Omni who laid on his side visibly relaxed at your added weight. "Which I can't do without sleeping so shut up." You laid down, back to Omni, arms around yourself.

        "Whatever you say, Mark-liker."

        "Wow, a real insult."

        "Guys, go to sleep." Maskless grunted. 

        You try but can't because you were freezing. The blanket you'd been working on with Phantom was nowhere near big enough to cover you. You could get up and put the solider top on, but you don't. Strangely anxious that the shuffling would set Mohawk off again. So you lay and try to suppress the shivers.

        The cape came over you without sound. Body heat stuck to it like glue. You pulled it over yourself as much as the distance between you and Omni would allow. Which wasn't enough, so you scooted backwards, greedy for comfort in this wasteland. Your back ends up against his. Even through his suit, he's like a living furnace. You unwillingly melt against the heat. Wrap the cape around yourself and feel yourself begin to doze.

        You only stir when he turns. Shifting carefully to keep the cape over you. The only difference now was his chest was to your back, legs pressed behind yours, one arm over your waist, the other propped up his head for a pillow. His breath tickled the back of your head. Shallow, anxious, like he was waiting for you to pull away. 

        You could tell him to buzz off and he would, but you don't. He's warm and honestly- he'd been okay to you. Airing your sex laundry to the whole group wasn't cool, but you'd live if he held you for one night. The last night he'd see you again, hopefully. The thought made you a little sad, and you couldn't tell if it was for you or him. You didn't let yourself hope he was the secret  Mark who found the cave. 

        You think about being gone, about him, until sleep takes you. 

        ***

        He held you into the morning without sleeping a wink. How could he when you were right there? Ready and willing in his arms, sleeping peaceful as an angel. He wanted to press kisses into your hair, whisper sweet nothings into the night but he withheld. That was for another time. When you'd come to accept his affections more. You were only beginning to come around, and he couldn't be more grateful. All you needed was some time to think, to understand. And he was willing to wait. 

        He regretted having to leave, to go on another journey hundreds of miles into the caves only to find nothing. But if there was a chance he could find food and safety for you, he'd go. In a handful of hours, he'd regret the choice but in the moment, he laid a chaste kiss on your sleeping temple and left. 

        The others filtered out, rising with the sun. Even Baldie who fixed you with a knowing look before disappearing into the caves. The last two at camp were Maskless and Phantom. Today was Maskless's turn to babysit. You'd fought against the babysitting like a motherfucker but were always overruled. Especially with Lensless and Scars gone partly rogue. 

        Maskless didn't like sitting still, not being useful- like you had been. He considered taking you out to the desert, hunting down Scars and Lensless with you- killing them together for more jerky. But that was too dangerous, it could get you both killed. Most likely him and an unimaginable amount of torture for you. But the longer he went without eating, the more he thought about it anytime he remembered your existence.

        Today, his stomach was a snarling monster. Today might be the day. He turned to you, still sleeping on your cot. "H-"

        "I can take over today," Phantom mumbled behind him.

        Irritation ticked in Maskless's jaw. "I've got it."

        "I need to talk to her." Phantom stood beside him, both watching you sleep. "Alone."

        Not that Maskless cared for your well-being, he still had some morals. He had been with Phantom while they dug out the caves, in the rare moments he spoke, the only thing he talked about was you. "So you can force yourself on her right?"

        Phantom didn't react, though he wanted to crack Maskless on the chin. "No," he said, "I want to ask about mom. If she was with him then (Y/n) must've known her." He can't acknowledge your version of himself, it too weird. Wrong.

        Maskless hummed noncommittally. Stomach aching. "You can do that while I'm here." He'd like to know too. If your Debbie was like his. 

        Phantom hadn't planned for so much resistance. Any more pushing and the outcome would be suspicious. He took two steps toward you, questions about Debbie on his tongue. He hoped you'd play along, even if you didn't know it was him partnered with Baldie. He'd built enough of a relationship outside of that to talk to you- hadn't he?

        "Hey." Tracksuit poked his head into the caves. "Think I found something." 

        Maskless's neck cracked with how fast it turned.

        "Where?" He was in front of Tracksuit. Praying it was something edible. 

        "Not far off," Tracksuit hovered backward, nodded toward Phantom, "You comin'?"

        Maskless looked to him. Plans forgotten, stomach winning out. "Someone has to watch her." Then they were gone along with Phantom's hopes. They'd found the cave. He'd never get you to himself.

        You stirred, sunlight slaid across your form. He was alone with you for now.

        The air displaced, sand dust suddenly cleared, Baldie hovered in the middle of the room. "We don't have much time." He said.

        Phantom doesn't need an explanation. He'd told something to that Tracksuit-sporting idiot to get Maskless out of the way. Baldie was smarter than Phantom gave him credit for. Dangerous, but for now, advantageous.

        "Do it." Phantom said.

        You rubbed the sleep out your eyes, "Wha-" You turned in time to catch Baldie ramming a fist into Phantom's middle. He folded around the force, shot back but recovered before he hit the wall. Baldie didn't let Phantom steady himself before zipping behind him, delivering a bone-cracking axe kick to his side. Phantom couldn't stop himself ramming to the ground. Your cot was sent into the air with you on it.

        Baldie caught you, and brought you up to the surface. Leaving you standing on the edge of the desert hole while he kicked Phantom's ass as fast as possible. You watched, horrified, confused. The weight of Phantom's gift in your pocket. 

        It was done in less than ten seconds. Baldie returned, muttering an, "I'll explain later," before grabbing you under the shoulders and tearing into the caves. Stale air tore at your cheeks. Moving so fast you couldn't breathe. 

        He slowed at the tombs entrance. Slipped you both inside and quadruple checked that the door was flush with the wall before he hovered you down to last night's camp.

        You are too stunned in his arms to speak, taking gasping breaths as he sets you down on cool rock.

        "Sorry." His touch left while he built up the fire. "We had to make it look real."

        "We?" You blink as orange light began to frame his thick body.

        "Told you it was nobody bad." 

        The realization is slow. Sleep still bogging your mind.

        "Oh." Phantom was the partner. That... made some sense, you supposed. Though he hadn't spoken to you much beside a handful of times. He didn't seem crazily obsessed with you and had done more for your survival than most of them. "Make what look real?"

        "You called those two Lens and Scar?"

        "Lensless and Scars."

        "Ok, them. We had to make it look like Lensless and Scars kidnapped you. Beat him up in the process. Would make everyone look up top instead of below. Once the coast's clear, he's going to join us."

        That was something straight out of Machine Head's head, a hasty yet efficient trap for a group of dumb supes. "Not bad if you don't consider those two will know it's lie."

        "Who's going to believe them?" Baldie stepped back from the crackling fire. 

        He was right. A smile split your cheek. "Kinda sad I'm gonna miss them getting mauled." 

        He sighs, "Me too." 

        There's a beat of quiet. "What now?" You look over what the fire exposed. Same as last you saw it. 

        "Well," he ran a hand over his neck, sheepish, "I couldn't exactly take beds but I brought the stuff to make 'em, we could probably start there."

        He goes to grab the material when a hiss made the cave shudder. You both looked to the queen. Her children didn't seem to notice. Eyeless head set on you both, your noise, the fire. 

       Her mandibles snapped together, click, click, click-ity, click. 

        Her subjects stop and seem to collectively turn on you both. Thousands of them crawling forward all at once. Baldie scooped you up into the air before their tiny legs could touch your boots. It didn't take much to avoid them, clumsy and unused to fighting. They climbed atop of one another, shakily making themselves into pillars that kept falling under their own weight.

        You furrowed your brows as Baldie easily moved away from their hissing mouths, "They weren't like this last night."

        The queen's tiny legs kick in frustration, click, click, click-ity click!

       The bugs redouble their effort and can't swarm more than three feet into the air. You'd laugh if it weren't so strange.

        "Last night..." Baldie thinks aloud, "They have some kind of circadian rhythm?" It's a guess, information pulled vaguely from those science projects years ago. 

        "There's no sun." You watch as the queen grows more and more upset. Spittle flying off her mandibles. Fat body wriggling.

        "The planet still rotates on an axis, so like..." Here the information grew hazy, something about, "magnetic fields?" 

        Sounded right as anything else. "I guess? Do we just, hover until they don't care anymore?"

        The queen began to lean her heavy body forward, making the cavern shake. Massive mouth parts snapping. Pissed her subjects couldn't kill you, if she wanted the job done, she'd have to do it herself. She snaps, click click! And the masses disperse, they were falling back. Leaving to defend the eggs and farm.

        Baldie couldn't allow this, was annoyed that Phantom hadn't picked up on this before sending you here. If he ever had to leave you, he didn't want you to be eaten alive by termites or whatever they were. He considered setting you down on the now bug-free floor, but doesn't want to risk a surprise attack. "Hold on and uh, hold your breath? Maybe shut your eyes."

        You had been, but your arms tighten. Lips pulling into your mouth. Lids close. 

        He pivots in the air, fist out. 

        The queen seems to feel the shift, he's not dodging around her anymore. She has no eyes but she knows something is wrong, can feel the power roiling under his skin. She hisses a desperate click!

        The white plated center of her glossy forehead caved in with a creme-brulee crack. Baldie is careful to hold you out of harm's way, but you still feel the brains splatter around you. Her buggy insides passing you as fast as a train. Wet and oven hot. 

        Baldie came out the back of her head, a human bullet. Green-gray fluid came rushing out, splattering hard against the cave wall, slapping against your back. The flesh didn't burn or singe your skin, which was a relief. 

        The Queen falls forward, pieces of her leaking out of the wound. Baldie is under her, catching her with a single hand before she could crash hard against the cave floor. It'd be real bad if they staged your disappearance just to be found so soon.

        He stepped out from beneath her. Set you on the perch that was your campground. Covered in slippery bug juice and mucus-slimy meat. He hovered around her, poking and prodding, making sure she was dead. She was. He landed on what was left of the back of her head, "Dinner's served."

        He looked down at himself. His uniform so goop covered he was a sickly green. "Good idea."

        He didn't want to leave because he needed to keep watch for the bugs who had not yet returned to the throne room. But part of him did. You were butt naked in the pool surrounding the queen's throne. Clothes wet and whacked as clean as you could get them, set to dry by the fire.

        He kept his back to you. He was tempted before seeing you in the shorts and tank top, but seeing you naked? That was something else. He was but a man and it'd been four long years. 

        On the flip side, you watched as the bug guts dried on him the longer you washed. You were already having a hard time getting the gunk off of yourself. You could only imagine the time he'd have when you were done. Despite your reservations, you knew it'd be better for him to get in now. 

        "Mark," you say, forcing the name Baldie to not slide off your tongue, because he wasn't Baldie anymore. Not here, not alone with you. 

        He almost made the mistake of turning. Ears tinged red. "Yeah?"

        You sighed, "Just get in already." 

        "No can do."

        "You can and you will cuz I need help with my back and you're definitely gonna need some with yours." 

        Still, he hesitates. "I-"

        You find the closest rock and throw it at his back. That makes him turn, "Hey-" And he sees you, halfway out of the water like a siren calling a sailor. He picked his jaw up off the ground and swallowed thickly, "Oh, uhm, sorry I-"

        "Look man, as long as you're not creepy I don't give a shit. Get in here before I make you." Technically, you could, but your pull wouldn't be strong. It'd been less than twelve hours since your last heavy lifting work out and you were not ready for another.

        Mark's shoulders fell but he lowered into the pool, clothes and all, as far away from you as possible. 

        You laughed, "Dude. That thing is gonna stick to you if you don't take it off and clean it."

        He was red neck to ears as he turned. Peeling the prison issue top up and over his head first. Exposing his broad back to you. Nothing you hadn't seen before but still, it was a nice back. Skin puckered and miscolored with scar tissue. Muscles so thick they looked like they could burst out of his skin. His back went from broad to tapered so nicely at the waist. And man, the start of that bubble butt... Hello sailor.

        Mark peaked over his shoulder. Part of him wanted you to be checking him out. Another was deeply horrified that you were. And you were, very transparently.

        "Uh, hey." He said, letting his shirt fall into the water to soak.

        "Hi." You say. "Gonna take care of those too or what?" You point to his pants which were still very much on.

        Most of his lower half was in the water, they were already soaking so why take them off? Except he could literally feel his skin starting to stick to the fabric. Carefully, he started to lower the drawls. Thankfully, you had enough tact to look away. Let him do his own thing awhile. Which is a long while because the bug brains had started to harden like concrete. You didn't mind waiting for your back to be scrubbed. It was nice, sitting quietly, comfortably, au natural without some freakazoid trying to force his way into your pants. 

        He tried getting his back himself. Flexible as he was, there was a spot itchy on his back. He turned, hand over his junk. "Hey uhm-"

        "Nuh-uh bucko," you already had your back to him, water tracing the path of your spine, "you're doing me first- not like that."

        Mark's approach is slow, tentative. "You sure?" He tries and falls to not look at your bare ass.

        "Wouldn't ask if I wasn't. Now, get this shit off me, it's giving me hives."

        "Okay." His voice came out squeakier than he intended. 

        He cupped water in his palm, poured it down your back. Tried to ignore the sigh you let out. When his palm met the flat of your back a tinge of pain shot up his forearm. He paused. 

        "You good?"

        "Yeah." He made himself move. Gently rub at the congealed mass on your back. Touching you like this, skin to skin, felt good yes but- the last time he was naked with you- he was a teenager. He wasn't covered in scar tissue or riddled with nerve damage. He was somewhat used to the pain that came with moving, his skin pushing and pulling with his body. But intimacy in this skin felt new. 

        He wished you hadn't asked him to touch you. He felt like he was taking advantage. Using your body the ways the others would.

        When he's done, you turn. Keeping your eyes up and doing a little twisting motion with your finger to indicate it was his turn. He swallowed and twisted. 

        Human touch was weak. Before he felt it, he had vivid sense memories of your hands running down his back, but now he could barely register your fingers on his back. Or the breath on his neck. He wanted to savor the moment, as perverted as it made him feel, but how could he if he could barely feel it?

        "Done." You don't step back. If he turned around, you'd be face to face. 

        He swallowed, "Thanks."

        "Welcome." Your voice had a pull to it. An unsaid desire for him to turn, to melt into this moment wit you.

        It scares the shit out of him. "I don't understand," he says, frozen in place, "Why are you so..." Good? Comfortable? Nice? "Okay with me?"

        "Because you're not an asshole." You say. "Need that in this place, even if you're kind of my asshole ex in a roundabout way."

        Ouch- but he was asking for that. He doesn't know why he says it, "She's been dead for four years." Maybe he was hoping to ruin the moment. Cut the obvious tensions between you both because he was scared. "I didn't know til I got out." Almost a month ago now. "Guess some part of me always knew she'd be dead- my dad never liked her- but-" Lips pull in and out of his mouth. Keep it together. Just keep it together. "It's hard to imagine someone dead after talking about your wedding and the house you'll buy and the dogs you'll adopt."

        Your laugh surprised him. "He," because he's not Mark, not right now, "and I talked about the same shit and I image him dead everyday. Things change."

        Mark finally turned. Different story, different person, different sides, but somehow you understood each other perfectly. But he wanted, needed to know if your heart was taken if, "You're still in love with him?"

        "I was for awhile. Few months after. Wrote him a ton of letters I never ended up sending in prison." That word slaps him with memory. The days, weeks, of dark nothing. Then beatings. Then nothing, nothing, nothing. His mind filling in the blanks. "I got over it mostly but..."

        "But?"

        Unexpected annoyance flashed across your face. "Dude, we are naked in a pool together and you wanna ask about my ex all night? We doing this or what?" 

        His brain short-circuited. You wanted to... "Oh. Oh! I'm sorry I wasn't trying to-"

        You step back, mildly mortified, "Shit, were you not- my bad." 

        You hadn't been able to stop thinking about his lips on yours since you'd danced and kissed. It was nice. A little stiff with his inexperience, but nice. You trusted him not to hold it over your head and he hadn't. Honestly, it'd been a long time since you'd kissed someone with feeling. Most were sloppy make outs from one-night-stands. Sure, you were a little reluctant, him being Mark and all, but that also made you less reluctant. A real catch twenty-two emotionally.

        Mark also couldn't get it off his mind. How easily his lips melded to yours, how right it felt. But that was coupled with guilt, he felt like he'd used you, not noticing your high. Wishing you hadn't. Curbing the desire to chase after your heels like a horny dog. Despite the cloying urge to reach out, to make sure it was real, he made himself say, "I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything."

        "You're the only one who hasn't made me feel like that. I'm hitting on you cuz you're hot and normal." And you were emotionally burnt the fuck out and it'd be nice to be distracted awhile. Mark didn't seem like he'd go batshit if you fucked so why not. 

        Hot? Normal? 

        You must have strange tastes in this timeline. Must be around so many awful people for him to seem 'normal'. You'd learn eventually what a mess he was, but for now? You were leaning closer and closer, fingers coming under his pecs, splaying across his chest. His breath caught, he went statue still, but he didn't pull back. He let you kiss him. 

        Your lips were wet, pressed onto what was left of his. Near half of his lips had melted away, healed over with ridged scars that tingled at the press of your mouth against them. He kept his hands glued to his sides, terrified that if he held you, he'd crush you in the thrill of the moment. 

        You pulled back. "Do you not want me to?" His body language was a little more than closed off. Jesus, you horny asshole-

        "I want to." He says, "It's just been awhile."

        His circumstances caught up with you. Four years of torture then suddenly sex? No wonder he was reluctant.

        "We don't have to go there now." You say, "We've got all the time in the world, Mark."

        But that name, that title of a human being, it made him want to act like the man he was. This time he sinks forward, pressing lip to lip. Hands falling at your sides, just barely grazing your bare waist. He isn't forceful, doesn't push you back, he lets you lead after initiating. Lets the kiss stretch on and on. From closed lip to open mouthed. Nowhere near tongue-fucking, but a careful fencing back and forth. Touche, point, match set. 

        He moved his hand, spreading it along your side. You moaned into his mouth. Hands rolling up his chest, sending sparks down his spine. 

        Boom.

        You both paused. Lips pulling apart but still holding each other.

        Ba-boom!

        The ceiling rattled. Specs of loose rock splashing into the water. 

        "What the-

        Boom! Ba-boom-Krack-ack-ack-ack! 

        Debris rained down. The cave shuddered so violently the firewood fell out of place, the light spluttering out. Mark took your sopping form into his arms and took to the air. Dodging around falling rock. The sound and vibration went on for minutes. 

        You were terrified that any second the roof would collapse and that'd be it. You'd be done-city. But it doesn't. The tremors end. You are coated in a light layer of dirt but don't care. It was nothing compared to bug brains, to the pounding of your heart. 

        "What was that?"

        "I don't know, but I should go find out." Mark said.

        The idea scared you. Set a heavy pit deep in your stomach. "You said you guys were framing Lensless and Scars right?" You don't wait for an answer, scared if you stopped talking he'd leave you in the dark. "What if that was them coming to the fireside and getting attacked? What if some stuff caved in the fight?"

        Mark thinks the vibrations and sounds went on for far too long. Thinks the whole cave system but this sanctuary was crumbled in. Feels like a caged canary in a too-small enclosure. He doesn't reason, doesn't set you down, just rushes to the roof where the entrance was. He yanked the rock back despite your protests to stay hidden. 

        A wall of dirt came tumbling inside. When it stopped, there was only more dirt and rock. He started to dig with one arm, holding you close with the other. You were blind and naked and confused. He dug, scraped, drilled, but the rocks never ended. There were no more caves. He was trapped in isolated dark- again. His heart felt like it was about to explode. He needed to get out of here. Needed to bust though hundreds of miles of rock, dirt, and sand and breathe fresh air- see the sun. 

        But.

        "Mark!" You were here. The ascent would kill you, the rocks would tear your skin from your body. 

        As soon as he stopped digging, the little tunnel he'd carved started to cave. He barely got you both back to the main room before it fell in on itself.

        "I don't understand." He said, he wanted to say more, but his mind was stuck. He was stuck. "I don't understand."

        "Mark, put me down." You were scared to use your power. Scared he'd drop you hundreds of feet in the dark.

        He hears it in your voice. Hurriedly, he sets you back at camp and rebuilds the fire. Then he's off, digging frantically at the cave entrance. You watch his back until he disappears. Hot by the fire but chilled to the bone, shivering from adrenaline.

        He digs out miles of memorized caves but it was all gone. Everything. And every time he stopped, the progress he'd made would undo itself. He only returned to the cave because you were there and you needed him. 

        You were asleep atop a pile of the softest junk he'd hauled along. You had the right idea, rest, tackle it in the morning. Or was it already morning? Baldie couldn't tell. He'd been a month out of space jail and he started to like being able to tell. Oh God, he couldn't tell. 

        You snored. His heartbeat slowed. He laid beside you, not touching. Too awkward with the nakedness. Clothes too sopping wet to put back on. He doesn't sleep, but he listens as you do. Mind racing. 

        ***

        "He should be here by now," Mark said when you woke up. He had been sitting next to you, curled in on himself, unmoving and silent until you brought a hand to his arm. You think it's morning with how antsy the bugs are about the hive. This was the third sleep you'd had in the cave. You didn't know how long they lasted, minutes or hours. Mark's sleep schedule was more intermittent. You were unsure if he had slept at all.

        "We don't know how long it's been." You say for what feels like the tenth time. 

        He'd explained the plan to you in more depth since day one. Once the others believed it was Scars and Lensless who beat up Phantom, they were supposed to go hunt the duo down. Leaving Phantom to recover alone, where he'd slip away. The others were supposed to assume somehow Scars and Lensless overheard him tattling, waited in the shadows, killed him while he was alone. Hell, maybe they did. Maybe that's why he hadn't shown up yet.

        In the time since you were trapped, you'd made more the cave more of a home. The Queen's massive shattered carapace exo-skull was over you like a tent- after Mark cleaned out the internals of course. It was thick, decently insulating, milky see-though, it made you feel like a hamster. But it was nice, having something that felt more 'inside' than the claustrophobic inside of the cave. Made it feel like leaving the makeshift bedroom was going outside. Like you weren't completely trapped.

        "What if they figured it out?" Mark says, standing, back to you, picking off dried bits of bug brain off the walls.

        "What if they didn't?" You countered, sitting up off the shittily DIY-ed cot that made your back crack. Breakfast was waiting on a carapace table, fire crackling beneath, keeping the shell bowl hot. Soup boiling. Thin and watery, with juicy meat chunks throughout. With the queen dead, you were nowhere near short on food. Though the colony kept on taking little pieces of her to the young. Mark thought they were trying to make a new queen. Maybe they were just bugs used to eating whatever. Meat didn't seem to ever be on the menu for them so why not?

        Since the queen's death they hadn't swarmed. They left you be, kept to the farm and tending the young. Left the main room alone for the most part aside from quietly picking at her corpse. There were no more hisses or clicks shared between them. The only sound they made were legs hitting ground by the thousands in distant rooms.

        Mark hummed, "They were always a little stupid," though he doesn't consider your side. He thinks Phantom is dead. He thinks the entire cave system is collapsed. Thinks you're going to run out of oxygen in a few weeks and die down here if he doesn't tunnel out to the surface. Where you'd die sunburned, peeling, and dehydrated. You were trapped either way. Always trapped.

        Phantom had said he was going to make a new tunnel. He worked for the GDA, he was smart, knew how to make something that wouldn't collapse. A secret passage that'd let you three go to and from the surface at will without detection. But Phantom wasn't here- Mark- Baldie, was. The Mark who didn't finish high school, who barely remembered anything before prison. If he tried to tunnel out, he'd collapse the cave, he'd crush you. He couldn't lose you again.

        Behind him, you pulled up a curved leg shell you used for a chair- surprisingly sturdy. You stabbed into the meat with a hollow barb taken off the Queen's back and shoved it into your mouth. She didn't taste as you guessed, shrimpy, she was actually more crab-like. Better tasting than anything you'd had back home. You ate seconds and thirds of her the first time Mark hesitantly boiled her leg meat. Luckily, she wasn't poisonous. Phantom hadn't lied about that.

        He hadn't eaten since the first time. Made sure you ate and drank and rest plenty while doing none of that himself. It was starting to get on your nerves.  

        "Pull up a chair, sit."

         He did without preamble. When it was done and your control ended, he stayed, knowing you'd just make him do it again. You hadn't used your powers since you both arrived but using them was a good sign you were fed up with him.

         You pushed the bowl toward him, not full yourself but knowing you could have plenty more in as long as it took to boil water. 

        You held out the barb to him, "Eat."

        He didn't take the utensil. He snatched up the fattest chunk of meat with his hands and bit into it like a rabid dog. The way he was used to eating in prison. Hurried, terrified, because any second the food could be taken away and withheld for weeks. Before with Emperor, he made himself eat slow, civilized, by watching the others. But when commanded to follow his internal instruction manual? He swallowed chunks whole, let meat juice drip down his arms. Drank deeply from the bowls edge when there were no morsels left.

        He hadn't eaten so much in years. He immediately wanted to puke- a bodily reaction and gut reaction to your pleased smile, to your hand patting his thigh. Why were you looking at him like that? He got you trapped.

        "Not to be a dick but why do you care?" He hadn't meant to ask. Theorized that with your waning hold on him he was more vulnerable. He wasn't but he also wasn't ready to accept that. That being alone with you made him feel like a stupid child. 

        "You saved me from those assholes, I saved you from starving yourself." You say it simply. "I know I'm always a major bitch when I'm hungry so."

        He would've laughed if he wasn't so mud-stuck in self hate, he still smiles, "Are you calling me a bitch?"

        "Kinda." You shift, rummaging in your solider pocket. It rested under the codeine, which you'd been tempted to drink these past few days but resisted. "Look," you held the disc over the table, "Phantom gave me this before everything went down, alright?" You flip it in your hand the same way he had, revealing the suction cup, revealing the hidden emergency button. You pressed it, got up and stuck the suctioned side to the wall. "It's a panic button. He knows we need him down here, alright? He's probably just being watched by Gray or someone else twenty-four seven. Those guys are dicks, but maybe one of them doesn't mind playing doctor for a few days. Makes it hard to slip away."

        He hadn't considered that. Thought since Phantom was so smart everything would go smoothly. Still, the anxiety comes out of him, "What if those two killed him for lying? Collapsed all the caves in the fight. You saw them, they're batshit."

        "I think we'd be dead if that happened." You say. "No way every cave but ours collapsed, dude."

        Another point he hadn't considered. He softens. "You might be right."

        "Might be?" You laugh, "I'm always right."

        ***

        Three more sleeps. You still hadn't seen Mark rest. He was antsy. Always fluttering room to room, looking for other ways out. Knocking on the walls to see if they were hollow. None of them were. 

        You were feeling the cabin (or would it be cave?) fever set in much slower but it set in just the same. You couldn't always have the fire going, too much smoke. It dissipated much slower since the cave-in. Added to Mark's total collapse theory, but you wouldn't tell him that. You explored with a torch now and again, stretching your legs but never getting far. 

        The hive was big, sure, but you could explore the whole thing without flying or super speed- though it would help. Especially in the nursery, where walking wasn't really possible unless you wanted to step on thousands of eggs. 

        You were starting to get a good feel of the hive. Fall into a rhythm of scavenging through the queen's remains and trying to make furniture or extend your hamster hut. You had to stay occupied or you'd start to agree with Mark. That Phantom was dead, all the caves were fucked and you were going to die down here.

        When you weren't home-making or sleeping, you were messing with the bugs. Poking at them, clicking at them. Mark was nice but anxious company. Covering with jokes that you saw right through. He thought he kept it hidden well, but he didn't. You knew what it was like to feel like a rat in a cage. You'd spent time behind bars. You knew how to make it work. He didn't, his jail time was too isolated, too dehumanizing. He was waiting for a punishment that always came. 

        Still, you tried to keep up his morale. 

        "I think I can control them." You said, walking backward on the well-worn path. A handful of freshly hatched young followed at your toes. Only stepping forward when you clicked your tongue, power laden in your throat. You had tried to control animals in the past to middling success. Dog's sat when you said sit, but they'd do that anyway. Bears couldn't maul your enemies because bears couldn't speak English. But alien bugs spoke in clicks and you could click.

        Mark doesn't reply at first. Sat on a ledge, elbows on knees, head in hand, brow furrowed. Angsting about Phantom. Angsting about this dark place. Angsting that he couldn't be happy when you were trying so hard to be happy. He knew you weren't, you were trying to make the best of a bad situation, and his inability to follow along was killing him. He should be happy, this cavern was a reprieve from everything you'd come to know in the desert, but it felt like prison to him. Your presence wasn't enough to stop the physical memories of his torment.

        "Think you can make 'em dig us a way out?" He tried to smile, but it faltered. 

        "Maybe eventually. Just getting a feel for it right now." 

        You stop when you not-so-accidentally back into his knees. You click your tongue once and the bugs pause before they reach your shoes. Three clicks later and they scamper back to the nursery. "Cool, huh?"

        Though he was horrified things would go wrong, he still thought you were, "The coolest."

        You could see the 'but' on his furrowed brow. "What else?"

        "That not enough of a compliment for you?" He joked.

        "Not what I mean, Mark. Tell me what you're really thinking about." 

        Caught red handed. No use hiding it. "If they don't make another queen, they're all going to die soon." He hated seeing your shoulders drop. Seeing his fear infect you, but you had to be reasonable. Had to at least hate him a little, the bastard with all those perverted thoughts cloying the inside of his skull. He shifted, feeling like he didn't deserve your incidental touch. "We'll run out of food." He leaves out the starving part. The slow, painful death he almost saw happen to you once.

        "You don't know that." 

        "I'm sorry." He says though it pains him, "You don't either."

        You spin on him and give him a look he deserved. Anger mingled with annoyance. "Are you trying to upset me?"

        "No!" He says thought he thought it'd be better if his mouth stayed shut. "I'm just... I don't know. Scared. Scared I've ruined everything and you don't even realize how bad things are."

        You could punch him but it'd be like hitting a brick wall. It'd only make him worse, and in turn make you worse. 

         "Ruined everything?" It's an effort to make your voice gentle, "We're the best off we've been in weeks, I haven't been sexually harassed or threatened. We don't have to share food or ration. Even if all the bugs die, people eat mold all the time. Blue cheese, duh." You're not sure about that, but say it just so he'd stop moping. His expression doesn't change. "Come on, dude, at least pretend to be happy to be alone with me. The others would be acting like they won the lotto right now and I'd probably be trying to kill them. But you? You're acting like you're in hell."

        "I got you stuck here." He countered limply. You wore him down in few sentences. Softened his edges.

        "We're not stuck. You can turn yourself into a human drill." He opens his mouth to argue, "Ah-ah-ah, I'm not done. I know it'd be dangerous but maybe the queen's shell could protect me from falling rock or somethin'. I don't know. I know it's best to wait for the other guy, but just know we're not officially trapped- so stick that in your ass and smoke it. Have you considered I might want to be alone with you awhile?"

        "You want to be-" Mark swallowed thickly. Not noticing until now how you'd snuck closer. Body pressed between his open knees, hands on his thighs. So caught up in his own head he hadn't noticed your flirting. He wanted you, bad, but he had to say. "I- I destroyed part of your world? I did horrible things in your name, I don't understand."

        "I've literally killed multiple versions of you." You say evenly, "Does that make you not want me?" 

        "No." It's almost instant.

        "Then I think we're agreed." You lean in. 

        He has to lean down on the ledge to meet your kiss. Awkwardly bent as it made him. 

        You hadn't kissed since that first day. He'd made himself avoid your touch, fly out of your lingering gaze. He knows you couldn't love him, not with your past and previous declarations of Mark Grayson hate. But he'd earned himself this affection somehow and he'd take it, even if he thought he was undeserving. You both needed an anchor, something solid and real that wasn't fear. These dog days had made the selfish thing in him fester, come to surface to taste for blood.

        Blood that rushed to his face as you climbed up the rock, still kissing him. Pushing him to scramble backward on his ass. You were like a force of nature, bending him to your will. Straddling his hips while he laid back on the cool rock. Tongue slipping into his mouth, leading the way when he fumbled. Excited but largely inexperienced. 

        He didn't know where to put his hands. Your hips felt too charged a place. Your shoulders too awkward. Your waist seemed like a good bet. 

        Soon as he made contact you let out a groan that he swallowed. Eyes rolling behind shut lids at the sound. He was stiff where you were fluid. Kiss and breath constantly on the move. From his lips to his marred cheek down to his jaw where you sucked his skin into your mouth. He let out an embarrassing sound, whole body tensing, fingers digging into your sides. 

        You'd be bruising tomorrow, but the pain was welcome. Made you hum satisfied against his skin, lower your teeth to the nape of his neck and nip. His breath caught in his throat. Hands flexing. 

        "This okay?" You ask. 

        "Yes." He said embarrassingly quick. "Yes it is."

        "Good." You leave a trail of open mouthed kisses against his neck. Sending unfamiliar sparks up and down his body, right to the head of his cock. His hips jolted up involuntarily. Pressing the pitching tent against your pants. Your kisses stop, he's about to apologize, when you let out a satisfied laugh that makes something in his lower belly flip. "Little more than okay, I think."

        "Yeah." He breathes a soft chuckle. Then stops breathing when you drag yourself down his length through layers of clothes. The pressure is hot, immediate, almost painfully intense. It'd been a long time. Jerking off was never on his mind in prison. He was always too beat up or starving or something worse. 

        Your lips meld back to his as you rolled yourself against him. Working him through clothes until his cock is achingly hard and throbbing. You pull up, leaning back to look down at him. His white pants sporting a high tent between your legs. His chest rapidly rising and falling. Sweat sticky on his brow. 

        You'd worked yourself up but couldn't get as much friction on your end as you'd like. Your hand goes to your fly. 

        "Wait." He says, breathless and wispy.

         You pause. "Do you not want to-"

        "I do! I do! So, so bad. But uhm. I'm uhm."

        You roll your hips against his hard-on and watch him squirm. "You're what?"

        "I'm scared I'll uhm, get to excited and uhm, crush you." He tried to make his face deadly serious but he was so flushed and fucked-out he looked anything but. He goes redder when you laugh. "I'm serious."

        "I get it," your hand falls from your fly, "we can take things slow." And goes to his waistband.

        His brows knit. "How is that taking things slow?"

        "Third base ain't a home run." You tug at the band but don't release the straining monster. "And I can stay on top."

        Mark considered the options. Keep his hands to himself and cum or blueball himself sad boy style. He picked the former. "If you- if you don't mind."

        Your grin is wicked as you tear his pants down, "Mind? I've been trying to do this since you brought me here." Could he get any harder?

        You watch his cock fly up and out to slap against his stomach. You groan at the sight. Waste no time trailing your fingers up his shaft, barely touching just to watch his face.

        In truth, Baldie was covered in thick scar tissue that made feeling difficult. But the sight of you over him, handling him, that's what sent pleasure up and down his slowly arching spine. And when you took him into your hand, really took him, he felt it. Like a cuff of fire he never wanted to go out. 

        You started, thumb swirling on his weeping tip. He was excited, sure, but nowhere near lubricated enough for you to really put in some elbow grease. So you do what any handjob giving warrior would do and spit on his dick. 

        "Aah?" The sound is a question quickly followed by a moan as you work your saliva up and down his shaft. "Haahh!"

        His fingers went to the ground, scraping up lines of rock to contain himself as you jerked him off. You leaned over him, propped on one hand as you pulled hard at the base. He whimpered, shot his hips up, hitting yours hard enough to bruise. He muttered a gasping, "Sorry," and pinned his ass to the floor. 

        Instead of accepting his apology, you aim to make his life worse. "You're good," you say husky, working hand and rolling hip, "you're doing so good." 

        He came without warning, so hard and unexpected he thought he was going to black out. Shooting meager drops onto his chest. He stilled all at once, heaving, red all over.

        "S-sorry." He said, "I didn't mean to."

        You moved viper fast. On your hands and knees, licking the cum off his stomach. Moaning as you rolled up his body, captured his lips in a kiss where he tasted himself. Barely there but salty. You pull back, a bridge of spittle connecting mouth to mouth, "That was so fucking hot."

        It was nice to be in control, to have Mark under you and pliant.

        "Really?" 

        "Yeah you fucking idiot." You kiss him, all tongue and teeth. He should be upset by the words, the tone, but he's not. When you pull away your eyes are dark, lust blown. "You've got two options here." You look down to his softening length. "Either you finger me or I ride your leg."

        Mark didn't know if he could blush anymore. 

        He bumbled, stumbled over his words. You made things worse by asking, "Make your choice or I'll make it for you." He could feel his cock stir. 

        "I think it'd be best if you laid back and I-" he forced himself to meet your eye, "you know."

        You nodded and dismounted his lap. Hurriedly shucking off the GDA boots, which was hard with how slick your hands were. 

        "Let me help." You felt a breeze, then you were bare from the waist down. Mark on his knees in front of you, hovering over you, scared if he initiated the kiss he'd smash your skull.

        You catch his drift, lean in first. The kiss is short, sweet. He broke the kiss, leaned back, and took you in. You leaned back, spread your legs wider, voice a teasing whisper, "Hey." 

        He hadn't seen a pussy, your pussy, in years. Hadn't drooled like this in years either. His hands shook. He didn't know if he could do this. He was horrified he'd hurt you. And also, he had no fucking clue what he was doing. He was sure he'd fingered you before but he couldn't remember anything besides a vague warm feeling, your skin against his. Torture does that to a brain. "Now's probably a bad time to tell you I don't know what I'm doing."

        "I don't care Mark, just touch me." You brought his hand to your inner thigh.

        Mark nodded, willing his hand to move closer to your heat, his breath shaking, trying not to look at your face. He knew he'd lose his nerve if he did, if he saw the desire for some bastard like him in your eye.

        His fingers barely brush over your entrance, dragging through your slick before landing on your clit. He circles the nub and your hips jut forward trying to get him to go, "Harder," You say.

         He nods. Pressing his thumb carefully into the flesh. Knuckles pressing indecently into your slickened cunt. You shudder and cant your hips, trying to suck the fingers in. He only glanced at your face because your head was thrown back. "Do you want me to-"

        "Yes-" You gasp, "Yes, just do it."

        Mark shifted. Pressure leaving your clit while he focused on lining up a single finger with your entrance. He is shaking with anticipation, cock hard against his stomach. When you look down at him, he's a deer in the headlights. "Come on," you goad, "fuck me."

        He sunk the finger in slow, one knuckle at a time. Watching you shudder, feeling you suck him in, pulse around him. He barely gets to enjoy being sunken into you before you're moving, fucking yourself desperately on a single finger. Little moans echoing off the cave walls. All he can do a moment is watch, reverent until you gasp, "Move."

        The pull-out is agonizingly, unintentionally slow. The fill-back is good, his finger pad curled up. He retained some muscle memory. You bare down on his fingers as he moves. Hips quick and erratic to his measured pace. He is hypnotized by the way you use him so freely. 

        "Another one." You say, sweat shining on your cheeks. 

        He's about to ask another what when you grind against his hand. Three fingers and a thumb slick with your arousal, just waiting to be used. You pull your hips back so he can pull out, readjust, and fill you back up all the quicker. When he's to the knuckle, two fingers deep, you throw your head back and whine. Hips wiggling, forcing fingers to press to your g-spot over and over and over until, "Fuck- fuck I'm gonna cum!"

        He makes the first move, surging forward to kiss you. Your teeth clack together but it doesn't matter, you are coming undone. Shivering and groaning into his mouth, pulsing hard enough around his fingers for him to feel it. For him to accept that this is really real.

          When it is done, you break the kiss to heave, resting forehead to forehead. 

        "Can I-" He doesn't want to say it, just wants to indulge, to lose himself in your body, "Can I eat you out?"

        He feels you clench around his fingers at the thought, your breath stuttering as you said, "Thought you had no idea what you were doing." You're teasing him but your voice is uneven, thighs quaking in anticipation. 

        "I want to," he says it quietly, "I want to. Please."

        Your nodding is on the edge of desperate, body still coming down, "Fuck, please Mark." . 

        That was all the permission he needed. He was on his belly in an instant. An open mouth met with your entrance. Tongue brought up to your apex. Tongue flat, rolling tentatively over the whole mass. You shuddered and he did it again with a flexed tongue, catching pleasure by the tail. Feels how you stiffen, how your hold on him tightens.

        The search for that spot begins. Lost in his excitement to see how you'd react. He is clumsy, imprecise, but not lacking in enthusiasm. Full face pressed to your heat. Nose pressed to pubic bone, his fingers tentatively sliding in and out of your body. Tongue exploring, eyes watching, drinking in every move, ears strained for your moans. 

        He was no lesbian but he was moaning into your cunt, savoring your taste. Trying to commit to memory. You hold him down, he doesn't breathe, you grind into his tongue, he takes everything you give. Slowly, he melted into your body, growing more comfortable, more confident. He never hurt you, never squeezes your thighs too hard, though your legs try to choke him at the neck.

        The climb isn't quick, it's back and forth, but you savor it. 

        "Suck," you gasp when his tongue made a particularly devious flick, his fingers pressing into your g-spot.  "suck on it." 

        He obeys. Rewarded with your scream and arching back. "Fuck, fuck Mark, oh fuck!" Only encouraged him to bear down, to swipe his tongue back and forth, bully your cunt into melting submission. You cum again, clawing at the back his neck, bucking hard into his face.

        He rose over you. Spent, gasping, shaking with the lingering high of release. Chin sticky, tongue coated, nose filled with you. 

        You grin as you feel his cock hard against your thigh. Sly, devious, ready to undo him again. "I think you deserve a reward."

        It goes back and forth and back and forth. A feral fuck-fest of hand stuff and carpet munching. Until you are both spent, physically and emotionally. Laid partly nude atop one another, you on him, breath echoing off the cave walls. His arm slung over your waist, dick going soft and sleepy.

        "Well," your heart hammers in your chest, pressed to his, "That should also help you be less of an asshole."

        He can't find anything negative or self deprecating to say, so he smiles and pulls you somehow closer. 

[nquesoxlies]

I wanna know how many storylines/scenes got cut from this season. We have multiple scenes from stills that weren’t in the episode (the families at the funeral, Buck and gerrard at the table) and several actors teased things that never really came to fruition. Plus Oliver saying “I don’t think he’s in the last 2 episodes” and “I don’t think they interacted at the funeral.” Which may be media speak, but may mean they shot scenes with Lou that were cut.

It had to be a good fucking chunk.

Like, no one's really talked about it but Kelvin Han Yee (Mr. Lee) had said he was coming back in 8a... yet we never saw him.

We know there was supposed to be a whole robbery situation at that food mart in Texas.

Things you said....

The baby shower where we saw Peter and the actress that plays Margaret Buckley...

We were told Buck would open up to everyone.... I didn't see that...

You know... I'm starting to wonder if the reason we got so much Brad is because he was really the only thing connected to Bobby in 8a and with Tim deciding to kill Bobby I think he just wanted as much Bobby as possible before he was gone. Which is stupid af because we could have gotten Bathena scenes or even Bobby with Harry and May scenes.... but no... we got fucking Brad.

Tim literally sacrificed all the personal stories to kill Bobby and make a point. I'm not sure if it was pettiness or genuinely the only solution he could find for budget cuts but regardless... we lost more this season then we gained.

Hopefully season 9 benefits from that. (I think it will)

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

I'll Always

More bucky x reader angst with fluff fics, currently writing a Thunderbolts one. This fic can be interpreted as being set...at any time really.

A small tug on your blanket is what alerts you to the intruder in your room. You freeze, feeling your breath catch in your throat and almost scream for your boyfriend when you realise said boyfriend is the very intruder.

"Bucky! You scared me!" You sigh in relief, scooting over to make space for him on your bed. He climbs onto the bed, slotting himself underneath your blanket and rests his head on your chest, right where your heart beats beneath. His flesh fingers intertwine with yours, grasping tightly onto your hands, shaking all the while.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

There's a deep sadness in his voice, a sign that over time you've come to learn means he just woke up from a nightmare. It's barely noticeable but you've learned to pick it up since Bucky isn't the kind of person to voice out when he's struggling with the ghosts of his past.

"It's alright. Next time, just wake me up the normal way when you want to cuddle, alright?" You press a kiss to the top of his head, knowing full well he isn't here to cuddle but you also know better than to bring up the nightmare when he hasn't talked about it. You've figured out that the best way to get him to talk about what's plaguing him is to pretend like you don't know, let him get comfortable, then ease into the topic.

"Mmm," he hums into your shirt, listening to the sound of your heartbeat. The two of you lie like this for a while, soaking in each other's presence until you shift and start to run your fingers through his hair. His brown locks are soft, and the lack of tangles lets your fingers run down smoothly. The motion lulls him into a state of relaxation, his closed eyes a sign that he's settling down, becoming comfortable in his new position.

That's how the rest of the night goes. You stroking his hair, the rhythmic touch making him drowsy, his warmth making you sleepy and soon the both of you drift back into dreamland, curled around each other underneath the blanket.

When you wake up, it's one of the rare times you're up first. Bucky's locks are messily spread all over, your hand still buried in them. His lips slightly parted as he breathes, his chest rising and falling. You can feel each breath he takes, a small reminder that despite everything he's been through, he's still as human as you are. His lips are curved slightly upwards, vastly different from the frown that always plasters his face and he looks peaceful. The nightmares must have been left behind in his room, and hopefully he managed to get enough good sleep in yours.

You spent a few more moments admiring the serene sight before you, knowing you'll only get another moment like this during the next blue moon and force yourself to lie as still as possible, hoping you won't wake him up. It works, until the alarm you forgot you had set the night before shrieks and startles Bucky awake.

He lashes out instinctively, catching you in your stomach but fortunately years of training save your poor self from most of the impact. The tangled mess of blanket falls to the floor as Bucky's eyes flick around wildly, analysing his surroundings for threats. You quickly shut off the alarm and slowly raise your hands in surrender, looking down at the bed.

"It's just me, Buck. That was the alarm I forgot I set, I'm so sorry."

"Y/N?" His voice comes out in pants, fists tightly clenched.

"Yeah, it's me. Do you know where you are?" You slowly lift your gaze to meet his, letting out a small sigh of relief when you see he's calmed down.

"Your room, judging from the tacky decorations alone." He searches your eyes for something, then exhales, lowering his fists. "It looks even worse in the day."

"Thanks," you drawl, unsure whether to feel annoyed or amused that even in such a state, he refuses to stop poking fun at you. "Didn't ask for your opinion on my room's decorations. Water?"

"If it means not needing to stare at your terrible taste any longer."

"Next time I'm kicking you to the couch in the living room."

"At least the decorations there aren't gaudy."

You roll your eyes, flipping him off as you slide off the bed to get two glasses of water. Bucky remains seated on your bed, but leans over to pick up the blanket from the floor and dusts it off before bundling it onto the table. Then you hear him slide off the bed and open your cupboard before letting himself back onto your bed.

"Isn't it a crime to rifle through someone's wardrobe?" You hand him a glass and take a sip from yours.

"I didn't rifle through your wardrobe. Not like there's anything to see anyways." He lifts the glass to his lips and gulps down half of its contents in one go.

"So should I be weirded out that you remember where I keep my blankets?" You gesture to the fresh set of blanket that now rests on your bed.

"They're not that hard to find."

What a lie. You know where you keep your blankets, and that's in back of the third drawer. He's either memorised where they actually are, or he's looked through the top two drawers, or he's gotten extremely lucky and opened the third drawer as the first drawer to check for blankets.

"Oh really? How many drawers did you check before finding them?"

"One."

"And the one you chose to open so happened to contain my blankets?"

"You could say I'm pretty lucky." He smirks at you and you nearly slap him, if not for the glass in your hand and last night.

"So if I asked you to take something else from my wardrobe you'd get it right the first try?"

"Probably." He shrugs, finishing his cup before changing the subject. "How long does it take for you to drink one glass of water?"

You immediately fall for the bait, inhaling the rest of the water in your glass and shove the empty glass at him, struggling not to cough but to no avail. You force yourself to swallow the water in your mouth before coughing, causing only little droplets water to fall onto the bed. Your vision blurs as you cough but the feeling of the warm hand that rubs your back is as clear as day.

"Don't die while drinking water, that would be a stupid way to go." There's a hint of amusement in his voice as he speaks into your ear before leaving to wash the glasses once he's certain you're fine. You collapse onto your bed with a groan that's broken off by a cough and hear Bucky laugh in response.

"I'm not dying!" You shout.

"Sure you aren't!" He laughs back. You let out a huff of exasperation, folding your arms and pout as Bucky comes into view. He sits on your bed, flicking you in the forehead before lying down next to you, soft blue eyes sparkling in contentment. His hand automatically moves towards yours, thumb brushing over the back of your palm before slotting his hand into yours, giving it a squeeze. You roll on top of him, eliciting a grunt of surprise before sliding your other hand into his metal one. He hesitantly pulls away, giving a small shake of his head and you immediately know what his nightmare was about.

"I know you won't hurt me," you murmur, but rest your hand next to his metal one. "I trust you."

"I don't trust me." He whispers. "I…"

His throat bobs, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "I'll hurt you."

"I doubt so. I have you wrapped around my little finger and you know it." You try to lighten to mood a little.

"But if — the trigger words — I —" He struggles to form a coherent sentence, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Then I'll just reach in and pull James Buchanan Barnes back to the surface once more."

He locks gazes with you, blinking away the tears.

"What if you can't?" He chokes out.

"Then I'll fulfill that promise I made. I'll end us both."

"I don't want to make you to do that."

"Means you'll have to fight too. I can't be doing all the work." You offer him a smile. "We'll face it together, do this together, just like we always do. You will never be alone, I promise."

His metal hand brushes against your flesh hand, tentative and you place a finger on his open palm. An invitation, a request. He shifts his hand so that it's directly beneath yours and reaches up with his fingers to grasp your entire palm. The coolness of the metal seeps into your warm palm and you feel him intertwine his fingers with yours, no longer as afraid of hurting you.

I'll always be by your side.

I'll always have your back.

I'll always be there for you.

[sirladysketch]

I'm so sorry to hear you've been doing so poorly and hope the doctors can help you get things sorted asap. I've been doing a lot of pureed soups recently for digestive issues, hopefully some of these will be a step above just roasted veggies and overcooked pasta. (Links and suggestions below the cut)

Cream of Mushroom soup (Longwood Gardens recipe) - TBH just use veggie broth and the mushroom 'better than boullion' paste if you want more flavor. Add the spices into the broth itself and blend them up with the rest of the mushrooms and stuff. I've made this with extra creamy oatmilk for lactose reasons and it's absolutely delicious.

Creamy Vegetable Soup - The flavor in this one is nice and light and fresh (and can also be made milk-free). If residue is a concern, I would strain this before eating, but the broth itself is delicious.

Congee - I tend to wing it in terms of seasonings and toppings but congee/jook on its own is good for temperamental tummies.

Chicken Wontons - These may be a little too high residue, but you might be able to blend down the veggies and meat (or fake meat crumbles) to an easier-to-digest consistency. I eat these a lot when my stomach is acting up.

Good Old-Fashioned Pancakes - These are some of the lightest, airiest pancakes I've ever made, and probably soft enough that you won't have any trouble digesting them.

JP's Big Daddy Biscuits - Another bread-y recipe, but soft and delicious and filling. They can be a bit rich though, so if you have trouble with grease/buttery things I would make smaller sized dough balls.

Pumpkin Pie Mousse - I doubled the spices in this because I like my pieces to bite back, but this had a nice flavor and went down smoothly.

Sea Salt Ice Cream - Because there's something to be said about eating ice cream when your life is crumbling around you.

hey guys check it out I can do a frontside 180 with my stomach haha

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Punishment Author's Notes: Imma be honest, I hated that last drabble. Hopefully this one is better Warnings: MDNI, Angst, Depictions of hospitals

“Oi, he’s waking up!”

Price hasn’t felt this horrible after a mission in a very long time. Normally, he’ll come back from an op with sore muscles, bruised skin, maybe an occasional stab or gun shot wound, but never anything too serious. But right now, his body felt like it got hit by a semi-truck…

Well, technically, a rocket, but it all hurts the same. 

One minute, Price is on some remote mountain side, bickering with a Russian brute and the next, he’s on base, clearly in the med-bay, with his entire team hovering over him.

“This has to be hell,” he grumbles as he tries to get up but is quickly stopped by his Lieutenant.

“Don’t. You took some serious damage,” the second-in-command scolds. 

Price just rolls his eyes and waves off Ghost’s concern. “I’m fine. Just needed a few hours to sleep it o—“

“You were out for two weeks, Cap,” Kyle states. Price stares at his sergeant in disbelief. He goes quiet as he recalls his last few minutes of consciousness. John remembers glaring at the Kor-tac lieutenant when a speeding projectile behind the operator suddenly caught his attention and, on instinct, pulling the Russian out of the way before everything going dark. Since he’s still breathing, Price concludes that the projectile must have landed near him. 

“Jesus,” Price groans. “How’s the Lieutenant?” 

“Woke up a few days ago. Him and his men are across the hall.” 

Price hums in acknowledgment. He looks around the curtained room and realizes that there’s a chair missing in his room. “Where have they been sitting?” Kyle, Gaz, and Soap look at their captain confused.

“Who?” Ghost asks. 

John says your name. His eyes haven’t left the three chairs that stand by his bed. He really couldn’t believe his men. He hopes they at least had the decency of offering you a seat when you came to visit. Or maybe you opted to visit on your own to watch over the old man? John won’t admit it but the thought of you keeping him company past visitor hours, maybe holding his hand and begging him to wake up, warms his heart. While still asking for you, he scoots to the left side of the bed so you can sit to his right. 

“There, now there’s space for all of us. Know when they’re coming by?” John joyfully asks. His joy is cut short when he looks up and sees his boys glum faces. “What?” 

The three men throw each other a look before Kyle breaks the news. “Cap’n.” John didn’t like the tone of Gaz’ voice. “They haven’t visited since we’ve gotten back.” 

“Oh,” Price huffs out as a wave of exhaustion overcomes him. He thanks the sergeant for the information and asks the team to take a seat. The entire room goes silent as they note their captain’s fatigue.

However, that silence doesn’t last long.

“Cap’n?” Soap asks. Ghost and Kyle glare at him, annoyed that the Scotsman is interrupting their captain’s rest. John just turns towards Soap and nods his head, signaling the man to speak. “What had you so distracted back there?” Kyle and Ghost turn their attention back to the captain. Neither will admit it but they too are curious for answer. 

John takes in a deep breath as he recalls his dreaded conversation with Nikto. “Gentleman, I made a mistake.” However, before Price can admit his wrongs, his eyes catch a familiar figure.

You walk past without a second glance at Price’s room. The 141 just sit and stare. You’re clearly in a good mood. Your stride has a slight bounce to it as you make your way into another set of curtains diagonal to the 141 captain. A savory aroma hits them after you pass by, probably from the bag you’re holding in your hands. 

None of them say anything as you greet their most recent allies. Nothing had to be said. It’s clear that they all still have feelings for you. However, instead of puffing their chests and sizing the other up, they just resign themselves to the fact, because what’s the whole point anymore? Look at them, they’re all tired and bruised, and none of them have you. What was the whole point of bottling up their feelings if you’re not here with them?

And that realization only makes each passing hour you spend with the Kor-tac boys hurt more and more. Every laugh or groan of your voice made the glaring chasm between you and the 141 clearer and clearer. How did they let things get this bad? 

— — — 

Now with your sides hurting and face aching, you finally call your visit with the Kor-tac boys to an end. Your heart warms as they all groan in disappointment. 

“Duty calls,” you reason. You grab your empty tupperware and give the three soldiers sitting on the bed a small hug. 

“Fuck duty. Just slack off. It’s not like you’re going to be here any longer,” Horangi counters as you two embrace. Bedrest doesn’t stop Nikto from smacking Horangi in the back of the end. 

“Shut it you. No one knows about the transfer yet,” the injured lieutenant scolds. 

You hold back a laugh and shoot Nikto a grateful smile. He’s right. No one, but Laswell knows, and honestly, you want to tell the 141 personally once Price is up and moving again. After a final set of goodbyes, you bid the team a goodnight and leave Nikto’s room.

As you walk down the quiet hall of the med-bay, you think back at Horangi’s words. He has a point. With Kor-tac’s offer, you really didn’t need to work as hard as you have for the 141 anymore. You can just slack off and wait until you give the 141 your resignation. 

However, that’s not you. You’re not a quitter. God knows that’s why you’ve lasted so long here. If anything, you want to show these guys that no matter what, you have never once faltered in performance. That, despite them icing you out, you still have the decency to look them all in the eye and tell them you’re leaving.

Unlike them. 

Maybe that’s why you’re not just slacking off. Because maybe after months of isolation and being the bigger person, you can finally get an answer to why? What did you do to deserve this? Because despite all the reasons you gave them, none of them has come close to explain why they iced you out. And as much as you want to let that go, you can’t. 

You just can’t. 

Because 141 was supposed to be your team. 

They were your team… even if it was just for a bit. 

So much that you subconsciously glance at Price’s room, and instead of seeing an unconscious John, you’re met with those piercing blue eyes. 

“John?”

— — — 

John wasn’t expecting this. 

He didn’t expect you to look over. 

He didn’t expect you calling his name.

And he especially didn’t expect you walking into this room, eyes wide with so many emotions.

“You’re awake,” you observe. You stop just at the edge of his bed, almost refraining yourself from coming any closer. “When did you wake up?”

“A few hours ago.”

You hum as you inspect him all over. 

John Price just stares at you since, for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t have any reinforcements, strategies, or even a back-up plan. 

At this moment, all he has is his heart and one chance to get this right. 

“Sweetheart.” John doesn’t miss the way your body tenses at that. His throat goes dry when your eyes reaches his. Have you always looked this tired? “I—“

“Kor-tac offered me a position.” 

John feels the curtains of his room wrap around him. You can’t leave him. You can’t leave the 141. When Nikto confronted him about how they were treating you, he took it as a warning, a wake-up call, not a full-on declaration of war. He thought he had more time. He thought he would be able to fix his mistake. 

However, before he has a chance to beg you to stay, Laswell and the rest of the 141 appear. Kate walks in while Kyle, Ghost, and Soap freeze by the entrance, shocked by your presence. 

You don’t give anyone a chance to speak to you as you immediately excuse yourself and leave the room. John calls after you but Kate tells him to stop.

“Let them be. We need to talk.”

Word Count: 1426

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[asterafroditis]

hiii how u doing? (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

if reqs r open, could u do a silver x reader where they make breakfast together or smth like that?

𐔌 . ⋮ soft start to the day .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆ Silver Vanrouge x gn! reader

𓏵 739 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 2nd Person POV, no pronouns used, fluff

I've been doing great, thank you! Imagining this was so cute, hopefully I fulfilled your request! ^^ feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

The kitchen was still half-shadowed by morning light when you walked in, rubbing at your eyes and yawning. The scent of something warm—eggs, maybe—greeted you first. Then you saw him.

Silver stood by the stove, dressed in loose sleepwear and a slightly oversized hoodie. His usually tidy hair was sleep-mussed, sticking out at angles that were somehow both messy and adorable. A wooden spatula moved slowly in his hand as he stirred scrambled eggs with the kind of focus usually reserved for swordplay.

Or, in his case, staying awake.

“You’re gonna fall asleep standing up again,” you said softly, voice still scratchy with sleep.

Silver turned at the sound, his expression brightening. “Good morning,” he murmured. Then, as if proving your point, he yawned halfway through the sentence and blinked slowly, like a cat in a sunbeam.

You smiled, crossing the room and reaching for the spatula. “Okay, hand it over, Sleeping Beauty. I’ve seen people stir soup faster in dreams.”

He blinked down at the pan, clearly weighing whether to protest, but in the end he surrendered the spatula without a word. You took over, cracking another egg and moving with natural rhythm. The kitchen filled with the gentle sound of sizzling.

Silver retreated to the small table by the window and sank into a chair with the kind of slow, deliberate motion that only half-awake people manage. The early sun filtered in through sheer curtains, painting golden stripes across his face and shoulders. You glanced over and caught him watching you, head resting on one hand.

“What?” you asked, amused.

“You’re good at this,” he said, voice low and honest.

“At cooking?”

“At mornings.” He paused, his gaze soft. “At making them peaceful.”

You pretended not to freeze up. “You say things like that so easily.”

“Only when I mean them.”

You turned back to the eggs to hide the way your face warmed, scooping the food onto plates along with toast and lightly crisped vegetables from the pan you’d started before. You carried them over to the table and set one in front of him.

“Here. Eat before you pass out onto your eggs.”

“Thank you,” he said simply, and began to eat without hesitation, clearly trusting whatever you’d made.

The two of you ate in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the occasional clink of silverware and the faint chirping of birds outside. Under the table, your legs brushed. Neither of you moved away.

“You always get up this early?” you asked eventually.

He nodded. “It’s habit. Father used to have me train at dawn.”

“Of course he did,” you said, smiling. “And now you spend your mornings almost falling asleep onto frying pans.”

“I manage,” he said, eyes amused. “You worry too much.”

You raised a brow. “Someone has to.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he finished his plate and leaned back slightly in his chair, watching you finish yours with the quiet satisfaction of someone content just to be there.

After a few moments, he said, “I’ll probably nap again after this.”

You set your fork down. “Where?”

He shrugged, slow and comfortable. “Anywhere. A couch. The common room. Your shoulder, if that’s an option.”

Your heart thudded once, too loud in your chest.

“You’re lucky I’m weak to your sleepy charm.”

“I know,” he replied simply.

You both stood to clear the dishes. You took his from his hands, brushing your fingers against his, and he didn’t pull away. Once the plates were in the sink, you turned and found him still watching you.

His voice was quiet, but steady. “Thank you… for this. It’s rare to have mornings like these.”

You gave a soft smile, nudging his arm. “Then we’ll make more.”

There was a pause. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned in—just a little—and rested his forehead against yours for a moment. A silent thank you. A promise.

When he pulled back, his expression was soft with something warmer than sunlight.

“I’ll try not to fall asleep while drying the dishes,” he said.

“No promises needed,” you replied, already grabbing a towel. “I’ve got you covered.”

In the quiet clatter of dishes and the warmth of shared morning light, you both understood something without needing to say it:

Being here, together, like this—it wasn’t just enough. It was everything.

[chunkitakii]

facesitting and “lux, it won’t fit 💔” with 3D lux 😋

In my mind i just turned into Junkrat and said “IVE GOT AN IDEA💡”

Lux/Mr. Ring-A-Ding NSFW *Face-sitting* HEADCANNON!!!

WARNING: this will contain facesitting, power imbalance, and Lux being the little asshole he is.

But omgggg, now that he’s HUGE and in 3D. I feel like face sitting would be a big YES for him.

Like when he had first turned 3D, and looked down at you for the first time. OH BOY, you could physically see a lightbulb on top of his head.

I wrote it out bcuz why not LOLOLOL.

Lux had made the mistake of accidentally bathing in the sun.

This all had happened when he fell asleep, after playing many rounds of chess with you, underneath an open window. When he fell asleep, it was nighttime. So him falling asleep in the moonlight occurred often. But today, it seemed like he was extra tired knowing that he fell asleep through his transformation.

He soon woke il feeling a little, different. Feeling a little bigger than usual, feeling a little more…3D.

(A/N: Ik Lux used the Doctors light to build a body, but idk how else Lux would have built one in this. So him bathing in sunlight was the only thing that popped up in my little head.)

You were currently organizing some film to Mr. Pyes request. The poor man hasn’t had any sleep in days, hopefully you can at least get some stuff off of his plate so he can take care of himself.

Lux was currently somewhere doing anything he can on his mind. Which even makes you wonder what he does for fun around here.

You simply shrugged it off and continued your work. Humming a soft tune to help with the quiet atmosphere around here.

“Oh~Sunshine!~”

Damn it…

“Yes, Lux?” You answered in the room, waiting for his answer across the hall. You wondered if he was going to bother you about the light again and how they were too dim, or maybe how he has been so bored lately, maybe he going to bother you about another game of Jacks.

“Can you be a lovely doll and come here? I just want to see my beautiful ray of sunshine! The light of my life! My firefly in the night-sky! My beloved!-”

“Okay-Okay, i’m coming!”

You let out an exaggerated sigh as you put down the film onto a nearby table. Ever since Lux showed up, you can’t get any work done. You didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

You made your way our the room and into the theater itself. Giving out a light stretch before addressing the toon that craved your attention.

“Okie Dokie Lux, what do you- WHAT THE F-!”

“Surprise!~”

And there he was, in all of his monstrously huge glory. Standing on the stage of the theater room, if he reached his hands up, he could definitely reach the roof. Lux was roughly about 10+ feet taller than you.

Lux looked different but the same at the same time. Lux was so detailed, to the bottoms of his feet to the tips of his antennas. It freaked you out, very much so that you subconsciously started to step back away from him.

Lux saw this, of course. Yet he couldn’t help but feel worried or smug about this. He can tell his new form made you uneasy, but he couldn’t hell but feel a sense of pride in that. Lux didn’t want you to run away in feel of him.

Lux needed a way to make you feel comfortable with him.

Locking his eyes back to you, he finally realized how small you were in-front of him. Your small form slightly quivering before him, and oh how it was adorable…

…Bingo.

“Oh sweetheart, why don’tcha’ come down here to the stage…” Lux taunted, trying to get you to come closer to him.

You whimpered quietly as you saw him take a step forward towards you. If he was smaller, it would have been 4 or 5 steps. But since he’s bigger, all it took was one.

You took a couple of steps back. You weren’t stupid enough to not get what he was trying to do. Lux had something in mind, something you couldn’t quite figure out. And you didn’t know if you wanted to stay any longer to find out.

“N-no, I’m good here thanks…” You muttered out. You made the mistake of turning your head to lock eyes with the door to escape. As soon as you did, you heard loud and quick footsteps run towards you.

Seeing a huge, 3D Ring-A-Ding run towards you full speed and grab you like you were a stuffed tog was not on your bingo card today…

A large hand was wrapped around your body, its three fingers both held you steady and kept you from pushing away any further. They also had enough grip to you lift your shirt up just a little.

It was Lux’s enormous hand that kept you in place. Keeping you from wiggling and writhing away from him. Or, in better explanation, his mouth.

Lux sat back onto the theatre stage, lying back far enough to crane his neck upwards so you can be positioned just above his face.

His huge tongue licked and prodded at your lower half, licking and sucking you bare. And of course, Lux did it with the brightest smile on his face, like he was eating a full course meal.

Just seeing you, head tilted back with the most loveliest moans that rolled off of that sweet tongue of yours. Your face skewered in pleasure, and not a word formed out of your mouth other than many yes’s and please’s. And by the stars, how he loved every single bit of it.

The sight of your little body above his face, with those little cries of yours. He would simply parish right then and there. You were just so cute, wiggling in pleasure in his hand, pushing and pulling his fingers near you and away from you. Lux just wanted to crush you from how adorable you are…

He didn’t know how long he has been at it, but it didn’t matter. Just as long as he tasted your sweet nectar more than once, he can live a perfect life.

He too felt himself moans in delight at the taste of you. Never once in his existence has he tasted anything like yours, and Lux made sure he was going to savor every last bit of it.

You, however, couldn’t decide if you’re were uneasy with the situation, or loving it. Your instincts had told you to run and get away from Lux. Hovering above his mouth, it was like you were prey, ready to get devoured whole.

Yet your body betrayed you, feeling all sorts of pleasure coming from Lux quickly shut down those instincts real quick. And honestly, with how big Lux is and how small you were compared to him. It sort of pleased you in way. You didn’t know why, but you’ll focus more on that thought after Lux is done with you.

Now for the other bit, I’m not sure how to start it but I’m just going to throw in some little points of how it would be like. 😭

I feel like he would be so into it, taking you in this bigger form. But you are SO quick to tear it down.

This toon is over 10 feet tall, just imagine what he’s packing underneath. Let’s be real here, you’re going to rip in half.

Gonna write a little scene of it anyway…

“Lux, I don’t think we can do this...” You nervously chuckled out. Nervously glancing at Lux and his ‘joy stick’.

Lux currently still hand you in his grasp, but he laid you down onto a blanket that was laid on the stage floor. He was still lining you down nevertheless.

His regions, however, was literally the size of your leg if not more. You didn’t plan to die today, so you did not want to take that chance.

After a while of thinking, Lux just ended up grinding his shaft on your smaller form until he finished. And oh boy, you were covered in it.

So taking Lux in his huge ass 3D form, is a no. Because let’s be honest, no human can take more than 30 inches.

But the toon still has fun eating you to the bone. :))

[tossawary]

When I was a tweenager, I really liked the Percy Jackson series and I would have lost my mind over getting a Camp Half-blood t-shirt, but they weren't... available? That wasn't a thing you could buy, at least not locally and/or officially, and it was whatever. Book series getting merch was - okay, this may just be recency bias - but it was, as far as I personally remember, understandably mainly the realm of the mega-popular and linked to their film adaptations. Your average author did not - and still does not - have the audience, the money, and the time to get cool and easily available merch going. It's work. It's a risk.

Okay, so, THEN about 10+ years after that (several years ago now), I had a younger family member who is, perhaps, even MORE obsessed with Percy Jackson than I ever was. "Oh, I could get them a Camp Half-blood t-shirt for their birthday, they'd love that," I said, thinking that it has become easier than ever to buy stuff off the internet, both officially licensed and not. And if nothing else, I could probably draw the damn logo myself and get a local place to make something, right? But we were, at this point, SEVERAL best-selling mythology series in (SERIES of best-selling books for children), so I kind of thought to myself, "There MUST be a way to buy this officially by now. Easily. This is, due to the shitty way that the world works, one of the easiest items to have a company make for you: a t-shirt with a logo on it. You can partner with one of the many, MANY t-shirt companies to have them handle all of the printing and shipping for you." I still couldn't find official shirts.

And I'm still confused about what exactly happened there. Like, you can buy official shirts NOW due to the new television show (hilariously not in my country, last I checked, but hopefully that's changed), but were the rights to print these shirts previously locked up with the studio that made those terrible movies? (I could believe that. That seems like the extremely likely sort of asshole move any studio would pull in a contract.) Was there not one t-shirt company willing to take up the mantle and say, "I will do it. I will put black ink on hideously orange shirts for geeky 10-year-olds," because a best-selling book series was too risky a property and the movies flopped? Did both the author and publisher just not... think of that as a potential revenue stream? Like, you could have made themed Camp Half-blood shirts for each individual cabin (plus the other gods initially without cabins) and put them in bookstores or on the author's website and 10-year-old me would have wanted ALL OF THEM.

I'm not trying to undermine the amount of work that goes into creating anything here, I know how slim the margins can be in any business especially if you are trying to be ethical about it, but Percy Jackson was not and still isn't your "average" book series in terms of popularity and success. Why did it take like 20 years for me to see officially licensed Camp Half-blood t-shirts? Just... what's up with that? What happened there?

[aceecee]

Salvage - Prologue

Salvage

To save from destruction, damage or ruin.

In other words, please let him fix it.

WC: 716

Masterlist

The revving of his motorcycle engine is barely heard.

Heavy rain falls down onto him, making contact with the ground. He’s the only soul around for miles. Not a single thing can be seen through his visor, something detrimental for any normal fool in this position. But he was neither a fool nor normal. He knew these streets like the back of his hand, he’s confident he can get to Point B from Point A blindfolded if ever needed. 

It won’t ever be needed. But it never fails to have plans set up for all sorts of scenarios. 

The set of coordinates on his phone that is currently safely tucked into his pockets lead him to a twist of alleys. He’ll have to get off here and walk the rest. The shelter in the alleys gives him reprieve from the rain. The coordinates lead him to an abandoned shack. He enters the freight elevator, only one other floor is available. He presses the button.

When the door opens, he’s greeted by the sight of a deteriorated room. The only furniture is the desk in the middle of the room, the wood it’s made out of is chipped. It’s accompanied by a chair. There’s a single laptop on the desk. It’s the only thing out of place, with one glance he can tell it must have cost its owner a pretty penny. The laptop is left open, the screen being the only light source. Per his request there are no cameras around. A good sign. 

He walks over to the chair and sits down. The screen shows a normal chatroom. He’s already been logged in as ‘Mr Sylus’. His hands move to the keyboard. 

Mr Sylus Hello.

He waits. A chat bubble pops up.

Nocturne We finally meet, Mr Sylus. I trust you found your way with no issues?  I’d apologize for the rain but I don’t exactly control the weather. 

Mr Sylus We do have something called a ‘weather app’.

Nocturne We do. You could’ve easily rescheduled. 

Mr Sylus A little rain never bothered anyone.

Nocturne I suppose you’ve considered my offer then? What is your answer?

Mr Sylus I can’t help but be curious as to why you reached out to me. I was under the impression that you targeted those just like me. 

Nocturne It’s a common misconception. I target those who get greedy. Greedy in a way that gets normal people hurt. I don’t believe that's you, Mr Sylus. 

Mr Sylus I like to believe that too. But what can you offer that I don’t already have?

Nocturne A lot, Mr Sylus :) For now, information. Here, I have a gift for you.

Nocturne attaches a file after their response. He clicks on it. It’s a folder, filled with videos, texts and images. 

Nocturne Everything you need to take down Mr Astor. I do believe he’s been trying to interfere with your trade. There’s enough blackmail in that folder to hopefully avoid any bloodshed.

Mr Sylus Scared of a little red?

Nocturne Not at all. I just like to avoid unnecessary violence. 

Mr Sylus If I do agree to a partnership, how do I know you won’t turn on me?

Nocturne Do you think you’re the richest person here, Mr Sylus?

Mr Sylus I don’t think.  I know.

Nocturne Good. As long as that fact never changes, you’ll have my loyalty.  My help doesn’t come cheap :)

He finds himself laughing. Honesty is always refreshing in this business. He can’t help the smile on his face throughout the entire exchange. His body relaxes in the chair.

Mr Sylus Ah, you’re greedy. Just like the ones you hunt.

Nocturne I never said I wasn’t. You’re greedy too, Mr Sylus. The only difference we have is that it’s our strength. We hunt those who possess it as a weakness. Now, what is your answer?

Mr Sylus I agree. Come work for me. I’ll pay you whatever you desire.

Nocturne Wonderful.  I’ll be in touch in a couple of days. Take the computer, Mr Sylus. It’ll be our form of communication.

Mr Sylus I came all the way out here and even risked you seeing my face. You’re not going to show yours?

Nocturne Be a good boy. Then we’ll see.  Goodbye, Mr Sylus. 

Mr Sylus Goodbye, Nocturne.

Tag list: @definitely-asexual-volcano

[better-setterv2]

Hi, I read your last fic, I it was great like all of them are and I had an idea. Could I request a fic about Reader and Lewis having an age gap of like 15 years or so. And both are struggling with it because of what people might say, but they still love each other. So they have a talk about it, and it‘s quite angsty but ends happily?

Thank you!

𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑒 𝑀𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓉

Authors Note: Hi all! Here is a one-shot someone requested. Hopefully it’s okay, I tried to make it detailed and a good length. Lots of love xx

Summary: A deeply emotional night lays bare Lewis’s fear that he’s holding you back because of your age difference. But though unwavering love, you both choose each other anyway.

Warnings: angst, 15-year age-gap

Taglist: @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You remember that night like it lives under your skin.

The early days were nothing like the relationships you’d had before.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t play games. He texted when he said he would. He showed up when he promised. He sent you flowers after your first date real ones, not just a story-post. He remembered things: your favourite pasta place, the song that made you cry in traffic, your little habit of talking to the dog in the park like it could answer.

But what surprised you most wasn’t the romance it was the patience.

You were still figuring things out - your career, your place in the world, your voice.

There were nights you came home exhausted, unsure of yourself, questioning if you were doing enough. He never tried to solve you. He just sat beside you, handed you tea and told you, “You’re allowed to not have it all figured out. You have time.”

And he meant it.

You remember the first time he saw you cry. It wasn’t pretty. You were overwhelmed from a late-night anxiety spiral after an argument with your parents, an assignment you thought you’d failed, a thousand little things crashing down all at once.

You hadn’t meant to cry in front of him. You tried to hide in the bathroom, wiping your face like that would erase the evidence.

But he came in anyway, sat on the floor with you.

Didn’t speak for a while. Just handed you tissues.

Then he said softly, “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

It broke you more than anything else could have.

And maybe that’s when you truly fell in love not the rooftop, not the dates but right there, on the cold bathroom tile, with your face blotchy and red and him beside you like it was the most natural place in the world. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The soft hum of the television fills the room, barely louder than the rain painting streaks across the windows. Outside, the city glows under a wash of slick pavement and amber streetlights, but inside, the world feels paused as though even time itself is holding its breath.

The movie plays on. Some slow, aching romance, full of longing glances and people who don’t say what they mean until it’s nearly too late. You’ve stopped following it.

Your eyes are open, but unfocused somewhere in between watching and waiting. A half-full glass of wine sits on the coffee table, untouched, the condensation slipping down the stem in slow, uneven trails. Your legs are stretched across Lewis’s lap, your ankles tucked loosely together, and his arm rests behind you along the back of the couch.

Still. Too still.

If you were anyone else, you might not notice. But you know him too well or at least, you used to.

His fingers haven’t moved in ten minutes. No absentminded brushes against your leg, no subtle tug of the blanket you’re sharing. Nothing but breath and distance. His body is next to yours, but his mind it’s not here. It’s not with you.

And maybe your heart aches at the thought that maybe it hasn’t been for a while.

You study him through your lashes. The sharp line of his jaw locked tight. The muscle ticking in his temple like a metronome. The soft bounce of his foot, subtle and repetitive - the kind of restless twitch he only gets when something’s gnawing at him and he’s trying not to let it show.

You lean in slightly, nudging him with your elbow, voice quiet. “Lew. You good?”

He blinks once, then again, slower like he’s surfacing from deep water.

When his eyes land on yours, there’s something about the look that makes your stomach dip. It isn’t surprise. It’s something worse. Like for a second, he’d forgotten you were there. And the fact that he did that hurts more than it should.

“Yeah,” he says too quickly, his voice tight. “Just tired.”

A lie. Not cruel. Not even deliberate. It’s the kind of lie people tell when they’re trying to shield you from the storm gathering behind their own ribs. The kind meant to protect. The kind that builds walls instead of bridges.

You don’t push not yet.

Instead, you shift, curling closer, resting your head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t lean in or away. He just stays where he is warm, familiar, unmoving. He smells like cedar-wood and expensive cologne, the kind he pretends not to care about but always wears for you anyway.

But even with your body pressed to his, there’s a canyon between you. Wide. Deep. Carved slowly, silently, over time by things neither of you said when you should have.

The movie ends. The credits roll with soft piano notes that only make the silence louder. Your chest tightens as you wait, sensing the shift about to come.

Lewis exhales. A sound that drags out of him like it hurts. Not just tired heavy. Like he’s been carrying something too long.

“I saw something today,” he says at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

You sit up instinctively, turning toward him. “Yeah?”

He rubs a hand across his jaw, the scrape of it soft but raw. “Someone posted a picture of us from the gala. The one last week.”

You nod slowly, already bracing.

His mouth twists into a bitter smile that never reaches his eyes. “The caption said, ‘She’s young enough to be his daughter.’”

It hits like a backhand cruel and calculated. Your stomach lurches, not just at the words but at the way he delivers them. Hollow. Detached. Like he’s already replayed them a hundred times in his head.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, even though it feels insufficient.

He shrugs or tries to. The gesture barely makes it halfway. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not like it’s new.”

But something about the way he says it - flat, final tells you this time, it’s not just noise. This time, it got in. Beneath the skin. Behind the armour.

“But lately…” He trails off, eyes fixed on something you can’t see. “Lately I’ve been wondering if maybe they’re right.”

The words land with a sickening thud, and your breath catches.

You stare at him. “Right about what?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just laces his fingers together so tightly his knuckles go white. Like he’s holding on to something that’s slipping anyway.

“That this isn’t fair to you,” he says, his voice rough. “That one day, you’ll wake up and wonder what the hell you were thinking. That you could’ve had something easier. Cleaner. Younger.”

You reach for him, but his body remains taut, still leaning back, still trying to protect you from something you didn’t ask to be shielded from.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t do that.”

“What happens when I can’t keep up?” he asks, eyes burning. “When my body gives out before yours does? When you want kids, and I’m not sure I have the stamina left to be the father you deserve? When I start to fade, and you’re still glowing like the fucking sun?”

His voice cracks on that last word. You flinch, not from the words but from the raw, unbearable honesty in them.

“You think I don’t think about it?” he continues, almost choking now. “You think I don’t lie awake wondering if loving you means I’m being selfish? That I’m stealing time from someone who hasn’t already burned half of theirs?”

“Lewis—” Your voice is thick, trembling. “You’re not stealing anything. You’re -”

He cuts you off, voice broken. “You deserve a beginning, not a man who’s already halfway to his end.”

And that’s what it is, you realise. Not just fear. It’s grief. Like he’s already mourning something that hasn’t even happened yet the version of your life he thinks you won’t get because of him.

Your heart shatters.

You rise to your knees and cradle his face in your hands, your thumbs sweeping over his jaw, soft and trembling. He resists looking at you until you speak.

“Look at me.”

His eyes find yours, slow and reluctant, and what you see in them makes your own vision blur devastation, shame, love. So much love.

“I didn’t fall in love with the years between us,” you say quietly. “I fell in love with you. All of you. The man who carries everything on his back and still shows up for the people he loves. The man who makes tea he doesn’t even drink because he knows it steadies my hands. The man who makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not too much.”

His breathing stutters. You press your forehead to his, your hands still cupping his face like he might disappear if you let go.

“You’re not holding me back,” you whisper. “You’re the reason I feel brave enough to move forward.”

He closes his eyes like the weight of your words is too much or maybe it’s the relief of finally hearing them. His hands find your waist, then your back, and he pulls you against him like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing tethering him to the surface.

“I don’t know how to stop being scared,” he says, voice muffled against your shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper into his hair. “Just don’t let the fear be louder than the love.”

For a long moment, you just hold each other not fixing, not promising, just being. Letting the silence carry the truth neither of you could say out loud before tonight:

That love, no matter how deep, doesn’t always silence doubt.

But it does mean choosing each other anyway.

Even when it hurts.

Especially when it hurts.

He kisses you then slow at first, like he's afraid he might shatter you or himself if he moves too quickly.

His lips tremble against yours, not from passion but from the weight of everything he’s been holding in every doubt, every sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling wondering if he’s good enough, young enough, enough. It’s not a kiss meant to ignite. It’s a plea. A confession. A desperate, unspoken question: Are you sure? Are you sure I’m still what you want?

And you kiss him back like you’re trying to answer all of it. Like you’re pouring every broken piece of your own into the spaces he thinks are unworthy, unlovable, too worn down to offer. You kiss him like you’re trying to glue him together with devotion shaky but unwavering.

When he pulls away, he doesn’t look at you right away. His breath is ragged, his eyes wet and his hands tremble ever so slightly where they’ve gripped your waist too tightly as if he’s terrified you might slip through his fingers if he lets go for even a second.

And maybe you would. Maybe that’s the fear rotting away inside him that no matter how tightly he clings, time will keep ticking, headlines will keep screaming and one day you’ll wake up and realise he’s no longer enough to make up for what the world says he lacks.

He doesn’t pull you into his lap so much as clings to you, burying his face into the hollow between your neck and shoulder like he’s ashamed of needing this so badly.

Like he doesn’t believe he deserves to want you this much. His arms wrap around you with a desperation that makes your heart ache not sweet or soft, but frantic. Like he’s bracing for the moment you vanish. Like if he holds you close enough, maybe the space growing between you will shrink. Maybe the doubt will quiet. Maybe the years will melt away, just for a little while.

And you hold him back just as tightly, fingers threaded through his loose braids, your cheek pressed to the top of his head. You say nothing because there’s nothing that words can fix, not entirely but you stay.

You stay. In the fear, in the silence, in the aching stretch of a love that sometimes hurts more than it heals. You stay because he needs you to. Because love isn’t always loud or easy or fair, sometimes it’s this: two people clinging to each other in the dark, hoping the sun will rise before the doubt wins.

And in that fragile stillness, wrapped in each other like lifelines, you both dare to believe just for tonight that love, your love, might be enough to silence the noise.

Maybe not forever.

But for now…it is. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The next morning you wake to the muted trill of your phone on the nightstand. Groggy, you swipe to read the notification another “exclusive” splash:

Hamilton and Mystery Woman: Age Difference Raises Eyebrows at Appearance

Your heart thumps in your throat as you scroll. The top comments have already piled up:

“She’s just chasing clout.”

“He’s clearly in a midlife crisis.”

“Gross. He could be her dad.”

“15-year age gap? God he’s a perv”

There’s no sting of tears just a cold, hollow ache. It isn’t shame you feel but worry. You know how deeply Lewis carries these words, how much he protects you from them, and how much they still wound him.

Sliding out of bed, you pull on slippers and pad through to the kitchen, where the morning light slants through floor-to-ceiling windows. He’s standing at the stove, oats bubbling in a copper pot, the soft beat of lo-fi jazz drifting from the speakers. Steam curls in the cool air.

He glances over his shoulder as you enter, eyes sharp and alert. “Saw it?” he asks, voice low.

You offer a small nod, your words catching midway. “I’m sorry. I hate that they do this to you.”

He shakes his head, tucking a stray loc behind his ear. “Don’t be. They don’t know us. They don’t know you.” He turns back to the oats, spooning them into two bowls.

But the tension in his shoulders tells another story. His mouth presses into a straight line, and you watch his normally relaxed posture stiffen.

You clear your throat. “You still want to go tonight? To the fashion event?”

He pauses, spoon hovering over the pot. You hold your breath. You imagine him saying it’s too much, that he’d rather keep you free of this glare. Instead, his jaw eases as he meets your eyes.

“Yeah.” He scoops a final spoonful and sets the pot aside. “Let’s show them.”

You stand before the full-length mirror in his bedroom, the soft light tracing the curve of your collarbone.

The black gown he picked for you hangs just off the ottoman, the fabric whisper-smooth in your hands. It’s nearly floor-length, with a thigh-high slit modestly hidden by the way you step into it. You slip on the dress and adjust the V-neck, so it sits perfectly, then smooth your fingers over the satin.

He enters behind you in the doorway, giving you a slow once-around. You’ve seen him stare like this before appreciative, tender and a tiny bit awed.

His navy suit is sharp, the lapels tailored to perfection, and his braids are pulled back so the profile of his cheekbones and jaw are crystal clear. Even the way he stands body relaxed, one hand in his pocket - looks impossibly cool.

“You look…,” he breathes, voice husky, “unbelievable.”

Your cheeks warm. “You’re not too bad yourself.” You offer him a wink.

He helps you into delicate stiletto heels and fastens a simple silver bracelet on your wrist. You reach for your clutch a slim, black leather envelope and together you head downstairs.

The car is waiting sleek, black, windows tinted. As you slide into the backseat, the flashbulbs already begin, staccato bursts of light against the doorframe. You catch your breath.

He leans in beside you, brushing his fingers through yours. “Ready?”

You nod, pressing your hand into his. “Ready.”

Stepping onto the rooftop terrace, your senses flood - the murmur of VIP guests, the soft glow of Edison bulbs strung overhead, the faint clink of champagne flutes. A gentle breeze stirs your hair, carrying the distant hum of city traffic below.

But the real spectacle is at the staircase: a line of cameras, microphones, and eager faces. Paparazzi jostle, voices rising in a swell of shouted questions:

“Lewis! Who’s your date?”

“Is age just a number to you?”

“What do you say to the critics?”

He doesn’t hesitate. Hand in yours like a lifeline, he guides you forward. “Evening,” he greets, voice smooth and warm. He tilts his head toward you. “My partner and I are happy to be here.”

You smile, lifting your chin to the lights. His confidence steadies you reminds you that these flashes don’t define you.

A reporter steps forward with a mic. “Lewis, you’ve faced scrutiny before how does it feel to have headlines about your personal life tonight?”

He glances at you briefly, then back to the camera. “It’s part of the job. But I’m proud of who I’m with.” His hand squeezes yours, just enough for the lens to catch. “That’s what matters.”

Click. Flash. You feel the weight lift off your chest.

You press on, direction of the main terrace, where guests applaud politely as you walk by. He angles his body slightly, shielding you from the harsher lights and you lean into him, remembering that protection feels like this.

Twenty minutes later, you slip inside to find a quieter corner overlooking the skyline. He orders two glasses of champagne, and you clink flutes, the crystal ringing clear against the distant din.

“Look at that,” he says, lifting his glass. “We did it.”

You laugh softly, the tension finally pouring out. “We did.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re incredible. Thank you for standing by me.”

Your heart swells. “Thank you for choosing me.”

He holds your gaze steady, unwavering before leaning across the small table to kiss you, passionately and deliberate.

The world may still talk, but right here, right now, it feels like yours alone.

[choerrysjubiles]

I've Got Nothin' To Lose

pairing: badboy!Sion x fem!reader

warning: sion's a pastor's son, violence (fight matches), smut! fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, pulling out, mentions of food, religion, gambling, barely proofread

wc: 5.1k

a/n: so... yall like the wishies? i started listening to them recently and i wanted to write a songfic for this but didnt know who to write then i thought "why not sion?"

also this is part one of a small series i'm doing :] i want to continue writing more elaborate things and i really loved the plot i was creating :D hopefully you all can enjoy this hehehe

song: Rain - Sunday (1994)

Sunday, 1991

Sunday mornings were spent with you rising far earlier than necessary. You felt your body naturally pull you awake as you looked at your alarm clock, 6:03, an hour earlier than necessary.

You pushed your blankets off of your body, feeling the cool air shock your body as you turned your alarm clock off. You moved to stand up, feeling your nerves shock from the your neck down to your ankles.

Mornings were humid but still cool, making the sticky air cling to your skin as you walked over to the bathroom to wash your face. You rinsed your face to got ready for your morning, feeling the cold water shock your system. You walked back to your bedroom, looking through your closet to search for the right dress to wear today.

Your parents were close to the pastor and his wife, close friends since childhood, and church was always something they stressed. A day for rest and to not forget the Lord, or something your dad said. You wouldn’t call yourself a big believer but church was able to offer sights for you to fixate on. You found the small, stuffy building to be enjoyable when your attention was focused on the pastor’s son as opposed to his sermon.

Peering around your closet, you saw all the clothes you’ve worn for the past month. The pink floral dress earlier in the month, the yellow blouse last week. Turning hangers over and checking more clothing you have yet to wear, you saw a white sundress. You believe your grandma made it, or maybe she bought it, but it was just the thing you needed.

It was modest enough for your mother to not worry about wearing a sweater with and because of the heat you’re sure she wouldn’t care for your lack of pantyhose with your ensemble.

The dress fit just right, zipping it up as you sat at your vanity, adding the tiniest bits of makeup, something your parents wanted to forbid in their house. Dabbing the faintest color to your lips, you fixed your hair as you heard the creaky door hinges echo, signaling your family waking up.

The drive was quick. Church was located in the middle of town, it was hard to miss the white lead paint and tall bell tower. As you stepped out of the car, smoothing out your dress, you looked around, seeing if you could get a glimpse of him.

Your family set their things down in one of the pews, walking over to make smalltalk with the other churchgoers. And elder of your town talked to you, asking how you’ve been, what new things your mother is doing. After some minutes talking you were able to excuse yourself outside.

The outside of the church was almost pungent in the smell of grass. Everyone was insistent on keeping any parking a good distance from the church, making the plot full of trimmed grass and wildflowers. The lack of trees surrounding the parish made the smell even stronger, especially during any rainy season.

You scooted past the families coming in, peering over the corner to spot Sion crouched. Stepping closer, your foot landed on a branch, giving you away.

“Babydoll.” Sion gave you a lopsided smile.

You felt your cheeks warm, Sion always called you that and it always made your stomach twist into knots. His back relaxed against the wood planks of the building, looking up at you with a relaxed expression, like he was waiting to see you specifically.

“Sion, what are you doing here? You should be inside.”

“I needed some space, I came in earlier but the pastor—”

He had a habit of calling his father “The pastor,” you wondered it if was to distance himself from his dad.

“—had some words for me.”

You crouched beside him, looking at his face better, “What do you mean?”

“Just some nasty words, don’t worry about it, doll.”

You gasped lightly, “Sion, that’s horrible, I should-”

“Don’t do anything. It’s not worth it. I knew he didn’t want to see me around, shouldn’t have tried.”

“You’re his son, that’s now how a father should act.”

“That’d be nice, babydoll, but not all men are as chivalrous as they seem.”

You frowned, worried he might leave after your chat.

“Are you gonna stay for the sermon? You can leave if you want.”

“I can stay, doll.”

“You will?”

“You seem so happy to see me, why would I go?”

You felt your face burn at his words, unsure of what to say.

“Y/n,” You heard your mother’s voice.

You stood up, looking over the edge of the building to see her.

“The sermon is starting soon, bring Sion in.” She whispered the last part.

“Your mom wants me?” He asked, chucking as he stood up.

“Seems like it.” You began walking towards the entrance.

Sion followed behind you. You took your place beside your mother as Sion sat next to you. Your parish never filled out all of the pews so it was easy to find a place anywhere. Something about his commitment to being next to you made you feel special.

You heard your father whisper something to your mother, low and mumbled. You’re sure it’s about Sion, there isn’t a week that goes by where he isn’t chastising him or warning you to stay far from him. You had no idea why your father hated Sion, sure he hung around some shady people but who cares? He’s a pastor’s son, why wouldn’t he be rebellious?

As the sermon started, you saw Sion’s father stare at him for a moment before beginning.

“For you are saved by the grace through faith,”

His voice echoed throughout the chapel, almost shaking the wood panels and bouncing along the walls as the sound traveled higher towards the ceiling.

“and this is not from yourselves; it is God’s gift. Ephesians 2:8,”

You tried paying attention to his sermon, but you were hyperaware of Sion beside you. Your body tensed every time he shifted and relaxed against the pew, your nose picking up the grassy smell of his t shirt before getting hints of his cologne beneath.

You kept your hands folded on top of your lap, your skirt draped over your legs that felt almost too short when sat down beside him. You heard parts of the sermon, most droning out of your ears as you heard the pastor quote different sections.

You felt Sion’s hand drape down and fall beside your leg. This wasn’t a distraction you needed. His hand never moved, just laying there almost threateningly. He had the chance to touch you but he didn’t, almost teasing you as he pretends to listen to his father. This was driving you crazy, feeling your heart race with every new movement he made.

When the sermon ended, everyone stood to talk before leaving. Your mother was talking to your neighbors as you stretched out your legs, feeling far more cramped than usual.

You saw Sion’s father pull him aside to say something, you saw briefly as someone pulled you into a conversation. You talked about how you were doing, what college you were planning on attending. Your conversation was well ended when they began discussing how whorish other women were, regardless of what university they attended that wasn’t your state college.

You nodded as they continued ranting about how many parties and unchristian things other people do, to watch out for the devil worshippers and those who pray on good christians. You sighed in relief as your mother called you over.

You said your goodbyes before walking with your mother. Piling into the car, your father drove to the local diner. Something your town often did after church. Getting there early, you could see how empty the restaurant was before the herd of families arriving.

Your family sat at a table, ordering food, and saying grace before anything arrived.

“Sion was there the whole service today.” Your mother commented.

You nodded timidly, worried of what your father would say.

“He sure was.” Your father commented.

“It’s nice, he might be coming around to fill in his father’s job.”

You stayed silent, waiting for your waitress to come around and provide a distraction.

“That boy is far from faith.”

“Oh, come on, he can learn.”

Luckily, your food arrived. Now you could eat in almost silence.

“Dad, some of my friends wanted to meet for a bible study group.”

“How good, are they meeting today?” Your mother asked.

“Yes, they mentioned meeting up at the library.” You smiled.

“As long as that boy isn’t there.”

“Didn’t you just say he’s ‘Far from faith’?” Your mother laughed.

“He’s never been interested in any bible study, dad.”

You let out a dry laugh, finishing up your plate. When you left, your father drove you to the library, watching you enter the building before driving off.

Walking past the front counters, you made your way into the back section. You were grateful for how well the shelves hid the back sections from the front doors, anyone peering in would mostly see the front aisles and study tables.

Turning into the hidden nook, you saw Sion sitting against the wall with his walkman laid on his stomach. Seeing you arrive, he stopped the tape, taking the earphones off.

“Why do we meet here, again?”

You sat beside him, “Because no one in town would believe you’re using a library.”

“Right.” He nodded.

He put his walkman in his jacket pocket, you shifted to face him.

“What did your dad say?”

Your eyebrows scrunched in embarrassment, you shouldn’t pry into his business.

“What?”

“He said something after the sermon.” You asked.

“Something about attending church more.” He leaned further into the wall, “I need to make appearances for him, something about reputation.”

“Oh.” Your gaze moved to the carpet.

“You know,” Sion’s hand grasped your chin, pulling your attention to him.

“I have a fight later.”

“Sion, you need to stop that.” You pulled his hand from your face.

“I’m not fighting, I have someone I’m betting on.”

“Sure you do.”

“I’d like for you to be there.” He leaned in, giving you an earnest smile.

“You want me to attend one of your fights?”

“You’re my good luck charm.”

“Sion.” You sighed.

“It’s early this time. Seven.”

“My dad won’t believe I’m at bible study for that long.”

“You can bring a friend, make it believable.”

Your face tensed, thinking of what to do.

“Or,” Sion said, “I could sneak you out.”

“That’s an even worse idea.”

“You can come up with something.” He smirked at you.

“Where is it?”

“Abandoned factory.”

Sion leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I can get Camille or someone.” You say, wondering if you even could.

“Thank you, doll.”

He pulled you closer, laying on your hip to face him. He pressed a kiss on the corner of your mouth before holding your chin to press one against his lips. Your hand held onto his shoulder, stabilizing yourself from how dizzy you felt.

Pulling away, he begin kissing down to your neck.

“We’re in public.”

“Library on a Sunday, no one’s here.” He continued pressing kisses down to your collarbone, his hand cupping your breast.

“Librarians.”

“You act like we’re fucking.” He chuckled.

You pulled his hand from your breast, “Then why are you touching?”

Sion smirked before kissing your lips again. Pressing a long kissing against you, his hands wrapping to your back. Your hand moved to his neck, steadying yourself as he pulled you into his lap.

“Sion.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

His hand moved from your hip to your waist, holding you against him as you continued to kiss. His plush lips moving against yours in a slow rhythm. Your hands were holding onto his shoulders, grounding yourself as you felt yourself get lost in him. Your hands alternated between tightening and relaxing against him, feeling overwhelmed as he kissed you.

Pulling away, Sion trailed down to your jaw and neck. His nose engulfed in your scent as his teeth lightly scraped your skin, feeling your pulse crash against his teeth.

“Don’t leave a mark.” You groaned.

“I never do.”

You could feel his smirk along your skin.

“I mean it.”

Sion trailed back up, kissing your cheekbone, temple, forehead before landing a final kiss on your lips.

“Sometimes you really hate having fun.” He laughed.

After your two hours together, you both left the library. Sion walking to his car and you walking home.

Arriving home, you greeted your parents before heading to your room. Laying in your bed, you thought of how you were going to sneak out to go to Sion’s fight. You felt your heart race, most teenagers snuck out, it can’t be that hard.

You could say you’re helping Camille with something. Or Giselle asked to go somewhere with you. You could think of something, you’re sure.

Soon your mother called you down for dinner. You sat down, seeing your mother plate your food before handing one plate to your father. As she sat down, you all held hands and said grace.

As you all ate, your mother mentioned your friend, Karina.

“She called earlier, mentioning some kind of get together tonight.”

Did Sion get Karina to help you sneak out?

“Oh?” Your father asked.

“Yeah,” You said “she and some of my other friends are getting together before she moves out of town. Karina has a whole list of things to do before she leaves.”

“That’s nice.” Your mother says.

“A whole list involving what?” Your father asked.

“She did plan a sleepover, we haven’t done those since middle school.” You mention.

“She also wanted to take some pictures, go sightseeing and keep some pictures of here in case she gets homesick. I think she wanted to get some recipes from people, too.”

Your father nodded, “After dinner.”

You smiled, taking another bite of food as you wondered what Sion was up to.

After dinner, you washed the plates and cleaned the table, guilt creeping in as you wondered how well this plan could be pulled off.

“Don’t let us keep you, go out.” Your mother said.

“Be home before midnight.” Your father said.

“I will.” You assured him.

Checking your watch, it was 6:53, you began walking towards the building Sion mentioned. It was farther than usual and while you loved being punctual, none of these fights ever started on time.

You saw Karina, sat on the steps of your local convenience store.

“Y/n!”

You jogged over to her.

“Sion got you to call my mom?”

“Sorta, I would like us to get together for something before I leave. But tonight we’re seeing that fight.”

“You’re gonna see some guys hit each other for an hour?” You questioned.

“It’s about the experience, people always talk about it.” She laughed.

You two began walking together, you could see the tall factory behind some buildings.

“My parents are gonna ask what we’re doing.” You say.

“Lists or something. We, uh,” Karina thought for a second.

“We were eating junk food and planning my final week in town.”

You nodded, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She playfully hit your shoulder.

As you got closer, you saw Sion’s car parked, his prized ’70 Pontiac. You wondered where he got it from, he was always fixing something on it, changing the oil or fixing something under the hood.

Not too far from his car, you spotted Sion. Locking eyes, you smiled at him. He walked away from his friends, making his way towards you, a smirk plastering his face.

“I’m gonna go find Minjeong.” Karina said, walking towards the building.

“Okay, I’ll see you inside.” You waved goodbye.

As you and Sion stood in front of each other, he leaned down and kissed you.

“I missed you.” You smiled up at him.

“I’m sure you did, doll.”

You walked together, his arm slung over your shoulders as he led you into the building. You never liked going to these fights, too much violence for your tastes. You knew about them through your friends, usually hearing stories of people losing not only teeth but hundreds of dollars.

You never quite got the gambling aspect of it but maybe it was because you were never a gambler.

Entering the basement level of the building, it was a large room. A wide rectangular area with caution tape and traffic cones sectioning off a square for the fighting zone. There were a couple folding chairs facing the fighting area, most people standing and watching.

Sion took his jacket off, an old leather jacket he’s always worn. Placing it on your shoulders, you saw him glare around. Ah, possessiveness. You felt your lips tug into a smirk as he lead you to some seats. You two sat together, Sion looked around the area, searching for someone.

“Who is your fighter?” You ask.

“Sungchan.” He answered, focusing his attention on you, “Tall guy, real buff.”

“I didn’t think he’d fight.”

“Me neither but when given a paycheck, people can do a lot of things.”

Soon more people entered the basement, as the constant chatter continued it made the room grow humid and stuffy. You saw someone step inside the makeshift ring, hitting a cowbell to call everyone’s attention.

“Place your bets before the fight starts.”

Soon the fighters entered the ring, stepping over the caution tape and standing on different ends. You expected them to be dressed a little nicer. They wore t shirts and jeans, Sungchan having a denim jacket on. You wouldn’t expect them to fight in their regular clothing but here they are.

They did some kind of pep talk before a cowbell was rung, turning to face each other. Standing up, they walked closer. Hearing another ring, the other fighter flung at Sungchan. Easily dodging him, Sungchan moved out of the way and threw a punch at his shoulder blade.

Your eyes looked away, focused on Sion’s hands balls in his lap. He must have a lot riding on his fight. Your thoughts are cut by the sounds of a punch being thrown. Looking over the crowd, most of them are engrossed in the action, watching for how their gambles are fairing or for their own entertainment.

Looking up, you saw the back of Sungchan’s opponent. He was hunched over, Sungchan looking down at him. He must be strong, so quick to bring someone down. Another punch and his opponent fell but quickly got up, not wanting to lose so quickly.

Your gaze moved towards the floor, not wanting to see how much blood might be spilling from the guy. You felt Sion’s hand grasp yours, his hands lightly squeezing yours as he carefully watched the fight finish.

Within a minute, Sungchan was declared the victor. The basement was filled with both cheers and boos, a mixture of people winning it all and losing everything they had. You looked around, surprised at how strongly each person was reacting.

“Five minutes and we’ll be onto our second fight of the night.” The announcer said.

You and Sion stayed still for a minute, him asking how you were.

“I’m fine. Just shocked at how fast it ended.”

Sion let out a laugh, “Sungchan’s a special guy, usually it’d take at least twenty minute to finish a fight.”

“How much did you bet on him?”

“I got him into the ring, so I’m taking it all.”

You felt your body go cold for a second.

“Sion.”

“He came to me, wanted to make some cash, I mentioned the fighting.”

“Oh.” You nodded.

“We’ll be out of here in no time.” He assured you.

After the money was distributed, Sion came around to the money box and got his cut. Counting it out, he walked over to Sungchan to split his amount.

Sion walked you out of the basement.

“Didn’t think it’d be so,” you thought of the right word to say, “smooth.”

“When it’s done it’s easy, it’s the anticipation that makes people go crazy. That’s when you realize how much money you have on the line.”

Sion walked you out, noticing how empty the area was. You both walked to his car, relaxing against the leather seats as he turned to you. His movements hasty and almost needy as he kissed you. You froze for a second before melting against him. Your lips moving against each other with ease. He pulled away.

“My dad wants me home by midnight.”

Sion leaned into the seat for a moment, “Don’t worry, doll.”

Sion leaned back towards you, rough fingers grazing your jaw while he kissed you. His tongue had a light taste of beer on it, dragging across your lips and tongue. You shifted to lean in closer, feeling your body burn under his jacket.

He pulled away lightly, holding your chin to let him gaze at your flushed face.

“Did you wanna go further? We can stop here.”

You shook your head, “I wanna go further.”

Sion helped you move to the backseat of his car, the leather seats shifting as he laid you onto his lap. His lips reattaching to yours. With better mobility, your hands held onto his neck, thumbs grazing his jaw.

Sion’s left hand held your hip, lightly squeezing the flesh, and his right hand moved from your back to shoulder to face. He’d rub along your shoulder blade before cupping your cheek, moving down to your waist and back up.

The deeper you kissed him the hotter your skin felt. Your hips lightly rocking against his growing erection. His kisses moved towards your neck, light nips across your skin as he asked: 

“Can I touch you?”

You mewled, “Please.”

His hand moved to your leg, you could feel his body heat moving up your thigh and slowly creeping over your skirt. His fingers lightly grazed the wet spot along your core, admiring how much you tensed and gasped when he touched your clit.

“Sion.”

“What do you need?”

“You.”

He pulled you closer, hands flush against your back as he pressed you against his chest, “That’s not what I asked, doll. What do you need?”

Your face buried in his neck, “Your fingers.”

“Good girl.”

Sion gave you a peck before his fingers continued rubbing your clothed core: playing with the hem of your panties, teasing your entrance through the cotton, even cupping your ass and pressing you into his erection.

“God, I’ve been staring at your thighs all fucking day.”

“Sion.” You gasped.

“Did you wear this to torture me?” He asked, pressing his lips to your ear.

You giggled before feeling him roll his hips against your core.

“You did.” Sion had a playful tone to his voice.

His fingers pulled one side of your panties down, pulling them off of one leg before his fingers were able to play with your heat properly. Feeling how hard your clit was, your arousal drenching his fingers, his fingertips poking into your entrance.

He moved you away, your torso leaning against the passenger seat as he pushed your dress up, displaying your stomach, core, and his fingers pushing into your heat.

“Sion.” You whined.

“Do you like it? You feeling good?”

Your eyes fell shut, “So good.”

You could feel each knuckle push into your heat, his fingers feeling so long as you sunk down onto them. You held your dress’s hem between your teeth, displaying yourself to him as his fingers slowly moved out and back in.

Sion couldn’t keep his eyes off of your core. The amount of arousal leaking out of you, the light clenching around his fingers. Every curl of his fingers left your thighs trembling. His thumb stretched upwards to rub your clit, the light circles making your hips buck and whines pitch higher and higher.

He looked around, seeing no one in sight before pulling his fingers out.

“Sion.” You whined.

“Lay down, babydoll.”

His hands guided you onto the seat, leaning against the side wall as he leaned closer into your heat. Keeping eyes contact, Sion licked a stripe up your core. Your breathing growing heavier as he continued kissing and eating you out.

His tongue licking broad strokes up and swirling around your clit. Your hands laced into his hair, hips bucking against his tongue as he pushed two fingers back into your heat.

“Sion.” You gasped.

His fingers thrusted into you as his tongue ground against your clit. Your stomach kept tensing and relaxing, legs beginning to shake as Sion continued bringing you closer to your release.

“K-keep going, yes.” You moaned out.

Sion did as you said, tongue lapping at your clit as his fingers were practically pounding into your pussy. Wet sounds growing louder as your arousal dripped onto the seats.

“Are you close?” He asked.

“So close, Sion, I’m so close to cumming!”

Your abs tensed just enough as Sion stilled his fingers in you, bringing you over the edge. Your legs trembled against the seats as you moaned out and relaxed against the car’s interior.

“Doll, you came so much.”

Sion lapped at your core, sucking in as much cum from your core before moving up to kiss you. The taste of your cum wasn’t a common occurrence, but Sion loved your taste so much he had to show you.

Between your deep breaths, Sion laid sticky kisses along your lips. You were able to calm your breathing, kissing him back before moving your hand down to palm his erection.

“Do you have enough in you?” He asked.

“I can go another round.” You answered between heavy pants.

Sion unzipped his pants, pulling them down and off before aligning with your entrance. He stroked himself enough before pushing in.

“Ahhh, babydoll, you’re so tight.”

Bottoming out, Sion stayed there, looking down at your pussy. His thumb poked at your clit, loving the way your thighs shook when he’d give it the lightest touch.

“You can move.”

Sion pulled out, leaving only his tip before pushing back in. His eyes flicking up at you when you mewled. Your hand moving down to circle your clit.

He loved watching that, seeing your small fingers work circles or figure eight’s along your clit. Seeing each finger tense and flex as he thrusted into you.

“You just keep getting wetter.”

Your walls clenched at his words, hand freezing before continuing to circle your clit. Your jaw went slack, feeling too good to hide your moans.

“Sion.”

He leaned over you, his hand petting your hair out of your face.

“You feel good?”

He watched your glazed eyes look at him, your hot cheeks burning against his hands as you continued moaning. Sion leaned down, kissing against your open mouth, his tongue dragging against yours as he continued thrusting into your core.

Pulling away from your lips, you continued moaning, wordless sounds of pleasure escaping you.

“Sion,” You finally got out.

“Yeah, doll?”

“I’m gonna cum.”

“So soon?”

You nodded your head.

“Let me help you.”

He replaced your hand with his own, rubbing your clit with his rough fingers. Having no control over your pleasure, your thighs shook, walls fluttering around his length as you tried warning Sion of your orgasm.

“Si-Sion.”

Your eyes shut as you clamped around him. The tightness of your core made his hips buck even more into your heat. Pulling out, Sion came on your stomach, his hips still bucking as he emptied himself.

Your hips were still rocking against his fingers, riding out your high as you both were fighting for oxygen. Sion leaned down, kissing and nipping at your shoulder as you caught your breath.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, I just need to clean up.” You said, looking down at the cum coating your stomach.

“Ah, here.”

Sion grabbed at some napkins from the middle console, wiping your stomach before grabbing another to wipe your core.

“Thank you.” You said, pulling your panties on.

“Of course.”

Sion pulled his boxers and pants on, slipping back into his boots and buckling his belt. You looked down at your watch, it was only 10:30, you could still be out with him.

You both moved back to the front seats, Sion relaxing into the drivers seat before starting it.

“Any place you’re thinking of going?” He asked, driving out of the area.

“Not really, anywhere, I guess.” You answer.

Sion began joyriding, driving along the empty roads and sightseeing through the windshield. Rather than watching the roads and landmarks, you were more invested in him. Watching his hands move across the steering wheel, seeing what things litter his dashboard and glove box. You loved these moments. Total transparency, just being near each other in silence, regardless of what’s happening.

Sion parked a few houses down from yours, just far enough to be out of eyesight in case your dad was waiting up for you.

Laid against the seats, your gaze fell on Sion.

“I got ya something.” He said.

“You did?”

“Yeah.” He reached into his pocket, pulling something out.

It was cupped in his hand as he dropped it in your palm. A thin gold band, a jewel or two engraved in the ring.

“I think it’s your size.”

“Sion, I love it.” You slid the ring on, perfectly fitting you.

“I know I’m not big on, uh, affection,” Sion said, staring at the ring.

“You’re trying.” You smiled at him, “That’s what matters.”

You grabbed his hand, rubbing your thumb along his knuckles.

“Thank you.”

He pulled your hand up, laying a kiss on your knuckles.

You looked at your watch, seeing how late it was.

“I should go in, my dad gets weird with curfews.”

You both leaned in, kissing goodbye before you stepped out of his car. As you walked home, you carefully crept towards the front door. Unlocking your door you saw how dim the house was. You carefully shut and locked it, sighing in relief before creeping upstairs with soft footsteps into your room.

You were grateful your father didn’t wait up for you. You’re sure you smell like Sion and that’s the last thing you want to hear about right now.

Closing your bedroom door, you felt your muscles relax. You stripped out of your clothes and changed into your pajamas, relaxing against your bed before falling asleep.

[tarnishedxknight]

This little hume seemed a bit picky in the food department, but Shadow was patient. He could bring the hume to food and let him try it, and hopefully something would take. The cinnamon bun was not a huge hit, Shadow could tell, for the hume made a distasteful face. Shadow didn't understand all the different expressions a hume could make, but general ones were somewhat understood. Clearly the cinnamon bun did not impress, judging by the displeased expression Larsa showed.

Alright, so then, fish? Shadow loved fish, so he thought he might share some with the hume and see if he liked that better. And he did! Oh, Shadow was so happy and proud. His hume friend seemed happier with this offering, and so the cat sat nearby, idly grooming himself, until Larsa had finished. Then it was off to the main course.

At first, Shadow was worried when he brought the little hume to see one of his favorite ones. Larsa hung back and hid, and Shadow thought maybe he'd asked too much, though he was not about to give up his own meal and warm hearth for the night. He was, after all, a self-serving cat. Even so, Shadow waited for Larsa to show himself and his patience was rewarded.

"Shadow?" Cael asked, his head canting a bit as he smiled. "Is that his name?" He looked to the cat, who had made himself at home on a nearby table, sprawled out and licking one paw. "Shadow?" he repeated while looking at him.

Hearing his name and seeing that the older hume was looking right at him, Shadow let loose with a strong of talking-meows, as was his habit when directly addressed.

Cael chuckled. "Oh-ho... I see!" he said with playful animation. He turned back to the boy. "Thank you. Shadow and I have been friends for some time now, thought I only learned his name just this moment. My own name is Cael, for the record. And who might you be, young master?" he asked, having no idea he was speaking to a Prince of Archadia.

Larsa did not expect to be unfrozen at all, let alone in the future. When he had snuck upon Gabranth's ship set for Pharos he did it to ensure the peace would be possible. The last thing he remembered was running towards fallen Gabranth and then... Light. (Marvel AU) - tarnishedxjudgement

@tarnishedxjudgement

Noah didn't have the same abilities and resources in this time period with which to inform himself of anything and everything that was going on around him. He was in the dark, most of the time, unless directly informed of things, a condition he hated. Being at the mercy of others he neither knew nor trusted for information was not a position he usually found himself in.

It was the reason he hadn't known about Drace being found after him until she was brought one day to the training compound. Inexplicably, after executing her in his own timeline, here she was again, seemingly from another. The entire experience was wholly jarring, but not nearly as jarring as losing his only son.

So often had Noah thought of Larsa in the months following his revival in this strange time. Thoughts invaded his peace, his sleep, his ability to function, until he found himself so erratic and unhinged that he did not recognize himself anymore. Even Drace found it difficult to comfort him, and she had always been a master of that feat. There was no closure to be had, no second chances, no going back... and that knowledge was eating Noah alive from the inside out.

But once again, information had been kept from him, and yet another arrival from Ivalice to the Avengers compound was neither expected nor necessarily wanted. Would it be another Dalmascan? Gods forbid a Rozarrian. And the way the people of this time seemed to think that all Ivalicians got along and would be happy to see each other was beyond irritating to him. Nevertheless, when he was specifically summoned to greet this newcomer, Noah begrudgingly left his quarters to do so.

What he saw... stopped him dead in his tracks. Within seconds, his expression betrayed him, and within a few more, he was on his knees, his legs giving way in disbelief of the sight that lay before him. It was little Lord Larsa, looking just as he did when last Noah laid eyes on him, perfect as can be.

He knew he should say something, but words betrayed him as well as his own legs had. Instead, he merely stared, the absence of his helm serving to display to the boy all the shock, confusion, and relief at seeing him standing there. Finally, he forced out the only two words he felt he could say without falling apart.

"My lord..."