#literally venom snake’s stun arm

[goldmolamola]

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

[rocorambles]

Mending the Cracks

Pairing: Daishou x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Choking, Spitting, DDLG, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation

Summary: Daishuo prides himself on his cool and collected facade, his ability to not let anyone see past his polite and put together appearances unless he wishes them to. But Kuroo has always had a special talent for getting under his skin and now it’s your turn to help mend the cracks the messy haired captain has accidentally created.  

OR

Roco once again turns a request that should have been just a rough jealous angry spicy PWP fic into a whole angst/fluff/comfort fic WITH rough jealous angry spice~

Your heart sinks as the referee blows the whistle signifying the end of the game, pride and disappointment swirling in a confusing mixture inside of you as you rush to your feet, already making your way out of the stands and towards the locker rooms. It had been a good game, a great game, one Nohebi should be proud of regardless of the end result, that Daishou should be proud of. Yet, you know that’s the farthest thing from what any of the boys are thinking of as they dejectedly shake hands with Nekoma, another chance of Nationals taken right from underneath their noses, Daishou’s last chance of Nationals gone, just like that. 

You should be paying more attention to your surroundings, especially in such a crowded building with masses of spectators and athletes, but you’re too focused on rushing to your boyfriend as fast as you can, barely dodging the crowds and receiving more than a few dirty looks from people you accidentally bump into in your haste. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is comforting your lover, being there for him and reminding him that he’s still the most amazing person you know regardless of how one game went. And determinedly you quickly hook around the corner of the hall, only to yelp when you crash into something firm, the impact making you stagger back. 

Mortification rushes through you once your body steadies itself and you fumble for words, stuttering out apologies when you realize what, or more specifically who, you’ve run into, practically diving to pick up the knee pads the other has dropped because of your carelessness. You can barely bring yourself to look up at the other person’s face, already cringing at the look of irritation you know you’ll receive (and frankly, deserve). But it’s the polite thing to do and your eyes slowly travel up and up a long, lean frame, only to blink in surprise when you see the amused smile on a handsome cat-like face as he plucks his knee pads from your hands. 

He looks...familiar and you take a second to appraise him, eyes widening in shock when you recognize the Nekoma uniform and, emboldened by his lack of annoyance, you shyly smile, politely congratulate him on his team’s win and earning their ticket to Nationals. 

You’re secretly glad your boyfriend is nowhere in sight, already knowing how childishly competitive he can get, especially where Nekoma is concerned. And you know he’d throw a fit if he saw you “consorting with the enemy”. But it’s the least you can do after running the poor guy over. Plus, Daishou really only has an issue with one person on the team and what are the chances that this athlete is…

“Oya? It’s not everyday someone decides to literally run me over. Nice to meet you. I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.” 

Crap. 

You pray to anyone who’s listening that Daishou doesn’t walk in on this scene, can only imagine how bad it would look to be caught chatting with Kuroo Tetsurou of all people only minutes after Nekoma had swiped Nohebi’s chances of Nationals away from them, even before you’ve talked to your own boyfriend. 

But when it rains it pours and unknown to you, narrowed eyes scowl at the both of you from down the hallway. 

If Daishou’s honest, the outcome of the match isn’t surprising. Nekoma has always been a stronger team than Nohebi, as aggravating as it is to admit. But it doesn’t make the loss any easier and he knows he’s just looking for a reason to pick a fight when annoyance curls inside of him at how quietly and respectfully Kuroo shakes his hand, not a hint of the other’s usual provoking or teasing after the match is over. He knows it’s out of sportsmanship, but he can’t help but believe he sees his own self-pity reflected in those feline eyes. And he storms out before he accidentally makes a scene, mustering every last bit of his snake-like charm to plaster a smile on his face and force out some pleasantries and kind words to his team, all the while wanting nothing more than to rush into your arms and lock himself away as he comes to terms with his dreams being dashed. 

So imagine the stomach sinking shock he feels as he rounds the corner in his search of you, only to stare in disbelief as you smile up at literally the only person in this entire building who he’d rather you not ever meet, the person who led the team that had just crushed his team’s hopes, seemingly in no hurry to excuse yourself. 

Shock makes way for hot fiery fury fueled by jealousy and insecurity and before he can fully register what he’s doing, he’s storming towards you, startling both of you when he suddenly cuts in between, rigid and stiff with hostility and anger as he shoves his face mere inches away from Kuroo’s surprised one. 

It’s startling to say the least to have his view of you suddenly replaced by a larger figure and Kuroo instinctively steps back, uncertainty filling him when he sees heavy shadows of pure unadulterated ill-intent in Daishou’s eyes.

Interactions with the Nohebi captain are always playful, even if the stinging words aren’t always exactly lighthearted and Kuroo enjoys their bantering and rivalry underscored by respect for each other that both captains would die before admitting to. But this...this is different and Kuroo can’t help but think that somehow they’ve accidentally crossed the line to a point of no return, that something terrible is on the verge of happening, jaw instinctively tightening and fists clenching in self-defense.  

“Winning wasn’t enough for you, so now you’re trying to rub more salt in my wounds by hitting on my girl?” 

Oh. OH. 

Kuroo KNEW you looked familiar, unsure where to place you, but it all makes sense as his brain quickly puts the pieces together, frantically working under pressure as the snake in front of him rattles his tail and hisses. You’re the new girlfriend he’s seen in all of Daishou’s social media posts recently. And suddenly it’s his turn to fumble over words as he tries to calm the furious athlete in front of him, desperately trying to find a way to de escalate the situation without having to resort to anything physical, trying to reassure the other captain that it’s not what it looks like, wincing at how cliche that phrase sounds. 

You’re frozen as you watch the taller man continue stammering explanations, stunned by the feral aura radiating from your boyfriend, unsure what’s the best way to approach the situation without exacerbating the issue. But when you see Daishou take a step forward, your hands fly to the back of his jersey, harshly tugging at the fabric in a bid to drag him away from Kuroo, to keep him from doing something stupid that he’d regret. 

You wonder if you did the right thing as you cower when he whirls around to face you, pinning you down with a practically murderous gaze. But then you see it, underneath the blazing fires of his eyes, the vulnerable insecurities he keeps so deeply hidden within him, that he’d shared about to you in full confidence, raring back to life and tearing him up inside. 

Am I not good enough?

The question is unspoken, but you hear it clear as day and you want to scream at him, touch him, anything to wipe away the torment in his gaze. No, you're more than good enough. So much more. And despite the way you feel like a tiny mouse about to be swallowed whole, you easily let him drag you away, mindlessly following him and lacing your fingers with his bone crushing grip. 

It's silent as you scramble to keep up with his determined pace, clutching at his arm and pressing against his side in quiet obedient comfort, a reminder that you're with him every step of the way, out of your own desire and love for him. And although his countenance remains stony, your heart swells when he instinctively leans into your touch, the dark fog around him lightening just a bit. 

Not a word is said even as he locks his bedroom door behind the two of you, even as he pulls you onto his bed, wrapping his body tightly around you not unlike the creature he's nicknamed after. 

And you let him, ignoring the discomfort you feel as he constricts your body too tightly to be comforting, murmuring how amazing he was on the court, what a respected captain he is, how you know there's still so many opportunities for him in life, volleyball, anything he wants even if Nationals wasn't his fate. 

But when he remains silent, you nervously take a deep breath, knowing it's time to address the elephant in the room. 

"Suguru, you know I love you, right? I only have eyes for you and no one else. Kuroo-"

You squeal in surprise when you're suddenly pinned to the bed by a toned body, gasping when a hand wraps around your throat rendering you silent, whimpering at the venomous look staring down at you. 

"Don't say his fucking name, especially when you're in bed with me." 

But you need to explain! Need to clear the air! And you desperately claw at his hand digging into your neck, struggling to force words out, only to moan when lips crash down on yours, a tongue slithering inside of your mouth and ravishing you, fangs harshly nipping at your lips in a warning to remain silent and pliant. 

You pant for breath when he finally pulls away, trying to reach up and cradle his face in your hands, keep him still as you explain everything to him. But your efforts are futile and you moan when he promptly spits in your mouth the second you try to open your mouth to speak, body instinctively grinding against his when the hand on your throat tightens once again, mind busy trying to obediently keep his saliva in your mouth while simultaneously breathing through your constricted airway. 

"Not a single word from you unless it's about me and how good I'm making you feel, understood? Swallow." 

Daishou trained you well and you're quick to gulp down the pooled liquid in your mouth, baring your neck in submission as his lips and teeth possessively mark the expanse of your neck, sucking and biting marks you know you'll be proudly wearing for days afterwards, traveling down and down as your clothes are pulled off and haphazardly thrown away. 

The room fills with breathy moans and sighs as you let him have you, let him mark every inch of you, relishing in the slight twinges of pain you feel when teeth sink in too deep, when lips suck too hard all over your collarbones, the valley between your breasts, your rib cage. But you wail when he deems you sufficiently marked, a hot wet mouth wrapping around one of your nipples, fingers harshly twisting and pulling the other. 

"DADDY!"

Pride soars inside of Daishou at the nickname, a name he knows only he’s lucky enough to hear from your lips, and he pulls away from your aroused bud just long enough to spit out a few choice words. 

“That’s right, baby girl. I’m your daddy. I’m the one who takes care of you. I’m the one who makes you feel good. So why the fuck did daddy find his precious girl chatting it up with some other man like a dirty little slut? Daddy not good enough for you anymore?”

Your head swirls from the degrading words, thighs clenching at hearing his endearing terms for you, but tears pricking at your eyes when you hear the trickle of doubt that seeps into his last question. Shame floods through you as you frantically shake your head, salty droplets leaking from your eyes as you begin to sob, desperately clutching Daishou’s sides and trying to pull him closer to you. 

“No, Daddy! Never! Only you! You’re my only daddy. I love you. I’m sorry! I’m your good girl. Please let me show you that I’m your good girl?” 

Daishou chuckles, warm fondness beginning to take off the frostiest edges of his insecurities as he watches you flail and fight against his hold in your pursuit of making him feel good, your greedy fingers trying to drag him closer to you, your hips grinding and humping his hardening cock like a bitch in heat as you babble and beg to ride him, suck him off, help him cum. 

It’s heartwarming in the most depraved way how loyal and dedicated you are to him, how easily you’ll let yourself fall into debauchery just to please him. And in his heart of hearts, he knows deep down that you’d never betray him, that you love him just as much as he loves you. But the heart and the mind aren’t always on the same page and he can’t help the way his eyes narrow and his stomach twists uncomfortably when he replays the scene of Kuroo and you in the hall, even though he knows the chance of you being swept away so easily by someone else is close to null, even though he knows Kuroo is a decent enough man to back off once he knows you’re a taken woman. 

“Settle down, little one. I know you’re a desperate slut for daddy, but today you’re going to behave, okay? You’re going to lay there, let daddy thoroughly remind you who you belong to, and thank me for it, understand?” 

It’s a rhetorical question and you barely have time to nod your head before Daishou’s blunt cock head is pressing against your already drenched entrance. You claw at the bedsheets when he suddenly slams in balls deep inside of you, your sopping wet folds easily making way for his cock, and your toes curl at the abrupt stretch, eyes already shamelessly rolling to the back of your head from the sensation of finally being stuffed full. 

“Daddy, so good, daddy, daddy, daddy” becomes your mantra, barely discernible amidst your wanton moans as he hardly gives you time to adjust before he’s starting up a brutal pace, hips slamming into yours, balls slapping your ass with every thrust. It’s embarrassing how close to the edge you already are, how you nearly came just from his cock stretching you full, but you can’t help it when Daishou knows your body even better than you, when your pussy is practically molded just for him, trained to be his perfect cock sleeve and you wail as you fall to pieces around his cock, body convulsing and mind shattering from the overwhelming pleasure. 

But he doesn’t let up, continuing his relentless onslaught, smirking down at how broken you already look, drool and tears staining your wrecked face, incoherent babbling and wails slipping past your lips as overstimulation begins to wash over you, body now shaking uncontrollably as pain and pleasure swirl inside of you. 

“That’s it, baby girl. You’re doing so well. Keep on taking it. Fucking take my cock! This is what you were made for. Being daddy’s cock slave that he fucks silly. Going to use you until you can’t even think about anyone or anything else other than daddy’s cock.” 

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be than in between your legs and he swears he could die happy like this, cock buried deep within your tight pussy, would happily live the rest of his life bottomed out inside of you if he had the chance. But he’s only human after all and he can feel his end approaching, balls tightening and pace becoming wild and erratic when he hungrily devours the sight of your lewd state as you dopily smile, brokenly chanting “I’m daddy’s cock slave”, slurring thank yous over and over again. His hand reaches down to furiously rub your clit and all it takes is your second fall from grace, the sensation of your tight walls clamping and clenching around his cock, milking him of all his cum, to empty his balls inside of you. 

It’s silent again save for both your shaky breaths as you come down from your respective highs and Daishou carefully slumps down to the side of you, pulling you to also lay on your side, wrapping you in his arms as your lower bodies remain connected, hooking his chin on top of your head and letting you burrow into his neck and cuddle up beside him. 

But despite all his earlier bravado, you can feel his scales shift and skin shed as he reveals his softer, more vulnerable side, can feel him slump and his defenses crumble in the way he clings onto you, and you wriggle out of your comfortable position, ignoring the throbbing between your legs and all over you body as you determinedly reposition yourself until the two of you are face to face, forehead and noses pressed against each other. 

“Suguru, I love you. I love you so much. You’ll always be more than enough for me.”

You smile at the love and hope you see reciprocated back at you in your lover’s eyes, giggling when it’s quickly replaced by panic and embarrassment as he holds you at arms length, staring in dismay at all the punishing marks he had left all over your body before frantically nearly crushing you as he pulls you tightly back towards him, apologies spilling from his mouth for being so rough, a stupid stereotypically jealous boyfriend. And you roll your eyes as he suddenly starts raving and ranting about how this is somehow all Kuroo’s fault, shutting him up with a forceful kiss of your own, a playful smirk sitting on your face. 

“You told me not to mention his name and yet here you are, going on and on about him right after we’ve had sex. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re a little more interested in him than two rival captains should be. Should I be the jealous one?”

You bite back a laugh at the look of pure disgust on Daishou’s face as he stares agape at you, jaw slack and open wide in disbelief at your blasphemous lies, using whatever latent talent you have as an actor to tap a finger to your lips in a parody of an inquisitive thoughtful gesture. 

“I’m pretty open minded, Suguru. We can invite him for a threesome if you want. Ooh! Who do you think would top? Kuroo? You’d look so pretty on bottom for once, don’t you think? Or would you prefer to shut him up-”

You squeal in laughter and surprise when you’re suddenly being suffocated and crushed by a heavy weight on top of you, Daishou flipping the two of you over and laying his whole weight on top of you, shoving your face into his chest and grunting at you to shut up as he nuzzles his face into the top of your head and closes his eyes to rest, dragging you to an exhausted slumber with him as his breathing even outs and lulls your own heavy eyelids into shutting. 

Somewhere else in Tokyo Kuroo sneezes out of the blue, curiously wondering if someone is talking about him.

[allegra-writes]

Bratty b****

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Dom!Peter, Smut.

The request:

Hi love your writing and have never made a request but here goes. Tony’s daughter is going through a rebellious phase, going out to parties and getting to the Tower at all hours of the night. Punishments don’t seem to be getting through to her at all and everyone’s at their wits end. Insert dom!Peter finding her at a party and bringing her back home to lay down the law if you know what i mean…

Also, for all of you the anons that wanted new Dom!Peter and SSC talks.

MY MASTERLIST

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Parker? Put me the fuck down right NOW!”

Peter complied, letting go of you so suddenly you ended in a heap on the floor. The indignant look you threw his way reminded him of an angry kitten, and he had to suppress a smile. Even drunk and disheveled you were god damn adorable. And that was part of the problem: you had everyone wrapped around your finger, and were perfectly aware of it. 

No wonder you weren’t afraid of any punishment, none of them ever stuck long enough for you to regret your actions, consequences always swept under the rug before they could sully you or your reputation. Even the press, so merciless with lower socialites, was so happy to have the Stark heiress back, that every new misadventure was portrayed in an indulgent light, words like “enfant terrible”, “little hellion” or “New York’s favorite troublemaker” decorating headlines everywhere he turned.

But that ended tonight. 

He watched you stand up, fixing your way-too-short-dress so it would cover the top of your thighs, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. 

“Where are we?”

“My apartment” Peter replied, simply. You knew the penthouse was just on the next floor, but there, in that darkened kitchen alone with him, it seemed incredibly far. You hadn’t been alone with him since Titan, and you didn’t quite know how to deal with this Peter, so different from the awkward, wide eyed boy who used to trail behind you like a puppy. This grown up, confident Peter that was older than you, that had been an Avenger for six years, intimidating enough to clear a party all by himself, without needing his Spider-man persona.

But then again, you didn’t know how to deal with much of anything these days. Going to sleep in 2018 and waking up in 2023 would do that to you. 

“Why did you bring me to your apartment?” Your voice came out a little unsteady, as you tried to get a grip on your heart, beating wildly inside your chest, tried to squash that little sliver of hope down before it managed to cut you and bleed you dry. Because you knew what you wanted from Peter was something you could never have. And it wasn’t just cause of that awesome girlfriend of his. 

He leaned casually on the kitchen island, arms crossed in front of his chest and you couldn’t help but notice how solid and powerful they looked clad in black leather.

“To have a little talk” he met your eyes, concern clear in his, “about your behavior…”

Your stomach drop with the weight of a thousand dead butterflies. Of course. This was an intervention. He was being big brother Peter, that was how he saw you, a little sister, just like Morgan, another Starkling for him to guide, to nurture and protect.

And maybe your own little sister preferred his bedtime stories over yours. Maybe your own father called him son, and your -technically step- mother sent him to chaperone you whenever you went out to party, but he was never ever going to be your brother. 

“And exactly who do you think you are to have a talk with me?” You sneered, voice like sugar venom, sweet and cruel. Lethal. “You are no one, you’re not my boyfriend, you’re not my friend, and I know you like to pretend you’re a Stark, but you are not my brother. You are nothing.”

You watched the air get knocked out of his lungs, as if your words had physically hit him as they hit their mark. Satisfied with the stunned, devastated look on his face, you turned to leave. But only made it a couple of steps before feeling his fingers wrap around your wrist in a vice like grip, spinning you around and pulling you to him.

You stumbled, falling against his chest, and he kept you there, arm snaking around your back, pressing you close. Dangerously close. 

“And you” he whispered, nose pressed against your cheek, breath hot against your face. You realized you weren’t the only one that had been drinking. “are a bratty little bitch. You think I wanna be any of those things? That I’d be satisfied with any of those things?“ 

His fingers dug deeper into your skin, and you cried out, finally reacting.

"Parker, let me go, your hurting me!” You struggled in his grasp, but he was way too strong. 

“You mean more than you’ve been hurting yourself? Hanging out with those losers” He spat, shaking you a little, “Day drinking? Sneaking out every night? Have you any idea how worried Pepper was when she called?" 

"Peter, you’re scaring me!”

“Good!” He replied, shaking you harder, “It’s about fucking time you learn that your actions have consequences" 

He manhandled you until you were trapped between him and the kitchen island. A firm push against the square of your shoulders had you bent over it, face against the cold marble, as he took both of your wrists in one hand and pinned them against your back, his other hand traveling under your dress. He kicked your legs open, placing a knee between yours so you couldn’t close them back up.

"What the fuck are you doing you sick fuck?!”

“I’m thinking eighteen slaps” He commented casually, ignoring your insult, “one for every night you sneaked out this month, and you are going to count them”

You renovated your struggle as he pushed your dress up, exposing your ass, but he leaned over your back, trapping you under his weight. 

“Wanna know who I am, little girl?” He breathed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine “I’m your master.”

SLAP.

You cried out. There was strength behind the hit, the sting lasting long after his hand was gone.

“One” he said and you remembered his words, he wanted you to count the slaps, but your brain was in shambles 

SLAP.

“One” He repeated, “You better start counting or they’ll be a lot more than eighteen…”

SMACK.

“One…”

“FINE!” You yelled, finally finding your voice, “Fine, I’ll count them you sick bastard! That’s three!”

“I should make them twenty just for that" 

"Fuck you!”

SLAP.

The sound that left your throat when his open palm struck just between your legs was not one of pain. You cursed under your breath, there was no way he could have missed that moan.

“What was that, princess?”

“F-four”

He chuckled, and you felt him get off of you. But with your wrists still in his grasp, there wasn’t much you could do, he had super strength after all. You were quite literally at his mercy. 

The thought should not have been so hot.

“I was actually talking about this” He traced his fingertips over your lace covered slit, tearing another moan from your lips. “Such a pretty sound” He hummed, approvingly, “I want more…”

He used his thumb to tug your underwear to the side, dipping one long, talented finger into you. It slid inside easily, so easily… it was embarrassing how wet, how ready for it you were. Peter wanted nothing more than to sink himself in your cunt, to get lost into your tight, pink, velvety soft insides. But where was the lesson in that? What kind of message would he be sending you if he too failed to deliver the promised punishment? Fourteen slaps, that was all. Fourteen more hits and then he could have you. This was for your own good.

He took his finger out. 

SMACK.

“Fi-ve” You whimpered. That one had really hurt. His hand came down against your other cheek just as hard. 

“Six”

Another one, and his finger was back inside your pussy, this time with a companion, pumping in and out, making it difficult to speak, but you managed to stutter a breathy “Seven”

It wasn’t until the next slap hit the soft flesh where your your thigh met the curve of your ass with his fingers still thrusting into you that you realized he had released your hands. But by then you were a moaning, wanting mess on the counter, a willing accomplice more than a prisoner, dutifully keeping count,

“Eight”

Slaps nine and ten came with him three fingers deep in your heat, pinky sloppily rubbing circles on your clit. You were close, just one more thrust, one more slap, one more dirty word in your ear and you would be coming. How stupid of you to believe he was actually going to let you.

“Noooo” You couldn’t help the pathetic whine that left your mouth when his fingers left you, your walls clenching pitifully around nothing. Your own hand went for your mound, desperate for release, but he caught it, pinning it to your back again. 

“I don’t think so, little girl,” He chastised you, “your punishment isn’t over yet…”

You had eight more slaps left. You could do it, you could take it.

…Couldn’t you?

He let go of your wrist and you felt him shift behind you. A moment passed, then another one. You had started to turn to see where he had gone when you felt it: the soft caress of cold lips against your burning backside. 

“Is this better, baby girl?” He inquired, placing glacial kisses and licks on the reddened, sore skin. “You like this?”

“Yes…" 

"Yes, what?" 

"Yes… sir?”

SLAP.

“Eleven. Yes, dom?”

SLAP.

“YES, DADDY!”

Peter froze. He was actually going for ‘master’. Mister Stark, Tony, he was your father. But more than that, you were his daughter, his precious baby. Asking to be called that while he fucked you would the lowest betrayal, Peter knew that. It would be defiling that title forever, making you think of Peter and the filthy things he did to you whenever you called your dad by it. It was wrong. It was perverted. 

And Peter wanted it. 

More than food, more than water, more than oxygen, he wanted it, he wanted you for himself, with a hunger, with a greed that scared even him. He. Wanted. You.

And he was going to have you. He licked a long stripe up your pussy. Cold, so cold it made you shiver. 

“Say it again, baby girl" 

"Daddy”

“Again” his order was muffled, face buried against your cunt, devouring you. 

“Daddy!" 

SLAP.

He placed another ice cube on his mouth, only to push it into your cunt making you scream, tongue fucking you with superhuman skill. The contrasting temperatures of the ice and his mouth against your molten insides were too much. You were sobbing, shameless and desperate, bucking your hips back against his face, the familiar tension building up, and up. Your toes already starting to curl… and then he was gone. 

"Yellow!” You cried. Peter was on you in an instant, turning you around and helping you stand, pushing your hair away from your face.

“Baby, are you ok? What is it?” His voice was worried, breaking character. 

“O-orgasm denial” You gasped, “wasn’t part of the deal…" 

"Shit! You’re right, I’m sorry baby, I’m so so sorry!”

Peter looked about ready to cry, so you hurried to reassure him,

“Pete, it’s ok, I’m not safewording…yet" 

He nodded his understanding, but still looked uncertain. You kissed him, sweet and soothing, but soon that absurdly talented tongue of his slipped inside your mouth, deepening the kiss, turning it into something heady, slow and dirty. You melted into it. 

A ripping sound resonated in the quiet kitchen, and you felt your dress fell off your body. Stunned, you broke the kiss, to look at the remains of your favorite garment now lying lifeless on the dark mahogany floor, and then at the smug, smirking face of your boyfriend. 

"It was in my way”

And just like that, he was all dom again, towering over you, still fully dressed while you stood, vulnerable, in just your hills and a, ruined, lacy tong, made almost completely sheer by your juices, glistening between your legs. 

He let one of his fingers dip under the lace.

“Wanna come, little girl?”

“Yes” You breathed out.

He hummed, fingertip finding your clit,

“And if I let you come,” He started the delicious, quick circular motions that he knew drove you insane, “will you be a good girl? Do as you’re told?”

You considered lying to please him, pretending to be the perfect little sub for him, but that wasn’t really you, was it? You looked him dead in the eyes, and opened your mouth.

“No”

Something snapped behind his eyes, and he growled, deep in his chest, fisting your hair, forcing your head back, bending you over backwards on the kitchen island, as his other hand made quick work of his zipper and belt.

“This what you wanted, little girl?” He entered you, hard and fast and deep, tearing a scream out of your throat, railing you into the marble, “Daddy fucking your pussy like this?”

“Yes!”

“You like taking it like this? Pretty little pussy stretched around daddy’s cock?”

“Yes!! Yes daddy, just like this!" 

He was fucking into you with such force that you slid over the cold marble with each thrust of his hips, but there was nothing for you to brace yourself on. He grabbed your thighs, hooking your knees over his elbows to keep you in place and open you wider for him, going deeper, owning places inside your pussy you didn’t know existed. The edge of the counter was biting into his thighs but he couldn’t care, not with your walls spasming around his cock, squeezing him so good that his eyes rolled back inside his skull. You were crying, little whimpers of ‘Daddy, daddy!’ and it was so blasphemous, so unholy, it made Peter’s blood boil with it, lighting running through his veins, pleasure exploding in every single nerve ending of his body, cause you were his, his and no one else’s, his claim overriding every previous one made on you. It was too much, he exploded inside you, filling you up until you were overflowing with it, the pearlescent liquid dripping down his thigh. 

And he still couldn’t stop. Like a man possessed, he kept going. And you kept on taking it. 

…

"Are you ok?”

“I should be the one asking that…”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, staring back at you with genuine concern. Sometime during your fucking, you had managed to disvest him of his clothes and now he was as naked as you, lying on the massive couch, sated and spent, with you tucked on his chest.

“Pete, this whole thing was my idea” You reminded him, gesturing vaguely around you. The whole apartment was a mess: paintings fallen from the walls, torn clothes littering the hardwood floor, a broken coffee table… but the kitchen had taken the most damage, where Peter had managed to crack the marble on the kitchen island, and thrown away glasses and even a couple appliances in his haste for getting you on it. There even was a puddle of cold water, from where he had knocked over the glass of ice cubes he had used to tease you.

He frowned, 

“I seem to recall it was mine…”

“You said you wanted to take control” You placed a soothing kiss right above his heart, to let him know everything was alright, “I was the one who wanted the spanking. And the roleplaying. And the hair pulling…”

Peter’s smile grew bigger and bigger with every item you named. He loved it, loved that you trusted him enough to ask exactly what you wanted, loved feeling so comfortable with you as to explore everything he had been too scared to do before. He loved that with you, he was free, there was no fear of judgment, he could let go, cause he knew you wouldn’t let him fall. He loved you. 

And it was so natural, so easy as your conversations were, even before the blip, when you were four years older than him, so beautiful and unreacheable. As stealing a kiss that first night had been. He would have never thought something good could come out of Thanos, of the blip, of losing his arm and almost losing his life. But you had come visit him on his hospital bed right after the surgery, eyes full of tears and he had made a joke about every great Jedi losing his arm, and you had laughed. 

And then you had sobered up, an impossible emotion behind your eyes. Impossible, because he had only ever seen it directed at him in his wildest dreams.

“Ani, you’ve changed so much!” You had quoted.

“You haven’t changed a bit” he had replied without skipping a beat, “You’re exactly the way I remember you in my dreams”

And then he was kissing you, just like he was kissing you now, good hand on your cheek, biorobotic one slowly raising to tangle in your hair. 

“The ice play was my idea” He commented, breaking the kiss. You threw your head back, laughing.

“And a very good one at that” You approved.

“The daddy kink was a surprise…”

Your laugh died. Suddenly embarrassed, you hid your face on his chest.

“You know I’m not-… that I don’t really want to… sleep with my dad, right?”

Even with his super hearing, it was difficult to decipher your mumbling.

“What? No- I mean yes!” He stammered, “Of course I know that, babe! And you know I don’t want to… like… be him or anything…" 

You nodded, finally meeting his eyes.

"But it was kinda hot”

“Babe, it was all manners of hot” Peter confirmed, making you smile. 

“You still owe me five slaps, tho”

He groaned,

“I do, I totally forgot! God, I’m such a bad dom!”

“Of course not! You’re the hottest dom I’ve ever seen!" 

Peter snorted,

"I’m the only dom you’ve ever seen…”

“I saw Fifty Shades of Grey once…” You argued, making him laugh harder.

“Ok, ok, you win, even I am a better dom than that" 

"The edging…”

“Yeah, sorry 'bout that…”

“No no, I was actually thinking…” You felt your cheeks grow hot under his gaze. Peter was trying to appear nonchalant, but you could see the glimmer of lust in his eyes, evidently it was a serious turn on for him. “We could explore it more next time…”

His face lit up,

“Really? Thank you babe!” He caught your mouth in a heated, earnest kiss, “You won’t regret it, I’ll make so good for you…” he promised against your lips, making you moan in anticipation.

“Maybe I’ll even spare you those slaps I owe you…”

Peter didn’t miss the way your kiss falter at that, or the spark of defiance in your mischievous eyes.

“Maybe” You replied, noncommittal, releasing his lips to nibble at his jaw. He could practically see the wheels already turning in your head, planning ways to test his patience, pushing the limits just enough to guarantee a reaction, to earn yourself a new punishment. You were such a brat. 

His spoiled, gorgeous brat. 

[highonchocolate]

Take Two: The Guardian in Gotham Chapter 13

First   Previous   Next   Ao3

“Now that we know you do not intend to attack or harm us, the next order of business is testing and understanding your powers” Diana said, starting off down the hallway. “Batman and Superman will go over the details with you.” 

She led them to a training room where Batman and Superman were already waiting. The five of them filed in after her, looking around and taking in the room. The design was more on the minimalistic side; consisting of plain white walls, void of decoration, with lights embedded into the ceiling. Training mats spread out over half the floor, with more stacked on one side. There were no windows, or glass, and the ceiling rose high above them, at least twenty feet up.

Superman cleared his throat, and their eyes snapped from the walls to him. 

“As Diana most likely told you, we are going to be assessing your powers today. What that means is, you will explain where they come from, as well as demonstrate how they work, if possible, so that we can better understand your abilities.” 

“That all sounds good, but how, exactly, do you want us to demonstrate our powers to you?” Ladybug asked, tilting her head curiously.

“Whatever way feels the most comfortable, as long as you cause no injury to others. And yes, death is considered an injury.”

They looked horrified. 

“We aren't going to kill anyone to demonstrate our skills!” Chat Noir exclaimed, staring at them with wide eyes.

“Well, some of our members didn't realize that when they were assessed.” Superman said, eyes darting away for a second. 

“You can begin now,” Batman growled from where he stood beside Superman, his imposing black silhouette looming over them.

Ladybug blinked up at him. “Uh, alright.” She took a deep breath, before beginning. 

“So, we get our powers from our Miraculi. Our Miraculi takes the form of jewelry, but the shape can change. The jewels are what stay the same, and they have gods bound to them. When we transform, the god that is bound to our jewel will fuse with it, and give us powers. These gods are called Kwamis, and they represent abstract concepts, which is what our powers are based off of.” 

“What kind of abstract concepts?” Superman asked curiously.

“Um, well my Kwami represents Destruction, and there are also Kwamis that represent things like Intuition, Subjection, Evolution...stuff like that.” Chat Noir answered, ticking off his fingers as he listed the examples.

“How many Miraculi are there?” Batman inquired, still looming. “And what concepts do your Miraculi represent?”

Ryuko met his face unflinchingly.

“My Miraculous represents Perfection, Viperion’s represents Intuition, Queen Bee’s represents Subjection, Chat Noir’s as you already know represents Destruction, and its counterpart, the Ladybug Miraculous, represents Creation.”

“They're stored in Miracle Boxes, and it's worth saying there are many of those, actually,” Viperion added, “But the one we have had nineteen Miraculi,” 

Batman nodded once, accepting the answer.

“You said had, past tense,” Diana noted, ���What do you mean?”

“Hawkmoth and Mayura stole two Miraculi from the box, the Butterfly brooch, which represents Transmission, and the Peacock brooch, which represents the power of Emotion. They're literally the supervillains we fight, like, daily.” Queen Bee crossed her arms, looking at them incredulously. “How do you not know this? It's literally all over Parisian news when Akuma Attacks occur.” 

“We had it handled Queenie, and my Cure fixes all the damage anyway, so they probably didn't see it as a problem,” Ladybug countered. “Besides,” She glanced at the three older heroes, “You have to deal with stuff like alien invasions, and plots for world domination, not some dude who wants to make a wish.” 

 Viperion frowned. “It's more dangerous than that and you know it.” 

She shrugged, looking away. 

“While you are correct that we are busy, that still doesn't excuse that we let this slip our attention,” Superman said.

“Well you're helping us now, so I guess that counts for something,” Chat Noir offered, “And uh, if there aren't any more questions, we can demonstrate our powers now.”

“Go ahead.” Diana indicated the training mats, “Just remember, no injuries!” 

“Okay, so Ryuko, you can go first,” Ladybug turned to Queen Bee, “I know you've been working on recalling your Venom, but for now, just stun her when it's your turn, since she'll already be done demonstrating.”

They nodded, and Ryuko stepped forward, facing the older heroes, and inclined her head in a small bow. 

“I have the Miraculous of the Dragon, and it represents Perfection. It allows me to transform into three elements, wind, water and lighting.” She breathed deeply, planting her feet firmly on the ground.

“Wind Dragon!” 

She shifted into a gust of wind that blew around the room once, before reappearing where she had originally stood.

“Water Dragon!”

She became a stream of water that seeped through the cracks in the training mat into a puddle on the floor, before reappearing on the floor in front of the training mat. 

“Lightning Dragon!”

She turned into a crackling ball of electricity, hovering in midair for a moment, before reverting back to human, panting slightly.

Ladybug grabbed her forearm gently, “You need to recharge, and then sit down. You have food for Longg, right?”

“Yes, but I don’t know where I’m going to detransform and recharge,” She whispered.

“Just ask Diana if there’s a closet or something where you can detransform.” 

Ryuko nodded and walked over to Diana. They spoke quite for a couple moments, before Diana pointed to a door they hadn't noticed when they had arrived. She nodded and walked into the room beyond, as Chat Noir walked forward.

“My Miraculous is the Black Cat, and it represents Destruction. I have two powers, one that allows me to destroy anything I touch, and one that allows me to create corruption in something. I also have enhanced senses.”

Queen Bee sidled up next to Viperion. “Was there a script? I don’t remember there being a script?”

“I think he’s just going off what Ryuko said because she sounded distinguished.” He whispered back.

Chat Noir’s ear twitched, and he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to hold in laughter.

“I’m not going to demonstrate my second power, though, it’s a bit more dangerous, in a way.” 

He raised one clawed hand before him, “Cataclysm!”

His hand began to seethe with a dark, black energy that had the older heroes falling into defensive positions.

“Can I use it on this?” He indicated a nearby metal bar with the other hand.

“Yes.” Batman nodded, observing intently. With the reassurance, he walked over to the beam and pressed a single claw to the shiny metal. Within seconds, it had corroded and rusted, disintegrating entirely. 

Superman raised his eyebrows. “Impressive.” 

“Heh. Thanks.” Chat Noir rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, stepping back and allowing Queen Bee to come forward. Ryuko walked over as well, standing a few feet away from the blonde heroine.

“I have the Bee Miraculous, which represents Subjection. It gives me the power to paralyze others. I’ll be demonstrating on Ryuko, since she has already demonstrated and recharged.”

Behind them, Chat Noir’s ring beeped once.

She reached down to the striped top, its cord looped around her waist, shouting “Venom!”

It began to pulse with magic in her hand, and she quickly flicked her wrist, sending it spinning at the dragon-themed heroine and catching her between the shoulder blades, leaving a small ring of black and gold. 

It's effects were instantaneous: she stiffened up, her limbs all locking in place. The only things moving were her eyes, and the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

“How long does the paralysis last?” Diana asked, studying Ryuko’s frozen form.

There were two beeps, one from Chat Noor and the other from Queen Bee.

“Until I detransform. But after we use our powers, we only have five minutes until our Kwamis are forced to drop our transformations,” Queen Bee explained. “That'll change once you become an adult, but for now the paralysis only lasts five minutes, max.”

“So after you use your power you have to end the fight within five minutes?” Superman clarified.

Viperion spoke up.

“Well, we can detransform, feed our Kwamis and transform again. And then we can use our powers again. It just takes a few minutes to do all that.”

“Hmm.” Batman’s face seemed thoughtful beneath his cowl.

Two more beeps echoed through the room..

Viperion stepped forward to the mat. Behind him, Ladybug was pushing Queen Bee and Chat Noir towards the door Ruyko had recharged behind, an insistent expression on her face.

“My Miraculous is the Snake, and it represents Intuition. It grants me the power to repeatedly go back a certain amount in time.” He paused as Ryuko unfroze and began to shake the stiffness out of her limbs. Queen Bee must have dropped her transformation. 

“I can't demonstrate it very well here, but in battle if things go wrong, I reset time and warn us before we make that mistake again.”

There was a flash of green and yellow light behind the door as they retransformed

“A useful power.” Batman commented, face unreadable. The other two heroes murmured in agreement, strange expressions on their faces.

He shrugged, faking nonchalance even as the memories of past Akumas turned disastrous flashed through his head. “It's a powerful blessing and a horrible curse.”

His bracelet beeped once, and he stepped away to recharge as Ladybug walked forward.

“I have the Ladybug Miraculous, which represents Creation. I have the power to summon a tool in battle that will help me win, and I can capture Akumas and repair any damage caused in a fight that Ladybug participated in with my Cure.”

“So if you are not part of the fight as Ladybug, you can’t fix the damage?” Diana asked.

“Yeah, basically.”  She frowned. “So even if I’m there as a civilian, if I can’t transform before the fight’s over, I can’t do anything to repair the damage.” 

There was a flash of blue, and Viperion walked back over to them, falling into line with the other members of his team behind her.

Shrugging, she gave the older heroes a small smile and grabbed the spotted crimson yoyo at her hip. “But I can now! Lucky Charm!” 

A ladybug-patterned keychain with ‘JL’ emblazoned on it fell into her outstretched palm. She threw it into the air, shouting “Miraculous Ladybug!”

With a whoosh of magic, pink glowing butterflies soared through the room, fixing the rusted beam, and even straightening things that had shifted slightly when Ryuko had called on Wind Dragon. The three older heroes' eyes widened at the display of power.

“That’s a very useful power.” Batman commented, eyeing them assessingly. “Now, we’d like to see your combat skills. Without your powers.” He turned on his heel and walked out the door. 

“Follow me.”

“Do you want us to detransform, or just not use our powers but keep our suits on?” Ryuko asked as they followed the three of them out of the room.

“What additional enhancements do your suits bring?” Batman countered, turning right and striding forward along another hallway.

“Uh, mine gives me night vision and they all give us better reflexes.” Chat Noir piped up from where he brought up the rear.

“Any weapons?” Diana asked.

“Well, I have a lyre.” Viperion offered.

“Do you hit people over the head with it when they get too close?” ” Superman asked as he walked beside them.

Viperion looked appalled. “Of course not! It’s a musical instrument! I would protect it with my life! You never damage your instrument!”

“Okay…” Superman said slowly, turning around and walking backwards so he could face all the Parisian heroes. “What about you all?”

“I have my yoyo, and it’s pretty much indestructible.” Ladybug pointed to the spotted weapon at her hip. “Actually, all our weapons are mainly indestructible. Perks of magic I guess.”

“Oh, and I have my baton!” Chat Noir lifted the weapon in question above his head enthusiastically.

“Spinning top for me.” Queen Bee shrugged and indicated the striped top at her waist.

“Do any of you have traditional weapons?” Diana asked, looking at them incredulously.

“I have my sabre.” Ryuko unsheathed the weapon in question, the light glinting off the unmarred metal.

“A sword.” Diana nodded, “I can work with that.”

“Alright, here we are.” Superman announced, throwing the door open. “Time for your combat skills to be tested!”

@laurcad123, @liquid-luck-00, @toodaloo-kangaroo, @stainedglassm

[arewelonely]

wait for me

cw: brief mention of suicidal ideation, anxiety attack

part five

––

He would lie if he told himself that he didn’t like the way his heart beat around her.

“And I’m telling you, she’d be down to… yuh know… if you ever wanted to.”

And it wasn’t just that she was someone to think about other than himself. He had plenty of those: his mother, his father–if he was being particularly generous, Nott.

“I mean, I asked her to Sluggy’s asskissing party, and she said no. Like, she knows you aren’t invited, Malfoy.” Crabbe snorted. “There’s no chance for you to take her.”

And fighting with her was different from bickering with Zabini. Draco inhaled. He remembered the flash of her eyes when she shot hexes at him. She was striking and strong when deflecting spells.

“And she still said no,” Crabbe continued.

“Hey, Crabbe,” Draco said harshly, leaning forward, “I’ll make it very clear: she’s saying no to you, not waiting on me, aight?”

Crabbe stared back from his couch, stunned.

Nott snorted next to him, reaching out to pat Crabbe on the back. He glanced at Draco. “Retiens rien, ouais?”

Draco rolled his eyes and picked up the book that lay useless in his lap. “Je mens pas.”

“Oi, cut it out with the French, you two,” Crabbe grumbled. “I just want Pansy to say yes.”

Theo did a poor job of holding back another snort and Draco felt his mouth squirm with a smile: bittersweet amusement.

Pansy sat oblivious a few couches over, chatting softly with Zabini and Daphne, and Draco flipped a page in his book, the crinkle of the page matching the crackle of the fire.

“Haven’t seen you here in awhile, boy,” Theo said, stretching to nudge Draco’s leg with his foot.

“Yeah, really busy, I guess.”

“The guys were looking for you last night.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. No kidding. He remembered the way Granger’s locs fell out of her bun when she moved quickly. The force with which she spoke. Her strange gentleness when he almost crumbled.

“I’ll have to join you next time,” Draco said quickly. “It’s been awhile.”

“I mean, I get it,” Crabbe said, and Draco highly doubted it. “After everything, Narcissa must be on your case to at least–”

Nott cuffed him on the ear and Crabbe shuddered away. “Seriously?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything bad!” Crabbe insisted, waving Theo off and holding his ear in his palm. “Just that she must want you to do really well at, like, everything to make up for–”

Draco stood up, the book falling from his hands.

He left Theo’s “oh my fucking Merlin, Vincent” behind him as his gut churned. Anxiety shot up through his legs and his arms. He wondered for a moment what he might do, feared for a moment he would stand as a statue in the middle of the Slytherin common room until the end of time. He forced his legs to inch forward one after another.

His ears rung and Blaise was saying something behind him, or Pansy was, and her voice was too sugary sweet for him to handle right now.

The heat from the fireplace burned his cheeks as he walked past, heading to the portrait hole. His veins ached with distress and his joints protested overuse, though he had sat all day.

He swore he could hear the snake hiss in his ear.

It wasn’t any quieter in the hallway, the snake–honestly it might have pounded on his forearm more–and his fellow Slytherins were calling to him from the portrait hole, but he kept moving through the haze and half hoped his heart would beat itself to death.

The tension in his muscles knew where to take him, and he was inside the Room of Requirement, after painfully looking over his shoulder for any followers, before his brain somewhat settled. In this room, the anxiety left him, as it did each time–he could work and research and repair this horrible Vanishing Cabinet and convince himself that he was working towards the goal–

“Fuck!” Draco screamed, spinning around to stare at the closed door of the room. “Fuck!”

He was no closer to killing his Headmaster than he was outside of this room–it was that the Room itself convinced him he was, no? He pleaded and pleaded for a solution each time he paced outside the door. The Room gave him one.

He marched forward, twisted, and then slammed his fist into the wall. He groaned and stumbled back, his knuckles pounding, his forearm tensed. The snake’s venom seeped into his blood; it made the muscles there sore.

Draco’s breathing shook again, unsteady in and unsteady out. He was crying, or dissolving–he wished he could explode. He wished he had enough energy, mental or physical, to punch the wall again, but the snake held his arm to his side like a weight. The snake protected the arm, this spell-casting arm. The snake knew, as Draco did, as the Room, deep down, must have known as well:

The Vanishing Cabinet could only bring the minions here to save the day after the deed was done. Draco’s wand would have to cast the final curse.

His pocket seemed to vibrate with the power it held: it contained a future murder weapon. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, so all was dark.

This was not what he wanted to do with this wand when he received it from Ollivander only five years ago. This was not how he had imagined he would spend his school years when he snatched his already opened Hogwarts letter from atop the marble kitchen counter. He had skimmed the book list, the feeling in his stomach not this terrified awful anxiety but joy, jitters, excitement of Potions and Hogwarts and this place that his parents had been, his family had all been before him, he, too, would get the chance to go!

Draco opened his eyes, his face squirming as the world blurred back into focus. The Vanishing Cabinet in front of him should never have revealed itself. He should be studying for the N.E.W.T.s. He should be attending Sluggy’s asskissing party, making professional connections for a Potions Mastery after Hogwarts. He shouldn’t be in this room every other night, holding back tears or succumbing to the overwhelming tension in his chest that never failed to remind him he was meant to end a man’s life.

And not a stranger’s life–a man he had grown up around. A man who had welcomed him home every September for five years. A man who had done the same this year, who Draco could have sworn had looked him in the eyes as he did so. A man who seemed to know his end was coming near.

Draco sobbed.

A man who seemed to know which cowardly prat was going to bring around his end, if only to avoid his own.

Draco allowed his knees to buckle and his arse to stumble on to the ground. He held his forehead in a hand and fisted his hair with the other.

“Fucking Merlin,” he breathed. “I…”

“You see?”

His neck snapped up and he stared at the door, slowly reaching for his wand.

“Harry, it doesn’t mean that he’s inside there.”

Draco exhaled. Granger.

“Yeah, but, look! He’s literally nowhere else.”

“I dunno what to tell you, mate, but this kind of seems like a–” And the Weasel.

“Just look, guys, okay?”

Draco’s hand clenched around his wand. He stood and faced the door, summoning his books to him slowly as he listened to their chatter. If they were following him, he’d at least give them a reason for it. Or, he’d try. Because it was incredibly fucking difficult to do anything when he listened to their bickering and caring banter only a few metres away.

---

In some ways, he expected it. The twats’ and Granger’s voices had died down several hours before, but she had been sorted in Gryffindor for a reason, and he almost snorted when she scrambled to her feet upon his exit from the Room.

“Thought you would’ve fallen asleep by now,” he said, although he hadn’t.

The circles under her eyes were a bit deeper this early morning, and she pressed her lips together, arms crossed beneath a large woven jumper, as she looked him up and down.

Draco inhaled. “Like what you see?”

Granger’s shock was a joy to watch, and he couldn’t help the smirk that fluttered across his lips as she sputtered out a response.

“What–I–what the hell were you doing in there?”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” Draco informed her, and he began to walk down the candlelit corridor, biting his lip when her footsteps joined his insistently.

“I don’t see how it’s not, as you’ve been absolutely off the rails this year–”

Draco risked a glance and raised an eyebrow down at her. “I have?”

Granger blinked. “You’ve–I think it’s my business when you’re involved in Dark Magic–”

The muscles in his neck tensed. He resumed looking straight ahead, continuing down this hallway though the most direct way back to the Slytherin common room required a left turn a few steps prior. “How do you know it’s Dark Magic?”

“I…”

It truly was wonderful to witness when the class know-it-all couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Quite presumptuously judgy, aren’t you?”

Her nails dug into his arm, instantly dragging him to a stop. Panic squirmed through the snake–she was so close. Her eyes flashed, breathing hard. “How dare you. You have no right to say any of this. Tell me what you’re doing.”

Draco felt his heart pound. He did have no right. He knew this. And this line he approached, it was a very unsteady one. He could not see on either side of it, and it felt a bit like flying–he just didn’t know whether he chased the Snitch or a trick ball thrown by his father in practice to sharpen his senses.

“Am I wrong, though?”

Granger’s jaw worked and her nose flared. Her eyes were the deepest brown, lit up by the flickering candles on the walls. She was unequivocally gorgeous, and she was screaming at him.

She released his arm–he wondered if her nails would leave dents in his skin–and took a few steps back, her hands in the air and gesturing emphatically. “After everything, Malfoy, all the crap you’ve pulled for years now–I cannot believe you would spout this haughty bullshit! You have nothing to stand on, truly, how dare you lecture me about–about anything?!”

Thank Merlin the hallway was still empty. “If you would keep your fucking voice down–”

Granger let out a noise of pure disbelief. “If you would actually do something good for once in your sorry–”

Draco pressed his hand to the top of his nose and shut his eyes. “I think I figured out a way to not do it, okay?”

“Not to–”

Draco opened his eyes. “Not to do it.”

Granger stepped forward. “Not to do what?”

He shook his head. “Not to do it.”

She blinked, stunned, almost in time with the candles’ flickering. “You can’t–”

He laughed harshly. “Oh, I know.”

“You…” her mouth parted and she stood in silence for several seconds. The sudden lack of noise was almost peaceful, except it meant that Draco had no idea what she thought.

He raised his eyebrows. “I can’t and I have to, regardless of which way I look at it.”

Granger crossed her arms again. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you aren’t going to tell anyone else,” he said, and perhaps this was the truth. Why did anyone do anything these days?

“You don’t know that.”

“You haven’t told the two twats about our previous encounters this year,” he said.

Granger frowned. “How do you…”

“They would be on me all the time if you had. They very actively do not trust me, as I’m sure you know.”

Granger lifted her chin. “I do not trust you.”

Draco looked at her pointedly. “Where is your wand?”

Her arms were crossed, and her wand was nowhere in sight. She knew this, as… they were her arms, but she looked down at them nonetheless.

His chest warmed briefly, and he turned away to continue walking, his own wand stashed in his pocket as well.

They walked in silence for a few breaths, Granger’s quiet pads on the ground behind him covering up the snake’s hissing in his ear. He made a turn and snorted to himself when Granger took a breath.

“Hey, Malfoy?”

“Yes, Granger?”

She reappeared next to him. “Why are you going to the Gryffindor Towers?”

He shot her a glance. “Isn’t that your house?” he drawled.

“What business do you have there?”

He raised his eyebrows at her jumper-clad-rumpled figure and ignored some portrait who grumbled as they passed by. Why did anyone do anything these days?

Granger stopped in her tracks and Draco begrudgingly followed suit, spinning slowly to catch her eye. “I’d far sooner return you to your common room than have you,” she snorted, “escort me to mine.”

“Well, that makes two of us. But I think we both know who we’d prefer traipsing through the halls alone at night.”

Granger jutted her chin back. “Um, no, I do not think we–” and here she gestured viciously at the one metre between the two, “know anything!”

Draco cycled through responses.

I like that you’re walking through the halls without your wand out. I like that I’m walking through the halls without mine out. I like that you keep yelling at me. I like the look in your eyes when I’m able to shock you with what I say, when I tell you as much of the truth as I can stomach. I wonder what you look like when you braid your hair.

He blinked furiously and spun right back around. He increased his pace towards the Gryffindor Towers, knowing that she would follow him, and he ignored her eager berates as she did so, letting the portraits chastise her for him. He grinned widely when he caught her flipping off a particularly rude painting and tried to cover it up with a cough perhaps even worse than the ones Theo would fake at Pureblood dinners.

She grabbed him with a grunt just a few steps before the hallway leading to Gryffindor.

“Stop it,” she hissed, “Malfoy, fuh–oi!”

“What?”

“Eugenia’s gonna make a ruckus if she sees you.”

Draco huffed. “Who the fuck’s Eugenia?”

Granger rolled her eyes, her hands still twisted up in his sleeve. “The Fat Lady.”

“Ah,” Draco nodded, letting out a small laugh–of course Granger would know her actual name.

She blinked when his chest moved and yanked her hands off his arm. It fell back limply to his side, and he shifted his weight. Granger took a few hesitant steps past him, watching him over her shoulder. He turned away first, figuring she at least shouldn’t have to fear he would jinx her from behind. He sighed. She at least shouldn’t have to fear that. But he stayed right around the corner until he heard her reassure Eugenia that there was nothing there, that all was okay, that she could doze off back to sleep. Draco rested his face in his palms. Why did anyone do anything these days?

---

And yet, if there was one thing to be grateful for, it was that Draco could be a bit more awake in the mornings. Still stumbling through, yes, still forcing food down to keep his heart pumping, but there were moments, however brief, where he felt his mind click and curiosity worm its way into his skin.

Maybe Snape saw this, and wanted to reward this idiot he had chosen to protect. Draco’s nose twitched and he shifted in his seat as his professor eyed them all. Highly unlikely. Maybe he felt like proving himself, because for all his smoothness Draco felt sure there must be insecurity. Denied Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for years. Must have tortured him.

Snape held himself with the same poise he always had, though, facing the Slytherins and Gryffindors, and Draco let himself rejoice in the normalcy of the side eye he exchanged with Crabbe and then Goyle. They would wait, they had no choice, but the dramatics were a bit ridiculous.

“This year,” Snape began, and Draco leaned back, eyebrows raising, “is obviously an important one. You will not only become extremely proficient in wordless disarming, sophisticated hexes, intricate jinxes, and smooth wandwork–” here, he looked at the Weasel, “but you will receive opportunities to practice, with each other. Malfoy.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Come here.”

Draco slid back his chair and breathed out as he walked past the other students to the front of the classroom. Who in Merlin’s name knew what they were thinking about him? Did they know he was a Death Eater? Now that they were getting a chance to give him their undivided attention, were they thinking about Lucius? About how he–

“And Granger.”

Draco’s breath halted.

Snape’s face remained neutral with its classic, stoic, hint-of-a-smirk nonchalance.

But the air in the room shifted instantly. This was not Malfoy versus Potter, a classic rivalry. No, Snape chose to pair the Death Eater and the Mud–

Draco’s eyes narrowed as Granger slipped out of her seat and walked slowly to the front. Anger simmered gently in his shoulders as his breathing increased again. Granger’s entourage looked on, concerned. As they should be. Granger’s face betrayed nothing, her eyes calmer than they had been the other night. She hadn’t met his yet, and he waited for her to.

“You will demonstrate for the class,” Snape announced. “Wands at the ready.”

It was slow motion, honestly, the speed at which he removed his wand from his pocket. And it wasn’t that his brain was out of it–in fact, he was trying to figure out how on Earth he could get Granger out of this situation. This would not help solve anything. This would very clearly make the house divides worse. Would very clearly bring more opportunities for anger.

Yet, Granger’s wand pointed at him, stable in front of her, and he watched her watch his hand as it mirrored hers.

“Until–” Draco began.

“Standard Wizarding Laws,” Snape said. “And what are they?”

The class blinked back at him, and Draco tried to subtly gulp air.

“Mr. Longbottom?”

The boy jerked his head up, a faint blush settling on his nose. “Uh, yes, in a Standard Wizard’s Duel, the, er, duelers can only use magical means; no physical combat.” He cleared his throat. “Duel until yield. No Unforgivable Curses.” Granger’s eyes fluttered shut. “Both duelers must agree to the laws.”

“Correct.” Snape turned back to the two students in front of him.

They were probably five paces apart from each other, and Granger still hadn’t looked at him directly.

“You may bow and begin.”

Deep brown met grey and they held as the two bent stiffly at the waists. Granger’s gaze lacked its puzzlement from the other night–her purpose determined, the apprehensive stares of her peers creeping behind her ear and the steady one of the boy in front of her, trying to break her concentration. He wouldn’t. She had done this once before, she would again.

Hermione Stunned him the moment their torsos began to straighten–a quick spell aimed at his ankle, rivaling the one he had hit her with those weeks ago in the library.

She saw his countercurse coming and deflected it silently, whipping her wand in the air to conjure rope. She lassoed his left leg the second he began to shift his weight to his right.

She wouldn’t give the class any time to think that he could gain the upper hand. She would give them all no opportunity to think that she, and any other Muggle born, were lesser.

Malfoy grunted as the rope began to tangle around him. He looked up sharply and Hermione yelped, activating a Shield as fast as she could to block the flash of red coming her direction. The spell’s impact pushed her back a few feet, her shoes skidding on the floor.

“Let’s go, Hermione!” Ron called out.

Hermione lunged forward. She clapped thunder above Malfoy’s head, the clouds swirling thick and dark.

“Ey, Slytherin!” Pansy raised her voice. The rain started to hit Malfoy’s hair, the locks sticking together and curling faintly on his forehead.

“Gryffin-dor! Gryffin-dor!”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed underneath the lightning.

Hermione tried him with a hex and he deflected it directly back at her–she dodged out of the way and blinked as it shattered into the cabinets behind her, cymbal to the thunder’s bass. The class’s voices increased in volume. Malfoy’s next spell just missed her shoulder.

Aggravation bubbled in her veins.

“You’ve got this, Hermione!” and “take her down, Malfoy!” and “let’s go, Gryffindor!” and “Draco! Draco!”

And Malfoy’s defenses were stronger (or perhaps just existent) this time, his arms crossing over his body and his wand waving to dispel just about everything she sent at him. His robes flung water as he moved.

And Snape stood next to her in the corner, watching as a glint appeared in Malfoy’s eyes, as he lassoed the cloud and shot it in Hermione’s direction. And it was really just angry adrenaline, feeding off the class and the suaveness of Snape just to the side of them, that allowed Hermione to dissipate it into nothing–she had no idea what spell she was using, only that this fucking cloud was not meant for her and Malfoy would not turn it back towards her–

“Ah!” she gasped, hand clutching to her arm as Malfoy stung her briefly. She whipped back a series of four hexes, but Malfoy dodged them all. His eyes glinted as he built up his shield and her spells started to bounce off of it–

She needed to break through his defenses.

He could break through hers.

Hermione’s gaze darted from his shoulders to his stance, his feet, the way his arm moved when preparing a spell–

His eyes.

Hermione shot a trip towards his legs and then an Expulso directly at his chest. He deflected both easily.

She inhaled sharply, widened her eyes, and glanced right over his shoulder. She cast a disillusionment charm just as he turned his head, and then ran around to get a different angle–

Malfoy’s voice was a low growl: “Granger, dirty trick–”

And she swallowed her laugh, shot a rope from her wand, successfully knotting it around Malfoy’s thighs–

“Fuck–”

–and she huffed, either in frustration or shock, when he dissolved it without so much as tripping. His head snapped over to where she stood in her stance; he hit her with a tripping jinx before she could react. Half of the class cheered.

She caught herself abruptly on the ground, punching out a groan as her hand blurred back into visibility–her disillusionment charm faded with this lack of concentration, and she could only barely shoot an equally strong tripping jinx before she was rolling to dodge a Stun that hit the ground next to her with a few sparks.

Hermione’s retaliating trip hit Malfoy squarely, and the boy fell. The two lay on the ground, one of her hands holding her up as she leaned forward, one of his holding him up as he had fallen backwards, their wands still pointed squarely towards each other.

“Let’s go–”

She saw his spell coming before his neck had even twitched and matched him with a jinx of her own–

Both dissolved in the air and Snape waved his wand over the residual sparks. “Very well. Enough!”

The class’s cheers fell to a hush as Snape walked between the two.

“As you can see,” he drawled, “dueling is not meant to last forever.” Hermione blinked over at Malfoy, the two breathing heavily. “The duelers grow tired quickly. They must find their partner’s weakness.” Snape let the room wait, the students in front of him in their chairs, the two behind him on their arses. “Now, pair up and begin.”

Hermione exhaled as the class began to move. Harry found her eyes and she gave a short nod, heart pounding, as he and Ron retreated to the back of the classroom. A few grumbles arose from the Slytherin side and Hermione glanced over to see Malfoy pushing back on his heels and watching her as he stood. She leaned forward on her hand and rose to her feet as well, crossing her arms and gripping her wand.

She had done all she could, she had hit him a few times, it was just–

Malfoy was awake today.

And once she stood, he turned to Snape, eyes narrowing and walking forward. But the man brushed away, robes swishing with his stride, and called out to chastise some Slytherins fooling around in the corner.

Malfoy lifted his chin and took a step closer to Hermione instead. “Do you speak French?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

He stepped forward again, lowered his voice. “Do you happen to speak French?”

Their space in the front of the classroom was unoccupied, but partners had begun dueling all around them.

Hermione cleared her throat. “A bit.”

Malfoy jerked his chin forward. “On est à égalité.”

“‘On–’” Hermione sputtered. The two were equally matched? “Have you forgotten how I saved you,” she stepped forwards, “from a book, only a few weeks ago?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Clearly was not at my–”

Hermione scoffed. “And your best was, what, just reflecting my spells?” She shook her head.

He shrugged. “You–”

Hermione lowered her voice. “I would have continued, you insolent prick, but Snape stopped us. I had just gained the upper hand, don’t try to deny it.”

Malfoy breathed in. His nose twitched. “Et qu’est-ce qui c’était, mon défaut?”

Hermione felt her heart beat. “Your eyes. They give you away.”

He smiled, ever so slightly. “Well. All I meant, was, you’re good. Excellent.”

“I know.” And she did. And she kind of loved the snort of laughter he half let out at her response. “You’re decent, as well.”

Malfoy gave a single nod. “Well.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“C'est un con.”

Malfoy, not sucking up to Snape anymore? She felt amusement brush across her lips. “Je ne suis pas en désaccord.”

He smirked and she wondered if her face mirrored his. Snape called for silence again, and they returned to their seats. He turned away first, and she watched a remnant drop of water fall from his hair onto his robes.

---

In bed that night, Hermione thought about peace. She thought about fear, and anxiety of the future, and marveled to herself that, for however long this moment lasted, sleep was close by.

She remembered Malfoy’s face, and how carefully he watched her, and how the corners of his eyes softened when he spoke quietly. She pinched her lips between her thumb and forefinger and rolled over to bury her face in her pillow. Parvati’s gentle snores rang around the room and Hermione wondered what the Slytherin dorms were like. She wondered if Malfoy showered before bed or in the morning. She wondered, just curiously, what he thought of today.

“Harry said Snape’s face was horrific throughout it all,” Ginny had mentioned over dinner. “He enjoyed it? Like, a lot?”

Hermione held her head in her hands. “Gin, I don’t even know…”

“‘Mione did a great job,” Ron informed the table, and Hermione smiled up at him.

“Thanks, Ron.”

“Just, what was the point?” Ginny frowned.

“Exactly,” Hermione waved her fork in Ginny’s direction.

“Snape’s an ass,” Harry said.

Hermione stifled a smile. “You’re not incorrect,” she said.

Harry beamed at her. “Look how far you’ve come, eh? First year, you never would’ve said anything bad about a professor!”

Hermione looked over her shoulder even as she spoke. “Well, he’s not here now, and also, that’s such a lie! I was all convinced Snape was out to get you first year, you recall?” She raised her eyebrows. “I set his robe on fire.”

Ron burst out laughing–“oh Merlin, I forgot about that!”–and Ginny’s fork clattered to her plate. “You did what?”

Harry snickered.

“Oh, have you not heard this story?”

Ginny leaned in closer. “Hermione, you set fire to a professor? To Snape?”

“To Snivellus,” Harry sighed contentedly, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Back in first year, when their concerns seemed smaller. When magic was new and boundless. When Slytherin was a rival in Quidditch first.

Hermione remembered that Malfoy had introduced himself the night of their Sorting with his last name first.

“Malfoy,” he had said to Harry Potter. “Draco Malfoy.”

His surname was the most important thing about him. His family legacy, his Slytherin pride. His gelled hair, if its perfection was anything to go off of. And she didn’t want to give him the benefit of the doubt, didn’t think that she was, and she didn’t want to be interested from a personal standpoint. But Hermione was curious, and there was something in the way he held himself these days. She couldn’t help but wonder, how would the boy introduce himself now?

[chaosvice]

[ ANGER ] for specimen !

❛[   ☣ THE SPECIMEN ≻ INQUIRES: Pushed against Wall Prompts // ACCEPTING

[ ANGER ]:     sender pins receiver against the wall out of anger.

    Hold your tongue or someone else will FOR YOU // Clearly a lesson never taught to the creature of void and eyes. While they may not waggle it to the tune of toy and TETHER, they instead spoke in the key of self assurance and seeing others below them (LIKE ALL WERE ANTS THAT NEEDED CHALK OUTLINES TO FOLLOW). So they should not be surprised when the insects bit back.

    Wide hue and undignified SQUIRM that was allowed life for just a touch of time showed that was NOT the case. Spec clearly was the type that never had one anyone touch them, even more so in a VIOLENT matter. (NOT THE TYPE TO INITATE ANY SORT OF CONTACT // AN EXPECTATION EVERYONE WAS TOO SCARED TO DO IT TO THEM, AS THEY SHOULD BE!) Thus here they stayed stunned, back pressed to the decaying wall the killer held them against.

   It was also achingly clear that despite title and origins, Danny had the power here. Even a newborn snake had fangs laced with venom // BUT SPEC WAS LITERALLY A CREATURE MADE WITHOUT SURVIVAL IN MIND. Creature of observance, needle appendages bent down in display rather than FUNCTION. No mouths full of teeth, no horns ready to impale. (THE VOID BORN DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO PUSH BACK PROPERLY // ALL AWKWARD GRIPS AT ARM OR CHEST WITHOUT ANY REAL IDEA WHAT THEY WERE DOING)

    “What are you doing? OTHER than doing something dumb of course! You are wasting time AND energy trying to attack a being trying to help you do what you are a MEANT to do? What type of fool are you?”   Eventually digits found a grip along upper arms, digging in in slight but SLOPPY in execution.   “Get off of me!”

[fekst-fucker]

Ej, habit, and Tim maybe with big dom naga s/o. I’m talking like real long tail, big venomous fangs, maybe even little snakes for hair.-🐬

I hope a naga counts as a scary terrifying cryptid 😌💫🐍💚

Eyeless Jack

- He’s honestly relieved to have someone as... off putting as he is

- He still thinks you’re the most gorgeous, stunning creature he knows, and every single day he gives you kisses and praises like little prayers

- He loves your little snake tongue! The both of you flick them at each other all the time and he thinks it’s the best form of communication ever

- He usually hates that he scares people but on halloween or if kids wander into the woods he loves pulling a Cabin in the Woods and scaring the shit the out of them

- He doesn’t necessarily like being restricted during sex, but he does like you having your tail wrapped around him, maybe even holding him up if you can

- He likes feeling your tongue flick along his cheek and neck, it makes him shudder and actually gives him goosebumps

Habit

- He thinks his monster s/o is the most badass, hot thing on the planet

- You’re his pride and joy and he definitely uses you to scare the hell out of people

- And then after you make his victims lose their literal sanity he stands up on the stool and gives you a kiss

- He doesn’t call you little bunny or anything like that, he’s working on a good nickname bc “snake” isn’t a great term of affection

- You’re one of the ONLY demons he’s afraid of, he’s on his best behavior around you. He used to goof tf off before you picked him up and put your fangs against his neck and just said “stop”

- He was both terrified and very, very turned on

- He’d never, ever admit it, but he loves being pinned down with your tail while you have your way with him. He likes struggling under it

Masky

- Finally, an s/o that can scare people away from him

- He just wants to curl up in your little hollow and sleep while you keep watch over him

- He calls you ‘Medusa’ all the time, and has named every single one of the snakes on your hair

- When you first started dating he asked if you ever shed skin, and was clearly trying to hide his excitement over the answer

- One of the reasons you took such a liking to him was because he didn’t really react when he first saw you, he kind of blinked and then recovered immediately

- It’s refreshing to have someone not scream and run away from you

- However he’s not gonna put up a fight to be dommed, he’ll gladly let you balance him on your tail and hold his arms back while you rail him

Hoodie

- Hrrnnnnnng snake lady sexie

- The way you guys met was bc he was following you around in the woods trying to get a video of you. He still updates a YouTube channel with some freaky content every now and then and you were sneaking around bc you smelled a potential mate

- When he full on ran into you, camera in hand, he just slowly trailed it up to your face in shock and almost fainted

- As soon as he woke back up he was like like “ayyyyyy ahah youre pretty sexy and your titties are out”

- He hates when people get scared of you, but doesn’t really say anything. Just does his best to give you kisses and remind you that you’re gorgeous

- Yes please to bring dommed by a sexy snake lady?? There’s nothing you can do to surprise this man, he’s already on his knees/back/has a ball gag in/etc

- He has a kind of heat play kink, he wants you to let him book it into the woods and then chase him following his heat signature

- And then you fuck

Ticci Toby

- He doesn’t scare easily. The first time he saw you, he didn’t do much more than take in a sharp breath and shuffle backwards a few feet before being like “wait, are those snakes in your hair? Are those fangs? Is your tongue a snake’s tongue!!”

- He actually doesn’t like snakes very much, but he thinks you’re super cool and he does love the macabre, so he’s immediately obsessed with you. He has named every single snake on your head and plays with them individually

- He thinks he’s really scary, when it’s actually just you slithering out of the shadows and glaring at his victim. When they run away or faint out of horror he’s like “babe did you see that! I scared them so bad!” like uhuh hon good job

- Since he can’t feel pain… throw him around! Be rough! If you have a particularly bad day don’t hesitate to fuck him brainless! He enjoys it 😌💫

[enragedbees]

Thirty Million and One

Pairing: Roceit if you squint

Summary: Deceit desperately wants Thomas to pick the callback over the wedding, and it infuriates him that the others won’t listen to him.

Warnings: Deceit, the sides being mean to Deceit, referenced character death (If I missed anything, please let me know!)

Words: 1547

Song rec: Colors by Halsey

A huge thanks to the incredible @thenewlarislynn for being my beta reader!!

This is based on this post by the endlessly talented @lostonehero, thanks for the inspiration!!!

General Taglist: @xionbean @fall-sunflowers @emo-disaster @darkstrange-son

I love reading your comments! Please let me know what you think! :)

——————————————-

Deceit was so close. He could feel it.

        He tried not to let himself get excited. Things could always go wrong. One slip up, one detail gone unaccounted for, and everything might collapse.

        But he was so close. He had almost done it several times before but he had never gotten this far. Deceit could practically reach out and brush his fingers against victory.

        Finally, everything was about to change.

        Thomas sat at the witness stand in front of him, panicked and sweating. Deceit hid a smirk.

        “Stop stalling, and admit it!” he snapped. “What am I doing here right now, Thomas? Am I the snake come to trick you into sinning?”

        Thomas glared at Deceit, and Deceit smiled and shook his head.

        “Or have you had your mind made up since the moment you received the news about the callback? You didn’t even forget about the wedding, did you?! It was all an act!”

        “Fine! I want to go to the callback!”

        Deceit’s heart pounded as the room caught its breath. He couldn’t keep the grin from blooming on his face.

        That was it. Finally. I did it, he kept saying, over and over in his head, barely unable to believe it. I did it.

        “I was planning on playing WordCrush on my phone during the wedding ceremony to keep my mind off the fact that I’m single,” Thomas said helplessly. “I don’t want to go! I’m…afraid…to go.”

        The others all stared at Thomas in disappointment and disbelief. The pain on his face could have broken Deceit’s heart, had he not known from what he was protecting Thomas.

        Thomas continued to incriminate himself, but it didn’t matter to Deceit. He got what he wanted. Everything was going to be okay.

        Deceit let himself laugh as the others still sat stunned. “Yes! Prosecution rests, or whatever. Let’s just call it here and put him out of his misery.”

        Roman furrowed his brow and lifted a page on his notepad. “Does the juror have his decision?”

        Virgil sighed. “Yeah.” He stood up and glared at Deceit. Deceit barely felt the sting.

        “I hate to say it, but…the defendant is…guilty. On all charges.”

        Thomas hung his head.

        “Who knew convincing people to do something they really want to do could be so easy?” Deceit bragged.

        “This is a downer,” Roman sighed.

        Thomas bit his lip. “Well, Your Honor, what’s your sentence?”

        Deceit could barely hear them talking over the pounding in his ears, the elation swelling in his chest. Their disappointment was inconsequential. It would pass, and everything would be okay. Finally. Finally.

        Roman’s head shot up. He gingerly picked up his gavel. “I hereby sentence you…”

        Deceit lifted a hand. “That’s not really necessary. I think now you see that all of this is – ”

        “ – To one day at the St. Clifford’s Chapel on the day of Lee and Mary Lee’s wedding!”

        And with the bang of Roman’s gavel, Thomas’s eyes snapped open, and Deceit’s relief crumbled.

        His heart sank into his stomach. “Wait, what?!”

        This wasn’t supposed to happen. This had never happened before and Deceit had made sure that it wouldn’t.

        Virgil, he expected. Patton had also managed to ruin it before. And there was a reason Logan was deliberately kept away almost every time.

        But how could Roman do this to Deceit? How could he not understand?

        Roman sighed. “It’s my sworn duty to help Thomas achieve his hopes and dreams.”

        He scowled. “But Thomas wouldn’t dream of attaining his hopes through deceitful means.”

        Deceit fought back the frustration ebbing in his head, the nausea in his stomach, and the burning behind his eyes. He saw Virgil smile proudly at Roman and gritted his teeth.

        “But that’s not true!” Deceit cried.

        Virgil scoffed. “And you’re a beacon of truth?”

        “Did I say that?” Deceit snapped. “I missed the part where I said that!”

        Thomas shook his head. “I don’t understand. You got what you wanted.”

        They would never understand. Deceit had been through this more times than he could count and it always ended the same way. Nobody ever listened to him. Nobody ever believed that he wanted what was best for Thomas. It was foolish of him to believe this would have ended any other way.

        Deceit bit his lip hard. He wouldn’t cry, not in front of them.

        “But you’re still missing the point!” Deceit cried, voice dripping with venom. “Didn’t it seem kind of ridiculous taking this matter so seriously to the point of settling it in a legal setting?!”

        The others just shrugged. Deceit tried not to scream.

        “I am trying to teach you a lesson!” He yelled. “But it’s literally impossible!”

        “Falsehood.”

        Deceit just barely sidestepped before Logan rose up right next to him and folded his arms.

        “Why don’t you just leave the teaching to me?” He shot Deceit a look of contempt. Deceit refused to wither under it.

        “Great,” he snarled. “Well I’m sure Thomas’s friends would love to know that he’s forcing himself to attend their wedding.”

        Deceit knew that he had lost. Once again, they had ignored him. He should really have been used to it already. Deceit bottled up his hurt and put on an air of nonchalance.

        “It’s clear you all don’t want to listen to reason,” he sighed. Then his tone hardened. “But know this. I’ll always be a part of you. I’m not going anywhere. And there are smarter ways to get people to do what you want anyway.”

Deceit sank down, ignoring the scared and hateful faces of the people he wished he could still call friends.

        He popped back up in his room, sank to the floor, and covered his face in his hands. Deceit took in a few breaths, unable to keep a few hot tears from slipping out of his eyes.

        He took a moment to compose himself, then sniffed and wiped at his eyes. He stood back up and looked around his bedroom.

        Journal pages, sticky notes, pushpins, and pieces of string connecting it all covered every inch of the walls and ceilings and parts of the floor. Millions of attempts, millions of outcomes, all failed.

        Deceit had stopped counting how many times he had been through this scenario after about two hundred and fifty of them. For how long he had been stuck, it was probably somewhere near thirty million.

        No matter what he tried, Thomas always, always, chose the wedding.

        And every time Thomas went to the wedding, he never came back.

        Deceit pulled some pages down off the wall. He held onto a string by his teeth while he rearranged the papers, trying to create some path he hadn’t tried already.

        When Thomas died, everything reset. His life reverted to where it had been a few years prior, and Deceit was the only one who remembered what happened. He didn’t know why it kept happening, he didn’t know why he was the only one who wasn’t reset.

        It was like something, or someone, expected him to save Thomas, but no matter what he attempted, he always failed. Nobody listened to him.

        He tried getting close to the others, and sometimes, he succeeded. Those were the best of the attempts. Of course his priority was breaking the loop, but during those times, Deceit finally felt like he was a part of the group. He felt loved, he felt appreciated. He believed they would listen to him.

        But the moment he even suggested skipping the wedding, they turned on him. Virgil and Patton accused him of only pretending to be friendly to get what he wanted. Roman believed them and never forgave Deceit. That was the worst.

        He had tried explaining what he knew would happen, but they never believed him. Deceit couldn’t blame them. He wouldn’t believe himself, either. They all only saw him as a liar.

        Deceit pushed a couple pins into the wall. He squinted at the rough plan, trying to work out how every detail would fit with how the others might respond.

        At this point, Deceit barely cared about winning, about proving himself right. He just wanted something different to happen. And it wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

        He had spent eons reliving the same few years. He could repeat every conversation he had with all the others, verbatim. He knew their exact reactions and responses to every word or phrase. It was what made him such a good mimic.

        Deceit took a step back and folded his hands behind his head. This new plan was too similar to this attempt and not different enough from the previous attempt. He sighed and flopped back on his bed.

        He draped an arm across his eyes. Deceit had until April to figure out a new plan. He didn’t have to have it all planned immediately.

        Deceit stared up at the ceiling, and wondered, for the thirty billionth time, why the others wouldn’t listen.

        Thomas was a good person. Didn’t that mean, to some extent, that Deceit was, too?

        Deceit closed his eyes. He had gotten very close. He had never gotten this close before. Maybe it would end soon.

        Maybe next time, someone would listen. Maybe attempt number thirty million and one would be the one where everything changed.

[pieces-by-me]

I lied

Words: 1250

Warnings: character death and a lot of angst

Summary: One large battle ,with huge consequences, makes you come clean about some not so lost feelings.

The ride in the elevator was simply put awkward. Liam and Theo would throw untrusting glances at each other while you would look at the ground with an interest that showed that you would rather be anywhere else then trapped with your Ex-Boyfriend and you best friend. Not to mention that you were pissed at both of them.

You were sure that all this 'I'm a better person now after I came back from hell' crap is just a lie that Theo claims to be true so he would survive. Because thats what he does. Uses everything around himself to his own advantage. When Liam came into you house with a plan to stop the hunters you were happy that at least something was happening. But as soon as Theo stepped foot through your doorstep you lost it. The guy that literally broke your heart and killed you alpha came back from hell with the help of you best friend. Curses were thrown around and after half an hour Liam finally got you to at least hear him out. His plan was stupid but at least you now had one.

Still he would het his ass kicked from you when all of this was over.

The fact that all of you could die in the next 30 minutes was also a thought that ran through you head repeatedly.

You weren't listening to the two boys, but at the mention of dying your attention went back to the tow.

“I'm not dying for you” Theo all but growled at Liam, but you could see that for just a second his eyes were on you.

“I'm not dying for you ether” You spoke over Liams words.

“We all know that you are just looking for a way out. To save your own ass, like you always do. So no. Liam is not dying for you and I'm sure ass hell not putting my life before yours. I did that once remember?” Your words came out off you like venom from a snake.

Back when you trusted Theo and thought he was good you almost lost everything. Your family, your pack, almost your life. You were there when Theo trapped Scott in the library. You were there when the supermoon made Liam crazy and almost killed Scott. You were there. Bloody and broken in a circle of Mountain ash so you wouldn't intervene. Theo used you for his advantage, your relationship with the pack. Your feelings for him.

All of it just so he would win his stupid pack. Or at least so you thought.

What you did’t know was that behind all of that he tried everything to save you. After on fight with the Dread Doctors they developed a fascination with you. They wanted you for their sick experiments. He was supposed to lure you to them,to trap you in there hide out so they could strip you of your DNA and give you a new one. He wasn't supposed to have real feelings for you. So every time the Doctors told him to bring you to them he came up with a counter argument why it wasn't the time yet. He really thought that after he had his pack, he could protect you from them.

Sadly his good intentions were not met with good actions.

“We don't care if you die or not this time. We just want to protect our family, our Pack and be done with the hunter plague.” Liam saw how much that hurt Theo. He could see the pain in his eyes, even though he tried to hide it. Your words pained him in a way that he wasn't sure was possible. The person that he loved despised him to no end. He was so taken back by your words that he did't hear the skip in your heartbeat. But Liam did.

The elevator was almost at the right floor. After your little speech no one said anything.

But now that the doors would be open in a few minutes Liam looked at Theo with determination in his eyes. “I not dying for you.” He said and in the corner of his eyes he saw you. “But I'm gonna fight with you.” You were a little stunned. Not knowing why Liam said that. But he knew that if something happened to Theo you wouldn't be ok. Because even tough you wouldn't admit it you still loved him. And Liam wouldn't let you get hurt another time.

The doors open and the fight started. Liam and Theo fought one hunter after the other. They even thought together. You had your little crossbow in your hands an gave all you got. One arrow after the next implanted itself in another hunter. You shot all of them until you were empty. But just as everything went so well it turned to absolute shit.

You could see that Melissa and Nolan came to the same hall. But they weren't the only ones that came. On the other side stood Gabe. Nolan screamed for you to get down as all three of you ran to get away from Gabe. But you saw that he was targeting Theo and with his back to Gabe he would be an easy target. So you did the thing that you said you didn't. You pushed Theo to the side as the bullets rained on you and the two boys.

The next thing you felt was nothing but pain. Bullet holes where in three different places on your body. You didn't know what happened to the others. You only noticed that Theo dragged you away in another room and hear Liams roar in the hallway.

He looked at you with shock and panic because what the hell is he supposed to do now. You were lying in his arms. Blood pooled around you from both of your wounds. But he could heal. You couldn't.

“What the hell were you thinking. Why would you do that!?” He all but screamed at you out of fear. “You said you wouldn't die for me, that you didn't care. So why did you push me away.?” his questions turned frantic. You took a deep breath, which you realized where getting harder and harder to do. “I lied.” Your voice was a small whisper of pain but also pure honesty. “I never stoped caring about you”

And to make mater worse you smiled up at him. Your bloodied hand holding his cheek and wiping his tears away. You told him the truth. That you even though you were hurt beyond believe of his betrayal you never stoped caring. “You shouldn't have done that. You should have saved yourself. I can't loose you. I rather have you hating me and being here than having to let you go.” He kissed your forehead because even he knew that there was nothing to do. “I don't hate you Theo.” The air was slowly leaving your body. “I love you”

With that your hand fell from his cheek and the only sound was his heat shattering screams for you to come back.

He didn't tell you that he loved you back. That he was sorry for all hes done. That he wanted to work everything out after the whole Hunters ordeal was over.

But now it was too late. He couldn't tell you anything anymore, for you gave your life for him and he would always hate himself for it.

[imtryingthisout]

Sanders-Tale: The Falling Child

(A fic based on @nachosforfree Undertale Au, check it out)

Running.

Running: Tiny twig-thin legs carrying a skinny body as they desperately ran.

Faster- faster

Ducking under branches and leaping over stones

Faster- faster

The black and grey cloak was made of heavy fabric. A winter’s cloak in the middle of summer.

Faster- faster

It weighted the child, for it was a child who was running, down slightly. Not enough to slow down, but heavy all the same.

Faster, hurry, faster.

The forest surrounding the mythic mountain was thick and treacherous . The trees grew wide and untamed for no logger or lumberjack wanted to brave the mountain, not even to obtain the plentiful wood and other resources that lay there. There were stories about those who ventured up to the mountain top, and those stories rarely ended well.

They say those who go up to Mt Ebbot don’t come back down.

It was dark, making an already dangerous journey all the more perilous. The child could not see the moon nor stars. The child could barely see the sky at all, over the blanketed canopy of branches that lay over their head.

Raindrops fell heavily from the growing storm, making the earth below wet and slick. Mud clinged to the child’s clothes, clogging up the groves in their shoes, making it harder to not trip over the many treeroots and other obsticals that lay in their way. As they ran up the mountain.

Faster and faster.

Soon the terrain changed from the unpredictable muddied earth to the cold certainty of stone. And so the child stopped running.

Two unnaturally bright violet eyes- demon eyes the villagers whispered- tried in vain to see what lay ahead in the dark. The child had seemingly wandered into a cave at the top of the mountain. Seeking shelter from the storm- the child wandered in further. Taking short cautious step to avoid the myriad of roots that grew into the cave’s mouth from the forest.

Step by step the child crept further into the cave, and step by step the child gained more and more confidence. Till a burst of thunder cause the child to jump—

—a foot got caught in a twisted vine that curved upward making the child slip—

—and fall into a great pit that was unseen in the darkness of the night making the child fall

Further

And further

And further down into the great abyss

The child didn’t even have the time to scream before darkness overtook their exhausted vision.

………..

.......

....

...

..

.

The first thing the fallen child noticed was sunlight streaming down from the top of the cavern, ricocheting of the warm brown stone just to hit them square in the face.

“Hellooo? Hellooo? Hey, are you dead?”

The second thing they noticed was that they were not alone.

“Oh good you’re not dead, that would’ve sucked” said the… person in front of them? It certainly didn’t look like any person the child had ever seen. It was short- with two baby goat horns poking out of its forehead. Wide dual colored eyes looked down at the child as if it was the most curious thing on earth. Green and Red like holly berries and leaves.

The child let out a pained groan. They must have hit their head too hard when they fell, because this was the weirdest hallucination they had ever seen. Or maybe they were dead- or bleeding out at the bottom of a pit where no one would ever find their body- not that anyone would have bothered to look, but still it was the principal of the matter.

“Where… am I? And what the devils are you?” The child rasped out, their voice gaining more strength as they went on, till it ended their question in a pointed tone.

The creature blinked owlishly. “Uh you’re in the underground dummy- where’d you think you were?” It said as if those words were the simplest thing and the child was very very stupid for not knowing. “Well technically you’re in the ruins, but the ruins are part of the underground soooo” it’s voice trailed off.

“Ugh great, my death bed hallucination is a smart ass. Perfect”

“What?!” The creature exclamation, quite dramatically too- it put his hand over its chest like some histrionic uptown woman who had just been delivered unthinkable news. “I’m not a hallucination! And you are certainly not dead… though I think you might have hit your head cause you’re acting pretty dumb right now. Honestly, what monster forgets what the underground is?” It said rolling its eyes.

“I’m not a monster” the creature-monster?- startled, looking back at the child oddly. “What? What do you mean you’re not a monster. How could you not be- you’re either a monster or you’re—“

“Human. I’m a human”

A pause. A single beat of stunned silence before the monster pounced- literally pounced! - on the human child, squealing with excitement.

“Holy Stars! I’ve never seen a real life human before! What’s it like on the surface? Do you really eat naughty monsters who don’t finish their supper? Do you have fields of wildflowers and fruit that you can just go and eat whenever? What’s the sun like? Do you still have magic battles? Did you really paint yourselves with the dust of your enemies and dance around bonfires? What’s—“

“GET OFF OF ME” the child yelled, shoving the monster. “What are you even talking about? Magic? Monsters? What’s going on?”

The monster seem confused at child’s questions, “what do you mean you don’t know? Humans locked all monsters under the magic barrier after we lost The Great War. Don’t they teach you guys about this stuff?”

“No? What war?” The child could not remember being told about any war, especially one with monsters. “Also magic isn’t real.”

The creature rolled its eyes at that, “uh yeah it is. Monsters are pretty much made of magic so how could I exist if it wasn’t real.”

“I’m still not convinced this isn’t my brains last fuck you before I die via fall damage”

“Uh! How can I convince you that this is real- do I need to pinch you or—“ the child flinched away violently. The monster frowned at the sight. Biting it’s lip in concentration as it thought of a way to prove to the human that, yes, this was real.

The creature was a colorful sort, the child noticed, with curly rusty brown hair that was streaked with silver and gold. It was a chimera of features all cobbled together.

Mixed-mashed eyes, wolf like ears, two baby horns, just to name a few. It seemed to have some sort of paw-feet, for it wore no shoes and the child could see the dog-like toe beans that carried the monster. The parts of the creature that were exposed flesh seemed to glisten slightly in the light, creating little rainbows that swarmed the child’s eyes. There was pattern of some sort, thin even lines separating the diamond-like shapes, crawling up its arms like the scales of a snake. With deeper patches showing pigment more clearly, the spots of a copperhead.

“I know! What if I show you?” The monster exclaimed, finally coming up with an idea. It also Startled the child out of their venomous thoughts. “Show me what” the child demand- their mind already swarming with numerous horrible possibilities. But the monster carried on unconcerned, “Magic dummy”

The child started blankly. “You… can do magic?” maybe the incurious tone was a bit snide and rude, but the child had had a very rough day and couldn’t help but be unimpressed with the thing-monster in front of them. But the creature just nodded vigorously, eager with anticipation “Yuh huh- here,watch this”

The monster closed its eyes, focusing on its outstretched palms. It seemed to be concentrating very hard if the tautness in its expression was to be believed. The child was about to retort with a smart ‘don’t strain yourself’ when their words died in their mouths.

Suddenly the atmosphere grew heavy and dark, like a cold winter’s night. The human felt a sharp tug at the center of their being that set their heart racing. Looking up the human couldn’t quite believe their eyes. As the monster seemed to be holding light itself in its clawed hands. All manner of formless colors shifting and spiraling in beautiful and terrible patterns. Behind it tendrils took shape, the child likened them to the limbs of the kraken. The legendary monster that old sailors that hung near the edges of town would curse.

All around it innumerable shapes were called into existence. The bold streaks of color shining in the dark like a beacon.

Pink, yellow, blue, red. The colors where solidifying now. Gaining depth and hue.

Green, orange, navy, teal. They twisted up out of the monsters hands. Curling around one another and Blooming like a spring rose.

Red-yellow-orange-white. The colors where mixing with each other . Loosing themselves and being reborn as something new.

Blue-black-red-pink. Cancelling each other out. Some darkening, some lightening, as they blended.

Navy-gold-yellow. Swirled together till they were inseparable, to form a marvelously rich deep green.

Blue-pink-red. Each one coming together in glorious cacophony - until-

A burst of white light engulfed the room, chasing away the dark and lifting the atmosphere. The crushing weight on the child’s soul let go as cavern returned to itself, the shadows subsiding.

The child was on the ground breathing heavily, “what… was .. that!” They demanded in between pants for air. The monster ler out a gap-toothed grin. “That my human companion, was magic! Look-“ the creature shoved its hands in front of the child.

There in its cupped hands grew a flower that was unlike any the child ever saw. Its stem was a rich emerald green, the color of jewels they could never dream to own. The petals were dotted with specks of gold- buttercup yellow, but the majority of the flower was-

“purple” the child whispered, voice with wonder. The same freakish color of their eyes, down to the very shade, but the flower wasn’t freakish. It was beautiful.

“Soooo, do you believe me now?” The child nodded mutely, not trusting themself to answer. “Good!” Said the monster it (he? She? ) seemed quite pleased now. It passed the magical flower into the humans hands.

“I’m Romulus by the way” he said extending his (paw?claw?) hand to shake. “What’s your name?”

“Virgil” said the human, using Romulus grip to hoist themself up. Their clothes were -predictably- ruined from the storm, forest, and fall. Not that they were great to begin with, but still. Most of the fabric had been torn to shreds by thorns and branches. And what wasn’t reduced to rags was soaked with mug and dirt. Combine that with the cuts and bruises that painted their body, Virgil looked like crap.

Romulus seemed to be thinking the same thing. Since he offered to take Virgil to his house to help them. Apparently one of his dads knew some healing spells and would be willing to fix them up.

Virgil wasn’t one to go home with strangers, but what choice did they have? Besides Romulus didn’t seem bad- egocentric and ditzy brained, yes- but not dangerous. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t human, or maybe they were just too tired to care. But Virgil allowed themself to be guided by Romulus, the purple flower tucked neatly behind their ear. Listening to their new (friend?) companion as he regaled them with dramatic stories and adventures. All the while never knowing how this one action would change everything for good.

[ineffably-good]

Flufftober : Dancing (Good Omens)

I’m only eight days behind on Flufftober prompts, but I decided to give this a try. :)  

1.      Dancing

Crowley sat at his desk making a list on a sheet of paper. He did not, as a rule, enjoy writing. Writing was the angel’s thing – writing and reading and filling pages with intricate copperplate handwriting. Crowley was more of the doodling sort, really, when absolutely forced to pick up a pen. Snakes both venomous and poisonous, planet-destroying comets, stick figures of murderous intent, deadly explosions -- he could doodle with the best of them. But, he thought with a sigh, needs must.

Fred Astaire, he wrote down carefully. Then he clicked the top of his pen on and off compulsively approximately one hundred and twelve times, before leaning down to laboriously add to his list.

George Balanchine, he wrote.

A few hundred more clicks.

Bob Fosse?

He scribbled that one out.

“What’re you doing, dear?” Aziraphale said, wandering rather suddenly into the room.

“Nothing!” Crowley snapped, crumpling the paper up and pocketing the pen as quickly as he could. He considered, for a brief moment, whether to just eat the offending paper and remove it from the universe entirely, but he settled for subtly dropping it on the floor and kicking it under the table, while giving Aziraphale a big, distracting grin.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

Aziraphale, always something of a bastard at the most inopportune moment, followed the path of the paper with his eyes, then leaned in to give Crowley a rather large kiss that left him momentarily muzzy and distracted. And <i>then</i>, sensing his opportunity, he dove for the paper and crowed happily when he came away with it before the demon could even react.

“So, what have we here, love?” he asked teasingly. He ignored Crowley’s protests and smoothed out the paper on the table. “It’s – “ he paused, confused. “It’s a list of dancers?”

Crowley glared. “Yeah, so? Anything wrong with that?”

Aziraphale blinked and gave him an extra patient smile. “Any reason you’re making a list of dancers?”

Crowley mumbled something incoherent and studied his fingernails intently.

Aziraphale sat down on the table right in front of him. “What was that again?”

Crowley blushed about four shades of red at once. “I was going to do some research. On, you know, how to dance. Not like – not like I dance now, not like a snake who’s only recently been issued legs.  Just, you know, more dapper.”

“But why?”

“Wantedtotakeyoudancingallright???” Crowley said all in one breath. He looked, Aziraphale thought, small and brittle and like being laughed at at this moment might literally discorporate him. Not that he had any desire to laugh. Not with the current swell of warmth that was drifting up from his toes to his chest. Not with the immense wave of love that was about to knock him, literally, off the table.

“Mmmmm, my dear,” he said, “you don’t need lessons for that. You’re a wonderful dancer.”

Aziraphale held a hand out to Crowley, who took it hesitantly, and then pulled the recalcitrant demon to his feet. One firm snap of his fingers later and a soft, slow ballad from the 1930s started to drift through Crowley’s nonexistent speakers and fill the room with warm sounds. The angel pulled Crowley towards him and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“You see, dear?” he said with a warm smile. “You just put them here – “ he positioned both of Crowley’s hands on his waist – “and then you pull me close –” Crowley did so, compliant and still a little stunned-looking – “and then we, well we just sort of move to the music.”

“Ngk – “ Crowley said, before shaking his head as if to dislodge the consonants from his throat. “It’s nice, I mean.” he croaked out.

Aziraphale let out a soft chuckle and pulled him closer, leaning his head on Crowley’s shoulder.

“It’s perfect,” he agreed.

[lonelyandlovelorn]

I don't hate you

Genre: fluff

Warning: very slight swearing

Word count: 1900

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem reader

Summary: You’ve never actually hated Dean Winchester, it was just easier to pretend you did.

Masterlist

From the moment you had met, you and Dean Winchester had had a love/hate relationship. Emphasis on the hate. You two argued like cats and dogs, but you never let it get in the way of hunting. You could fight over anything: what to eat for dinner, what music to listen to, who got the last hit on a monster. They were empty and stupid, but you both lived for the intense fighting, the biting words that never had any true hatred behind them. When it came down to it, you both knew without a doubt that the other had your back in a fight. If one of you was being held captive by a monster or in immediate danger, the other was there, fighting hard, on the same team. The thing was, you fought with Dean so much because you had swiftly developed feelings for the man when you met him years ago.. But you were a badass hunter. You didn’t need a man to like you back to have value. You saved people every day and you’d be damned if you let the fact that the womanizer that is Dean Winchester didn’t like you back make you feel worthless. So instead of getting your heart broken trying to date him, you built up another type of intense feelings on his side to match yours, this time angry not wanting, so that he could feel frustration just like you. 

This brings us to today. You wake up, mess with your hair until it looks presentable, and throw on the obligatory Winchester Uniform. You walk into the kitchen, looking for a cup of coffee (in your opinion, Chuck’s greatest gift to mankind). However, you see that the pot is completely empty and, after looking all through the kitchen, there’s no more coffee. Too tired to be kind, you storm into the war room, looking for a brother to blame. Of course, they’re both in there, you’re always the last one up. However, you had no problems with Sam, so you target Dean. He has a mug in front of him anyway.

“Why are we out of coffee?” You do not want to function today without coffee.

“I drank the rest of the pot. Snooze you lose, princess,” Dean says smugly, taking a sip from his mug.

You have to be strategic. “Okay, new question, who made the coffee this morning?”

“Me. You know Sammy makes the worst coffee.”

“Next question, who has made coffee for the last week or so?”

“Where are you going with this sweetheart?”

“Well, all I can think is that a dumbass has been making coffee. Because only a dumbass makes coffee for a week, using up all of the coffee, and doesn’t think to buy more. Now, Dean, do you think you fall into my definition of a dumbass?” you ask, smiling sweetly, though there is an obvious venom behind your words.

Sam, not wanting to have to spend his morning listening to an argument, decides to step in. “Alright, Dean, you’re gonna drive Y/N to the store to buy some coffee, and I’m gonna stay here and look for any cases.” He can see that you’re both about to start arguing with him, so he says, “Damn it, just go and stop acting like children.”

Feeling chastised, you make eye contact with Dean, sighing before saying, “I’ll meet you in the garage in 10, I’m gonna check to see what else we need.” With that, you turn around and head back to the kitchen, pulling out your phone so you can make a shopping list.

Ten minutes later, you’re in the garage with your purse and a list of about 15 things you need to grab, like bread and milk. Dean is already standing next to Baby, waiting for you. Even though you’re pissed at him, you can’t help but notice how damn good he looks in his jeans, which doesn’t help your frustration with the man. Without a word, you both get into the car to head towards the store. When you get inside, you grab a basket and start walking up and down the aisles, assuming Dean will be trailing behind you. Now, it’s a Wednesday morning, so thankfully the store is pretty empty except for a few old ladies and a drunk or two. After a couple of rows, you realize you forgot something in the first row and turn to Dean.

“Heyyyyy Dean,” you say, with the sweet voice and smile you only use when you want something from him, which he is very aware of. Unfortunately for him, he caves everytime, so the moment he sees the look on your face, he sighs.

“What do you need?” he asks tiredly.

“I forgot to grab spaghetti sauce when we were going through that row.” Without even having to ask him to go grab some, he turns on his heel and heads back the way you came, on a mission for spaghetti sauce.

It didn’t help you get rid of your crush, that Dean did a lot of little things for you. If you needed him to grab something, he might pretend to grumble or be annoyed, but he always grabbed it anyway. Whether that meant going back for missed groceries or getting you a drink at the bar, he never actually complained. You’re so lost in your own thoughts, you don’t notice the drunk man you had seen earlier walking behind you and watching you. You continue absentmindedly scanning the aisles for the things written on your list. The only thing that brings your attention to the creepy man is himself, when he speaks to you.

“Hey pretty lady, what are you doing here all alone?” His smile is sloppy and he looks like a mess. All you can do is smile politely as you back away from him, planning to just ignore him. You back into something solid, a surface you maybe shouldn’t recognize instantly, but that doesn’t change the relief that hits you when you feel Dean snake an arm around your waist to steady you.

“Don’t worry, she’s not here alone,” he says darkly, glaring at the man in front of you, who, upon seeing the intimidating man behind you, immediately walks away after a slurred apology. You turn to thank Dean, realizing he still has his hand around your waist and that you are standing very close to him. Though you would usually start a fight with him over the fact that he didn’t think you could handle yourself, you are too flustered and tired to bother. When he finally looks down at you, you blush, turning your head away and going to step away from him. For a moment, he doesn’t let you go, before seeming to come to his senses and removing his arm. You finish your shopping, making sure to grab that coffee. The car ride home is silent and strangely uncomfortable. When you make it back to the bunker, you both go your separate ways, you to the kitchen to put away the food, and him to the war room, presumably to talk to Sam.

You don’t know why it feels like something weird is happening between you two, like things have to be different now.. You shake your head. That’s just ridiculous. When you finish making yourself that needed cup of coffee (finally), you join the boys in the war room. The rest of the day continues with limited talking and no arguing between you and Dean, which seems to confuse Sam. When you go to bed that night, you lay awake for a while, trying to figure out what’s changed. In all this time, you've always had a thing for Dean, but it’s never affected how you talk to each other aside from the petty fights.

Your night of little sleep means you get out of bed even later than usual this morning. However, when you wake up, neither of the boys are in the war room. You figure Sam probably went for a run (weirdo), but Dean is usually in there doing something. Walking into the kitchen, you see Dean leaning against the counter, a mug in his hand and another on the counter next to him. When he notices your presence, he looks at you and silently offers you the coffee cup next to him. You notice it’s exactly how you like it and smile gratefully at him.

“So… I’ve been thinking,” he starts.

“That’s new,” you mutter out of habit. Realizing what you said, you glance up at him, “Sorry…. What- what have you been thinking about?” You had never sounded so nervous when talking to Dean Winchester, but you don’t know where he is going with this.

“Look, Y/N, I’m not really one for heart-to-hearts. No chick flick moments is still a very important rule for me. But…. I feel like we need to figure out what’s happening here. And by that, I literally just mean that sometimes I want to drag you to bed, and then you yell at me. So you gotta help me out here, what do you want from me? Because if you genuinely hate me, I promise I’ll forget all about this.” He is staring at you, waiting for you to respond, but you don’t know what to say. You had kept your crush a secret from both brothers for as long as you had been with them. You stare at Dean for a moment, trying to decide what you can tell him without worrying about how he’ll respond. He didn’t even say that he likes you, just that he sometimes wants to sleep with you. But for Dean, that’s pretty much any woman, isn’t it.

Finally, you look down at the mug in your hands and sigh. “I don’t hate you.”

“You sure had me fooled,” he grumbles.

“I really don’t. Quite the opposite, actually. When I met you, you were just this attractive guy that likes women a little too much. So I thought I could just hate you instead of… the opposite.” You are blushing and staring intently into your mug, as though you could summon a wave of it to consume you. When that doesn’t work and Dean hasn’t said anything for a few minutes, you peek up at him. He’s smiling softly at you.

“Damn, you’re cute,” he says, leaning down and pecking you on the cheek, which shocks you enough on its own. Then he says, “How about a date tonight?” You’re sure you’re just staring at him now. “Y/N?”

You shake yourself a little. “Really? Why bother with a date if you just want to get me into bed?” You don’t want to get your hopes up too quickly.

“Who said that’s all I want?” he smiles down at you. He starts walking out of the kitchen. “I’ll come pick you up from your room at about 6,” he calls over his shoulder, and you’re stunned.

As it settles in that Dean Winchester just asked you on a date, you smile down at your coffee, putting a hand to the cheek he kissed so sweetly.

“Why are you smiling at your coffee?” Sam asks, having come in without you even noticing.

You blush and tell him that he’s seeing things before rushing out of the kitchen, excited for tonight.

[seekingjets]

Pre-War StarPrime(Pax) thought...

Orion Pax has run into Starscream before. More than once.

Unfortunately one time in particular was due to Ironhide and Jazz dragging Pax by the moral compass to the edges of Kaon. They want to celebrate his promotion. They want to spoil their favorite Sergeant with gritty energex in chipped canisters. They want to drown him in the sight of swaying frames drawn in organic lines (as is the fashion in Kaon) until Pax might actually slip and be normal for once.

No stuffy student, no longer a twitchy cadet. They want and hope some flirty mech, modified to vibrate under hand, can give their Orion a good time.

Orion is mortified, of course. He's citing regulations and code of conduct all the way past rusty doors. Tossed careless into the throb of overlaid beats. Flashing colors and swinging limbs as the (Bar? Club? Law suit?) carries on in full swing despite his objections. Orion only can sit back in a corner booth, wishing Ironhide could complete his paperwork as swiftly as he procures drinks. Bright, frothy vermilion in cups cold to the touch and static on the tongue.

Jazz is of no help and if he hollers to giggling patrons (with their colors rearranged to highlight obscene carved hips and decorative glyphs delving between glossed thighs) one more time to "come and get it" while motioning to Orion's pelvic area one more time...Orion is going to write up an official reprimand.

This has to qualify as kidnapping. Perhaps even attempted murder (as he will die if he's bullied into drinking one more chunky shot that slithers down his intake and sizzles the tanks.)

They won't let him leave until he's "having fun" but Jazz is quick to sneak off to the dance floor at the first opportunity. Wedged between a broad chest and someone with huffing smokestacks which leaves the cramped club hot and suffocating. Vents whining to filter the smoke and gasping exhales of folded bodies and sticky floors. Lamenting his pride now washed away in the funk and tact clinging to his frame as foreign servos find the audacity to grope what they can as they pass by.

"Ya havin’ fun?” Ironhide grins, mouth damp with drink.

“You’re under arrest.” Orion answers and doesn’t appreciate the deep guff of a laugh in return. No one should be able to make that noise, not when aiding and abetting a crime. He’ll suffer for now, but even as Orion slinks forward to dodge a friendly squeeze from a passerby, he’s preparing for the look of betrayal on Ironhide’s face come the next shift after Pax refuses to complete the administrative portion of their work for his dear friend.

Then Ironhide smacks his waist and it’s like a blunt weapon knocking into his frame, leaves him choking and reeling as his partner motions across the flashing lights and displaced bodies. Orion tensing. Expecting an obvious danger in their reach, ready to lunge at the closest threat...

Instead he spots wings.

The pale frame and violent shine of red effortlessly divides the floor with a confidence Pax is stilling trying to fake. Body paint bright and catching the colorful lights, casting a neon wildfire across strutting wings. The comfortable sway of red hips and matching optics which trail light as they gently survey the world before him.

Casting judgement and finding the offering of the universe wanting before a prideful sneer.

“Well damn, never seen a stock model look so...” ‘Hide trails off, likely because Orion’s mask has snapped shut with a startled hurry. Ironhide doesn’t have much time to question it due to the impending doom as the seeker draws near without much prompting.

“Hi.” Ironhide is a confident mech, strong and stubborn. But pretty things are blinding and he’s certainly distracted by the glossy thigh pressed against their table.

“Buy me a drink.” The seeker orders and doesn’t lift his gaze from Orion’s figure - which only gives Ironhide the wrong idea.

“I’ll take my time.” He winks and shuffles up and out before Pax can drag him back by the scruff. Awkward silence managing to fill the void between the newcomer’s cut smile and Orion Pax sitting at an angle in the booth trying to survive the scalding seeker’s stare.

“Officer Pax.”

“Starscream.” Pax shifts in his seat uncomfortable by far, looking towards the crowd for both Jazz and an exit...finding neither.

“Haven’t seen you since you tried arresting me not a few blocks away.” The seeker pressing pale blue servos on the grimy table, spreading elongated digits until the metal of the table sang with vibration and Orion withdrew further into the booth.

“Haven’t seen you since you shot me resisting arrest.” The bright quirk of Starscream’s smile shouldn’t send his spark to do a funny little pulse, wavering in response to the seeker’s amusement. Orion wasn’t seriously injured but showing up, blasted arm and no suspect in hand, had been a rough day at the station.

Starscream decides it’s perfectly acceptable to sit down, likely realizing how uncomfortable it will make Orion Pax. Body moving in a neat shuffle before falling loud and heavy into the space at Pax’s left. Posture curved towards Orion who wasn’t and never will be a small mech. The edge of his elbow joint tickles the glass of the seeker’s canopy and it feels indecent with the undulating crowds of the dance floor not a stretch away.

“Of all the stuffy cops out there, you’re the last one I would expect to be slumming it.” Starscream speaks and the surrounding space quivers. Perfectly symmetrical face, literally one of hundreds, moving to rest a neat chin against the perfect curl of his own palm. “You know what this club is famous for? I didn’t guess you were into that kind of thing.”

“Not my idea.” Pax answers quickly, then recalculates. Always a danger not to consider each and every one of the criminal’s words before giving too much. Starscream was a mid-level crook with a magician’s touch for getting out of trouble. His rap sheet practically a history lesson in “what not to do”. Yet nothing sticks and nothing ever holds the seeker down. “What kind of thing?”

“Don’t worry,” Starscream and he have history the same way a splinter embedded deep into the under dermal layer has history with its host. Not too much a pain until agitated...but never truly forgotten. “I can tell you’re not having fun.”

“Why are you here?” Stupid question and the seeker finds it funny. Shifting to swing legs up and over Orion’s lap, leaning back into the curve of the booth as he watches with delight the expressions the masked-Pax can run through before settling on slightly disturbed and unsure what to do with his hands.

“Me? Just enjoying the view.”

“Starscream…”

“Don’t tell me you’re still mad about getting shot?” Starscream’s glossa peeks from his mouth, teasing while Pax is left to catch Ironhide’s shape from the bar, giving him two thumbs up for all the wrong reasons. Starscream’s heeled turbine digs into the plating of Orion’s thigh and he wants to relocate the pedes to the floor - but shoving them away would be rude. Surely that’s his only reason for resisting the urge.

“It wasn’t getting shot that upset me.” He responds without thinking and that’s the worst thing you can do in the face of that smile. That all-knowing clever little devil disguised as something warm and pretty you can never own. Orion was distracted by that smile once, let the seeker curl in and hold tight as the loveliest snake in all Cybertron spilled a sob story that had his spark weeping and a flare of protective nature scorching his logical core.

Orion hadn’t noticed at the time of the arrest that Starscream slipped the cuffs. Hadn’t noticed because he was busy with a processor full of heroic acts and flashing white wings fluttering lovely and exotic before him. It was an interesting picture, bulky him with the curvaceous and venom tongued seeker whispering desperate and beautiful all the things a would-be savior wants to hear.

Rookie mistake.

Highlighted by the fact Starscream shot him the moment Orion shuddered with the brush of a mouth against his jaw.

“Oh? That?” Starscream seems to know Orion’s shame, pulls himself closer by the anchor of his legs across Pax’s lap. He’s clearly no more than an obstacle course for him, he’s sure. Orion still allows it somehow, still bewitched by that pretty thing in the wild night who whimpered for his help with a stunning act. “You can’t still be mad about that?”

“I’m off-duty.” Orion tries cutting him off, face guard secure across his features and hopefully that gives a sense of disinterest. Of false fortification against the seeker who is all but curled in his lap, knees brushing intimate and familiar against Orion’s side. “But were I not…”

“Oh officer!” Starscream gasps and a few lingering patrons turn their gaze in voyeuristic curiosity. “I’ve been good little jet, I promise.”

“You?” Pax chuckles despite himself, wondering if Starscream can see the grin he so desperately wishes to hide from the world. (Not the world. Just from Starscream who has a way of looking at you with the promise of wanting and enjoying anything he sees.) “Unlikely.”

“You’re handsome when you smile.” Optics flicker to the mask and dim when it remains in existence. Gathering himself up and wings stretch wide against the cramped space. Red lights of his gaze blurred and streaking across the flowing lights causing him to appear ethereal in the flashing room. “You know, it’s a shame you won’t come to play without your friends dragging you. I think we could have some fun.”

“I’m still an officer of the law.”

“We all have our flaws.” He purrs and Orion can feel it against his field which settles hungry over the seeker’s frame. Resonating and responding. Sending a gentle pulse to work its way up Orion’s back and nestle deep into his over-extended processor. “Maybe next time.”

“Likely not.” Orion finds his voice lacking as the other rises to stand, heel digging into the seat between Pax’s thighs with expectation. Forcing him to accommodate the change and out of instinct Pax reaches to cup the backs of blue detailed knees and ensure the jet’s stability.

Starscream stands tall and warm above him, a bouncer or bartender yelling in his direction to “sit the frack down” as the pede between his leg ghosts intimate plating. Devious and curled smile worn like a crown, just as dangerous as the rest of him.

“Well then, you better get me in cuffs next time.”

He almost answers eagerly, slouching grip as the seeker dips and hops down from the booth - ignoring the bartender’s scathing reprimand for walking on the furniture. Giving an impolite motion to emphasis how little he cares. The thrumming crowd and blinding lights agree with Starscream, all chaos and motion as he gives a final glance over the delicate wing before parting the crowd once more - vanishing from sight in the shifting bodies and hungry stares.

Orion exhales a sound he hadn’t known he was clutching, both proud and mournful of the brief encounter. The officer in him knowing what a danger the seeker was...the dreamer thrilled by it. He hardly acknowledges his partner’s return, Ironhide grinning from gear to gear as he plops down in the booth. Elbowing Pax with a proud laugh that is nothing compared to Jazz’s struck expression when he’s finally reeled from the dance floor to ensure Pax survived.

“It’s nothing.” Orion lies, shrugging off ‘Hide’s assumptions or Jazz’s disappointment that he didn’t follow the seeker out. “It’s not like that.” He assures, hoping the display at least would give him room to encourage their departure from the wild atmosphere.

“Hey man, I’m just glad he wasn’t causing trouble.” Jazz chuckles, chugging something bright and green from thin tubes brought to him by star-speckled fans of his dance floor performance. “Pretty thing like that? Seems evil.”

“No, he just...came to say hi?” Orion guesses. He’s not versed in what a  havoc-hungry seeker might get out of crawling into the lap of the very cop who tried to arrest him on multiple occasions. Perhaps there’s a challenge he can’t understand. Perhaps he’d like to. But just stopping in to “say hi” wasn’t a very Starscream-like behavior....

“He stole from you didn’t he?” Jazz waits until Orion checks his accounts, gagging at the multiple digits withdrawn and the lingering signs of a proximity hack subtle but still there. Like a rough edge against his coding as grating as the seeker’s voice.

“That...little…” Orion was already lunging over the table before the bartender could complain, heavy body shaking the floor as he moves broad and fast towards the direction of Starscream’s swift escape, Only hoping he can catch him before taking flight.

Handcuffs at the ready.

[just-an-anxious-mess]

Looking Back

Part 2

Trigger Warning: mentions of blood, character death, sorry in advance :P

Seven minutes.

That was all the time Logan had left if his calculations were correct and they usually were. The chances of him making a mistake were

"infinitesimal"

"You make one mistake and this is what happens!"

Logans lips twitched up into a small smile as he remembered how much Patton enjoyed bringing that mistake up.

He'd felt sort of upset at first but Patton had explained that he didn't mean any harm, it was just mild teasing. It became a sort of affectionate little joke and it became more worrying if Patton didn't bring it up.

Patton had started out as such an annoyance to begin with, someone Logan dreaded spending time with, but he'd grown rather fond of the pun loving trait.

Each time they interacted Logan couldn't help but feel warmth in his chest which started out small and then grew until whenever he even thought about Patton he'd be filled with a fuzzy warm feeling.

Logans smile faded slightly as he thought of what had happened when he'd tried to understand that feeling.

He'd been reluctant to go to any of the others for help and had at first tried to research it online but came up with barely any reliable results.

He'd reluctantly tried to seek help after that had failed.

Logan coughed violently and winced as he checked his watch.

6 more minutes left.

He thought of how he'd gone to Virgil first, having felt more comfortable talking to him as he was the least likely to point out that he lacked knowledge of something and required help from someone else.

"I dunno maybe it's just heartburn or something?"

"It is highly unlikely to get heartburn so frequently and at such a coincidental time."

"Alright, whatever then, why did you come to me in the first place? Surely one of the others would be better at explaining? Patton is literally Thomas's heart, Roman's also good with emotions and stuff, Thomas might be able to help and heck, even the snake would be better at this than me."

Virgil had tried his best to help but neither of them were particularly good when it came to expressing or talking about feelings.

Thinking of Virgils comment about Deceit being more helpful made Logan chuckle slightly.

Deceit was never very helpful when anyone asked him a question, he loved toying with them, switching between lying and telling the truth.

Logan had found that out the hard way when he tried to figure out just how many snake mannerisms he had.

"do you require other sources to heat you up or are you warm blooded still? Do you have scales in other places? Do you shed your scales? Do you have a third eyelid that comes down over your serpentine eye? Do you produce any sort of venom? Do you have specific dietary requirements? How often do you have to eat? Is one huge meal enough for several weeks or do you eat regularly like the rest of us? Can you unhinged your jaw to fit bigger items in your mouth? Are your teeth sharper than normal? Can you... "

"Sssssstop! Has no one told you that you talk to much? If you want the answers to your questions you need to sssssssshut your mouth and let me speak."

"my apologies, go ahead."

"my answers are yes."

"excuse me?"

"You're excused."

"I... I was asking you to... Nevermind. What I meant was, what do you mean by your answers are yes?"

"I mean exactly what I said LoLo."

"yes doesn't answer all of the questions properly though, what do you... Deceit! Come back!"

"nah, I've got other things to do which I definitely don't want to do right now. I'd much rather listen to your inane questions."

"Deceit!"

Deciet had never answered any of Logans questions so he'd had to try and figure them out himself through careful observation.

Logan felt a judder of pain radiate through him and he winced.

5 more minutes.

While Deceit was infuriating with his lack of answers it was nothing compared to Roman. Roman was quite possibly the most annoying person Logan knew, constantly overcomplicating things, so blinded by his love of fantasy and romance that he never stopped to think things through realistically.

The two had definitely disagreed on a lot of things due to that but Logan wouldn't have changed any of it. So many times they'd argued only for them to suddenly realise that both of them had valid points that could then be put together to form an almost perfect solution. Not to mention the rap battles. Logan grinned as he remembered the first time when he'd shocked everyone with his ability to rap.

"where.... Where did that come from?"

"I have an appreciation for poetry"

"Aaaaaaaaaah!"

The scream of excitement from Patton coupled with the stunned disbelief on Romans face had definitely made that a memorable moment.

He and Roman actually found they shared a lot of common interests, poetry being one of them and Shakespeare being another. Obviously they liked those things for different reasons but that didn't matter.

4 minutes.

Logan closed his eyes, holding back a groan of pain. When the pain faded slightly he sighed.

"to quote Shakespeares Sonnet 60: Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,

So do our minutes hasten to their end;

Each changing place with that which goes before,

In sequent toil all forwards do contend."

He coughed and spluttered violently after saying all that aloud before shoving a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. The last thing he wanted was for the others to hear.

He shook his head as tears slid down his pale cheeks. He didn't have many regrets but his biggest one was definitely his own pride. He was too prideful to ask for help even when it was the only logical solution. He guessed it probably had something to do with his own ego. He hated appearing as if he had no control or knowledge of something but when he did it didn't help if one of the other traits pointed it out.

His damn pride was the reason he was in this mess to begin with.

He could feel his lungs protesting as he took a shaky breath and just about managed to glance at his watch again, his limbs becoming harder to move as he grew weaker.

3 minutes.

He leant his head back against his bedroom wall, closing his eyes as he thought of how this would effect Thomas.

He had purposefully told the others he was not to be disturbed no matter what today. They'd all had at least one issue with his request but upon seeing his dead serious expression they'd allowed him the whole day to himself.

He wasn't sure if Thomas knew though and the last thing he needed right now would be to get summoned because what was happening had some effect on Thomas that made him panic and call for Logan.

Logan hoped the others wouldn't pick up on what was happening because it wasn't exactly like he could lock his door to keep them from bursting in.

2 minutes

Logan glanced at his bedroom door a small choked laugh coming out of his mouth as his eyes struggled to focus on the empty space where the lock used to be. He only had himself to blame for the lack of a lock on his door and remembered how he'd cursed at himself for managing to get on the wrong side of Patton for once.

"Logan Sanders! What on earth do you think you're doing?"

"mphmmph."

"give me that jar right now! I already told you Dinner is going to be in 20 minutes!"

"mmmph.... It's mine!"

"Logan! I swear to dog if you don't open this door I will ban you from eating Crofters ever again!"

Patton had gotten Roman to kick open the door, breaking the lock in the process, and had then confiscated the jar and spoon Logan had in his hand. Logan was banned from eating Crofters for a long time and it was only recently he'd been allowed it again. Not that it really mattered anymore.

Logan screwed his eyes shut as he felt a stabbing pain in his chest and lungs everytime he took a breath. He had a single minute left. 60 seconds and then it would all be over.

He forced his eyes open and looked around his room, tears running down his face as his vision blurred slightly.

Not having a lock on his door had made it more difficult to hide what had been happening and he'd had to think up some rather ingenious places to hide the evidence, just in case someone burst in.

Logan felt something rising in his throat but could no longer lift his arms so he couldn't muffle the choking cough or stop the blood from trickling out of his mouth.

30 seconds.

His breathing was laboured and he shut his eyes. He thought once more back to Patton and the smallest of smiles spread across his lips as he remembered the one instance that had solidified his love for the moral trait.

"Logan could be a Gryffindor."

"and why is that Patton?"

"because he's my hero."

Logan started choking as his lungs seemed to stop functioning completely and he began to think of everything he’d to say to Patton if he had been there at that moment.

10 seconds.

"Patton I love you"

9.

"I'm sorry for everything."

8.

"I didn't want to trouble you"

7.

"it was easier this way"

6.

"me and my damn pride"

5.

"I never wanted you to see me like this"

4.

"if you're the one to find me I'm sorry"

3.

"I'm so fucking sorry"

2.

"maybe I should have said something sooner."

1.

"back when I first started coughing up  p  e  t  a  l  s "

Logans body went limp, a glistening string of blood and petals coming out of his mouth from where he'd fallen victim to the hanahaki disease.

Tags:@amethystdarkwolf @mcfreakin-childproof-caps @patchworkofstars @kitkat-doodles @unikornavenger @dolphin-squirrel @sympathetic-deceit-trash @starryfirefliesbloggo @cakercanart @neonb-fly @kaymischief25 @punsterterry @aprilthevene @theoddkidnextdoor @fuckingemoace @i-sold-my-soul-to-thefandom @im-so-infinitesimal @sea-blue-child @thecatchat @iris-sanders-athena @saphael-malec102 @smedenn @corkeecoderyt @sopi-montezzz @illogicaldeath @deadpanstar

[mxrtifico]

@sxmniphobia​ || continued from ✂

Less than a year of his life was normally something Nick would consider a trivial amount of time. It went by in the blink of an eye for him compared to the rest of his immortal existence. As one who could not die and did not physically age, time was of little importance to him—unless, of course, there was a certain god with whom he wished he were spending more of that time.

Dates in the Land of Dreams were perfectly fine with him, as it meant he got to see his erastês without the date cutting into either of their schedules—he was already asleep anyway, and Phobetor always seemed to have pre-constructed nightmares at the ready to leave some time available at night for a little fun whenever they had their dates. Being allowed to control his own form during these dates had its perks too, but even so, as real as they often felt, they weren’t real. No amount of dream manipulation could change that, and he was starting to miss their time together in the physical world. More than once, he’d woken up sulking, pouting, or both because Phobetor wasn’t actually beside him in his bed, curled up against him like a kitten seeking warmth. If he had an interrogation to do that day, the poor soul at his mercy had an especially rough time.

Damn his canine nature.

That was why he’d approached Phobetor the second he heard the recognizable whoosh of the god’s wings, and why he’d kissed without any hint of hesitation. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to know that he’d moved fast enough to temporarily stun the other male, and a small smirk turned up one corner of his mouth, a low chuckle slipping past his lips. “It might not happen every time.”

Feeling Phobetor’s hands on his face, he shuddered a little from the cool touch on his heated skin, but didn’t dare pull away, instead letting the hands draw him closer. His grip on the god’s hoodie loosened, and his hand lowered down, fingers trailing over the familiar shadowy form before both arms came together to loop around the other male’s waist instead. Red eyes locked with red, the happiness and excitement he couldn’t quite contain reflected in his own for the god to see. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of the black feathered wings moving to encase them both, and it was as if the rest of the world fell away in that moment, blocked out by the shadows and darkness that he was all too eager to embrace.

But before he could say anything else, he was silenced by Phobetor’s lips claiming his, effectively rendering him speechless for the time being unless he wanted to break the kiss right away—and like hell he was doing that this time. Sighing contently, he tugged the god closer against him and let his eyes slide shut. Perhaps he was foolish for dropping his guard so willingly around the feared god of nightmares, but although he knew how easy it would be for the tail around his waist to shift into a venomous snake—or for Phobetor’s entire being to shift into a massive, deadly monster, for that matter—he believed that nothing like that would happen. It had been over half a year since either of them had seen each other in their physical forms, and Nick had sorely missed moments like this. He didn’t even want to end the kiss to speak, relishing the way the soft, cool lips of his erastês felt against his own.

The two of them were quite literally like fire and ice, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

But eventually, he did break the kiss, albeit with some reluctance. He couldn’t let Phobetor have the last word just yet, after all. His tone was a quiet, low growl with a hint of annoyance at first—for he was a hellhound, not a cute little puppy—but became lighter and more teasing as he spoke, still close enough for his warm breath to ghost over the god’s lips. “I’m not cute or little, but…yeah, and I think it’s safe to say you missed me too, I-ke-los.~ Or am I wrong, hm?”

[brittysaucefanfic]

A Fate Unclaimed

Part 21

(First)(Previous)(Next)(Last)(AU 1)(AU 2)(AO3)

“Lance!” Hunk yells out as Keith catches Lance while he collapses. 

Lance doesn't look very good. Keith's no doctor, but he doubts the purple tinge to Lance's skin is healthy. Nor are the prominent purple veins snaking outward from the hole in Lance's shoulder when he removes his shirt and jacket. A hole so big he can almost see right through. Keith gags a little in his mouth but diligently takes Lance gently to the ground.

His breathing is ragged, wheezing and interrupted by body wracking coughs. Lance is sweaty too, shivering and whimpering. Keith grits his teeth as a particularly harsh cough rips through Lance’s chest. It makes Lance nearly fold in on himself, and when it’s gone he collapses back into Keith’s arms. 

Hunk uses a spare shirt from his pack to press onto the bleeding hole.

“This isn’t good, for more reasons than Lance dying.” Pidge says, her words cold but her voice thick with worry. She places a hand on Lance’s forehead but quickly rips it away with a hiss. “He’s boiling.”

“What do we do?” Hunk says, first looking at Lance and then up at Pidge with watery eyes. “Pidge, do you know if there’s a cure for a manticore sting?”

Pidge doesn’t answer, and when Keith looks up from the pinched face of the man in his arms, he gets his answer anyways. She’s chewing on her lip, a small bead of blood bubbling at one of her teeth. Her eyebrows are low, her eyes lower, and she’s fisting her shorts tightly in her small hands. Keith may not be the most knowledgeable when it comes to feelings, but he knows this look well. Pidge isn’t going to deliver very good news.

“There is none is there?” Keith says, voice barely above a whisper. Hunk claps a blood smeared hand over his mouth as he smothers a sob. 

“We don’t know.” Pidge says. 

“Don’t know what?” Shiro butts in, gentle but firm. He’s good at that, pushing his emotions away to focus on the task at hand instead. 

“We don’t know if there’s ever been a cure. The venom acts too fast for anyone to live long enough to discover if there is or not.” Pidge says, her voice wobbly and wet. Keith swallows and looks back at Lance’s face. His eyes beneath his eyelids keep shifting like he’s having a nightmare. 

"We can't just leave him to die!" Hunk yells, his eyes angry and filled with tears. He reaches forward to brush a lock of hair off of Lance's face. His large hands are shaking. Shiro takes over with pressing on the wound when Hunk’s shaking make Lance groan low in his throat.

"We won't Hunk. Maybe Allura will have an idea." Shiro says, laying a hand on Hunk's shoulder to comfort him. Shiro smiles, but there's a tightness in his lips that Keith can decipher as easily as he can wield a sword. Shiro is losing hope. Which means there isn't much hope left for Lance's odds of survival.

A harsh breeze hits them, cooling their heated skin.

Keith turns his face to the wind to cool his face and dry some of the tears threatening to fall. He must have gone crazy though because he swears he hears a voice in the breeze. He can't tell what it says, but he swears he heard it. Keith squeezes his eyes shut to refocus on the task at hand.

"How do we get a hold of Allura?" Keith asks, all business.

"Iris messages." Shiro replies, digging into his pack and drawing out a small handful of coins that look weird and shine a dim gold in the sunlight, as well as a bottle of water. Keith can't imagine why they would need those for this so called 'Iris message' but whatever. Maybe he's thirsty and wants to look at weird coins?

Shiro must have meant 'instant message'.

Now, Keith is in every right mind to think Shiro is going to pull out a phone. Until he just takes a handful of water and throws it in the air to create a rainbow. Then he tosses one of those gold coins into the rainbow and it disappears.

Into thin air.

"Oh Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, please accept my offering. Show me Allura Altea at Camp Half Blood." Shiro says in a deep voice. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised, he’s seen weirder. Like the manticore, which apparently does exist, alongside gods of an ancient polytheistic religion. He glances at Lance when he whimpers as Pidge takes charge of holding the wound close this time. He looks back up to see Allura shimmering in the mist. Her hair is immaculate and very thick, still that stark white. She looks relieved, and tired. 

“It’s good to hear from you all, I’ve been worried. I had a dream that- “ She stops and swallows before shaking her head and putting back on her stunning smile. “Well it doesn’t matter. How’s the quest going?”

“Allura, we would love to chat for a minute but we need your help.” Shiro says. 

“Oh?” Allura replies, her eyebrow raised.

“Do you know of any cure for a Manticore’s sting?” Pidge asks. Keith holds onto Lance tighter as he’s reminded of the situation they’re in. Allura’s face pales from her usual golden tan to a white almost as stark as her hair.

“Lance?” She says, merely a whisper.

“Allura do you? We don’t have much time, please.” Hunk says, tears running down his face. He tries to wipe them away but he just smears a line of Lance’s blood across his cheeks and nose. It looks ominously like Shiro’s nose scar.

“I can’t recall anything. My expertise is in the sea, not the sky. How is he?” Allura asks, her face twisted in regret and anguish, two emotions Keith knows like old friends. Shiro visibly swallows before he answers.

“He’s fading fast. What do we do?” 

“I don’t know. I will ask Coran and contact you if I discover anything helpful. Good luck.” Allura sees, and he watches as she raises and arm like she’s going to backhand someone, and then she disappears.

“Dammit, what now?” Pidge says. It’s telling of the dire circumstances when Shiro doesn’t tell her to watch her language. 

“I could probably be of assistance.” A voice says from behind Keith. He is startled so much that he drop Lance’s to the ground, grabs his knife and prepares to attack the intruder. Last time someone snuck up on them during this quest, it ended up with them being plopped in the middle of nowhere and then getting attacked by a giant Manticore. Which also ended up with Lance dying in his arms slowly.

He doesn’t attack though, because he’s stunned by the sheer beauty of the man before.

Blonde hair like grains of wheat, skin that almost seems to glow with the sun. His eyes are a molten gold and his smile is blinding. He’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a yellow t-shirt with a symbol of a lyre on it. He’s tall, and muscular, and on his head sits a laurel wreath. Keith may not know much about the gods, but Apollo seems to be advertising his existence. 

“Lord Apollo,” Shiro greets, unusually formal. He looks like he wants to say more but he doesn’t. Apollo smiles again, and then looks at each of them before landing on Lance. His smile turns a little sad.

“Oh child,” Apollo says. “A manticore sting, that’s rough.”

Keith swallows, because he’s in the presence of a literal god, and the doubts he may have had before are fading fast. Apollo steps off his car, a red sports car, top down, with sunlight instead of exhaust coming from it’s rear end. 

“Can you heal him?” Keith asks, and he feels Pidge pinch him in the side.

Apollo purses his lips, looks Keith up and down once and then cocks his left eyebrow. Keith can’t explain why, but he feels his ears get hot like they do sometimes around pretty guys.

“No, but I can help.” Apollo says. He moves over to Lance and kneels down. He’s quiet a moment as he peels the blood soaked shirt away from the wound. Keith isn’t sure the sigh Apollo gives is good news. 

“Poor child. Dying in such an unsightly manner.” Apollo says. Keith feels himself puff up in anger. “Your journey doesn’t end here my friend, you have a long future ahead of you.”

“So you can save him?” Hunk says, sniffing.

“I can do no such thing.” Apollo says. “He must save himself. However, I can make that journey easier on his body.”

Apollo places his hand on the still bleeding hole in Lance’s shoulder, and there’s a brief flash of light. Then Apollo stands and shakes his bloody hand, magically making the blood disappear because of course he can. 

“That’s all that I can do without my father realizing I’ve intervened. It’s on him now whether he comes back or not.” Apollo says. “The wound is closed, but the poison lingers. However, I’ve weakened it, so if his will is strong enough, he will be fine.”

Apollo then promptly goes to his car to leave, until Pidge stops him.

“Why did you help if Zeus doesn’t want you to?” She asks. Apollo pauses with one foot in the car but doesn’t answer, so she continues. “Is it because he’s your son?”

“I helped,” Apollo says, his voice tense with distaste. “Because what my father is putting him through is wrong. Every child deserves to know their family, especially someone as special as Lance.”

“Then why not just tell him, or claim him?” Hunk asks. Apollo’s smile is gone now as he sits in his car and shuts the door. He revs the engine.

“Because he is not ours to claim.” Apollo says. He then looks Hunk straight in the eyes with his blinding smile. “Yet, at least.”

“Wait,” Pidge asks. “What does that even mean?”

Apollo ignores her and drives off into the sky like he’s in the movie Grease, at the ending, but with a far nicer ride. He leaves a heat wave in his wake and a lot of questions. The main one being-

“What the fuck just happened?” 

“Language Pidge.”

******

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