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[hoshigray]

Also, THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH FOR 3K+!!!!! WHERE THE HELL DID Y'ALL COME FROM !!????

[plutoswritingplanet]

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.4 (final)

a/n: we did it Joe! this chapter officially marks the first ever series i've completed lmao. thank you for all the support on this fic, every like, every comment, every out-of-pocket anon ask.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (like...fr this time), Blood and Violence, Manipulation.

Summary: After the wedding, Husband and Wife work out the intricate web of their relationship.

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3

Gurney looks at you as if you're already dead.

You hide from his gaze, ducking behind pillars, whenever you can hear his footsteps. It's truly depressing, the way your mentor shakes his head, as if, instead of looking at you, he's looking at a coffin. You suppose he might be right, he's the one with the most experience in the Harkonnen area. He's fought them, dined with them, seen their customs through and through. And now, his dutiful little student is about to be thrown into the very same world, he has relayed to you as a nightmarish fairytale. Still, a little misplaced optimism wouldn't kill him. Or just, a sliver of hope, an inclination that you might survive this. 

The day of your wedding rolls upon you like an oceanic storm, all chaos and rumbling. 

Here you sit, your bones locked with nerves, as the servants pack away your things. A futile thing, you muse to yourself. It's highly doubtful the Harkonnens will let you keep any personal items back from Caladan. They'll mold you into their image, until all your hair naturally falls out. The thought would make you laugh, but here's a servant, placing your jewelry into a case, which lands in a bag, which will be transported to the Harkonnen ship by the end of the day.

Your room, the place you've spent all your life in, slowly becomes more and more barren. 

The closet stands empty, so do the drawers. All your trinkets are swiftly transported away until you're left alone in your wedding dress, the only familiar thing between the hollow ribs of your life's sanctuary. Wishing you could fold the entirety of the castle, with the stables, and the horses, and the cliffs, and throw it into the final suitcase, so you can open it up in times of turmoil, and breathe in the familiar scents. You need to leave, right now. Sitting like this, wrenches a dangerous numbness out of your chest. And you can't be allowed to dissapear into yourself. You're an Atreides, you shall wear your pain with dignity, as per your Mother's wishes.

Your wedding dress swishes around you, as you stand up from your bed. It's much more classy, and less of a chiffon catastrophe, than your engagement dress, a welcome change. The veil is embroidered with light crystals and metal plating. It falls heavily over your face, and jingles when you move. By all intents and purposes, it is a dream dress. A dress you'd like to wear for a wedding of your own, a wedding with some dashing gentleman. A gentleman, which in your most private of dreams, has the face of Duncan Idaho, with silver rings braided into his hair. 

Instead, you're left with this monster, so alien and cold. A beast at the center of the maze.

The bull looks at you from the wall. Its horns, smeared with your Grandfather's blood, curl grotesquely into the ceiling. The head is mounted above the doors to the library, a grim reminder of his spectacular death. As a child, you'd spend hours, standing right here, at the entrance, staring at the animal's head. You've always wondered, whether it were the lights playing tricks on your mind, or you saw a shadow of pride in the bull's eyes. 

Did it know who was its victim? The leader of one of the most important Houses in all known universe laid dead at its feet. Did it know what sort of spectacle it produced? What destruction of hubris? You suppose it couldn't, it was an animal, after all. A headless creature, hung on a wall. Still, you stare at it, just like you used to, trying to decipher your own fate from its cold, dead eyes.  

After all, there will be a spectacle, a life-long fight stands ahead of you. Giedi Prime shall be your arena, dead and cold, covered in black. And every single Harkonnen will be your bull, their mere presence a deathly danger to your being. It took one bull to end your Grandfather, you dread to think how many it'll take to end you. There will be blood, you're sure of it. And if things were allowed to go your way, it would flow in rivers upon rivers, through the industrial halls of Giedi Prime. You'd have the entire planet drowned in their blood. Your cursed betrothed, the Baron, the fucking Emperor if you had to. 

The bull laughs at your quiet hate, beady eyes bearing down upon you in an imaginary display of indifference. You huff, cheeks reddened, insides twisted and burning.

That's how your Father finds you. Enchanted by a once living instrument of death. 

He hasn't spoken to you, since your betrothed has arrived, not really. Not like you used to talk. A way to shield himself, you supposed, from the Emperor's order, which will soon enough take his only Daughter away from him. This was your superpower. You could fish out signs of love in every action. 

- Your Mother hates that thing - he comments, as he stands next to you, eyes looking up at the bull. 

- I don't blame her, the sight is quite disturbing. - you reply evenly. 

You've missed him, more than you can possibly explain with words. But teary displays of affections were below you, especially since you're trying to distance yourself, rise above your body, float right out of your head. Perhaps it'll hurt less that way.  Duke Leto Atreides turns to you, and for the first time in a month, you recognize your Father behind this statue of authority. He looks troubled, for lack of a better word. There's much more gray on his brow and the lines of his face are darker, harsher. 

- I came to give you something - he announces, producing a small object out of the pocket of his trousers. 

It's harder than you thought, tearing your gaze away from the bull, but you manage, your eyes landing on a figurine in your Father's hands. Your heart stops, as you recognize the blackened stone, polished to perfection. On a flat disc stands a figure of a Matador, proud and posed. Next to him, a bull, ready to strike. It's cold to the touch, when you take it from your Father, ridges of the small sculpture digging into your palm. 

Jumping in front of danger, for better or worse. Your head starts to hurt.

- Father - the sound of your shaking voice carries through the corridor - How will I ever survive this?

By the way Duke Leto Atreides sucks in a sharp breath, you can deduce the answer. And what a sad answer it is. 

Your Father steps closer, gathering your trembling hands in his, the warmth of his embrace engulfing you like the first sun rays of spring. He squeezes your fingers, tightening your own hold on the small figurine, and his eyes are so incredibly sad, you're convinced they could make any heart in the universe weep. 

- With courage - he says - and grandiose. 

Like a true Matador would. 

***

Your bull stands completely still. 

His pale skin creates a beautiful contrast against the ever present darkness of the Harkonnen ship. It's so much different from your native fleet, all sleek and black, and efficient. Terrifying, but at the same time, strangely beautiful. 

The both of you watch, as the hatch is being pulled up, slowly but surely obscuring all sight of your home planet. Of your family, standing by the docking station like a funeral parade. It's only when you can no longer see them, your life sealed with a click of finality, does your betrothed, now husband, move. 

His hand grasps your upper shoulder, and you jump at the sudden contact. Your confused gaze is completely ignored, as the man drags you through the ship, taking large, hasty steps. 

Hairless faces swish past you, all so similar to each other, you're worried you'll never figure out who is who. The corridors of the ship wind and turn like a merciless labyrinth, a realization daunting on you, that you will never be able to find your way in this place. 

Suddenly, you're faced with a black door, which opens as soon as your husband walks up to it. His grip tightens and he basically throws you forward, watching you stumble through the entrance on weak legs. 

It takes you a second to gather yourself, as you instinctually settle into a defensive stance. The room you're in looks quite different from the rest of the ship. It's much more luxurious, one would risk saying cozy. With a gigantic, round bed filled with pillows, a dark desk, and a deliciously comfortable looking armchair. It all dims in your eyes, however, as you look up at your newlywed.

He stands right at the entrance, blocking the only means of escape with his tall frame.

Both of you are still in your wedding clothes. Your dress hugs your body in a way that is anything but comforting. His outfit is as black and sharp, as all his attire. It exposes his lean physique, clings to his warrior's physique. Terrifying, your brain summarizes, muscles freezing suddenly. Feyd Rautha looks at you with emotions you can't decipher in the low light of his room. Your room. Your marital abode. 

You can't breathe, lungs tighten painfull with the sheer thickness of the air between the two of you. Still, there's a certain power, residing in your bones, an inclination of a fight you're ready to put up, should he try anything. And by the way his brow bone settles over his darkened eyes, your husband seems to understand. What a terrifying thought. The sheer idea of finding a common ground with this awful man makes your guts turn. 

He doesn't even flinch, when the doors behind him slide open. You however, nearly jump out of your skin at the sound, cutting through the deafening silence of the bedroom. With furrowed brow you watch, as three Harkonnen women spill into the room. All of them completely hairless, lips pulled back in feral snarls, as they regard you with an emotion you can only interpret as contempt. Their bodies, clad in typical, Harkonnen garments, flow and slither, when they gather behind your husband, like three hungry lionesses, their black eyes flickering to him, to you. 

- Get her ready - Fey Rautha throws a command over his shoulder, eyes glued to you still, and his gaze drags itself across your body like tar.

This is the first time you've heard him speak since the wedding, and involuntarily, you cringe at the gravely sound. While he stayed silent, it was easy to forget who you're dealing with. But as soon as sound leaves his mouth, you're cruelly reminded of the roughness, and the strangeness of your life's partner. 

The three women stir behind him, hands sliding up his body in a gesture, that is almost too close to reverence. He does look like a young god, like some ethereal being, but you're too distressed to dwell on that thought. Instead, your arms encircle your body, a shiver of terror and strangely, disgust flowing over you, at the mere idea of these women touching you. Then, one of those three strange creatures moves forward. She has a stripe of black running down her bottom lip, and her face twists into a cruel smile.

She says something in a language you don't recognize. Probably a native Harkonnen. A rough bark, her disgusted expression translating the meaning better, than any dictionary would. 

 Still, you have no time to process the foreign insult, because as soon as words leave her mouth, your husband turns. His white hand grabs the woman's hairless head, as one would pick an apple from an orchard, and then, you see a flicker of true terror flash through the woman's face. In a smooth, deadly gesture, Feyd Rautha smashes her face against the wall, the resounding sound of her skull fracturing against the concrete is like the cracking of a whip in your ears. 

That's all it takes, one move, and she falls into a lifeless heap, sliding down the wall. 

A sigh escapes your lips, as your eyes stay glued to her body. You can't see her face. 

Your husband barks something towards the remaining two women, and they scurry towards you, heads hung low, bodies curled onto themselves. You don't know, whether he looks at you, acknowledges you in any way, shape or form. The doors close behind him, as he leaves you in the hands of his... Whatever these women are to him. 

They begin to strip you where you stand. Their hands peel off your wedding dress from your trembling body, and every move feels like tearing skin from muscle. You can't protest, can't do anything really. Dark, thick blood pools around the third woman's head, dripping between the tilled floor, slowly making it's way closer to your feet. 

When they pull you towards the bed, you say nothing. Let them massage your body with some ointment, which smells of heavy chemicals and scratches your throat. 

Their hands are unexpectedly delicate. You suppose they're too scared to take revenge on you, or perhaps, they just don't care. Doesn't really matter, because you do. You really care, despite yourself. Heart squeezes in your chest impossibly tight, when they help you up from the bed, and once again you're confronted with the white corpse in the corner of the room. 

The dress they pull over your body hardly qualifies as a garment in your eyes. It's made of delicate, sheer material, which barely covers anything, looking more like a courtain thrown over a window. 

Is this how he wants you, you wonder. Terrified, bare, always on the verge of something, be it tears or anger. 

One of the women steps in front of you, takes your hands in hers and rubs something into your cold bones. You try to catch her eye, try to decipher how to categorize them, as humans or as creatures, but she swiftly ducks under your inquisitive gaze. That is, until your eyes flicker towards the corpse once again. 

Her hand shoots up towards your chin, dragging you back to meet her onyx eyes. You can see the reflection of your own confused face in the void.

- You- she rasps, her voice a grating symphony of gurgles and growls that stumble over the common language - Soft.

Whether it's a warning, or a threat, you can't fully decide, but it doesn't matter. Those two words tell you more about your future life, than any book, any archived account. This is what the Harkonnens are made of. Sensless violence, outbursts of anger, dark blood. You swallow thickly, and nod, your expression hardening in the woman's eyes. She looks as if there's something else she'd want to say, but her head ducks at record speed, when the sound of the doors opening cuts through the air once more. 

For a longer moment you're completely devoid of words. 

Here stands you husband, some sort of fruit in his right hand, two daggers hanging from the belt on his trousers. His chest, white and (unfortunately) toned beyond belief stares back at you. His unoccupied hand makes a wide gesture, and the remaining two women scurry off towards their third, dead companion. With quick hands, they grab the body and drag it out of the room, letting the door slide closed behind them. Immediately, you miss their presence, unnerving as they are.

Once again, you're left alone with the na-Baron. 

His eyes float freely all over your figure, taking it in with an impassive stare. It's deeply unnerving, the way you're presented to him, the way he organized all of this, tailored it to his liking. You can't help it, the way your body begins to warm before him, skin becoming prickly to the touch, much too sensitive for the strange imitation of fabric covering it. Still, your mind stays sharp, and instinct kicks in, as you take a cautious step back, angling your bady away from him. 

- So, what now? - you ask, voice rough, eyes following his every move. 

And move he does, slowly advancing towards you. His feet, which you now discover, are bare, drag behind him. Grace and danger mix well within his movements, as he circles you, still without a word. You throat runs dry, when he bites the fruit in his hand, dark juice spilling all over his lips, drops rolling down his hands, his forearms. Your stomach churns. 

- Now - again you're reminded of the gravely tones his voice can carry - We consumate our marriage, wife. 

Somehow, your marital status sounds like a mockery spilling from his lips, and he laughs at the way your face scrunches.

- I don't want you to touch me - a lie, your entire body burns for any semblence of friction, but you're determined to keep some dignity.

To that, he nods his head in silent agreement, a gesture, which actually manages to surprise you. The fruit is thrown forgotten onto the floor. It rolls under the bed, and you fight the urge to reprimend your husband. Instead, you bite your lip. 

- I thought you would say that - he murmurs, coming closer, his breath fanning over your exposed shoulder. 

The hair at the back of your neck stands straight, and you crane your head to the side, so you can look him in the face. So he can see the disaproving expression, perhaps he'd feel a fraction of the hate boiling in your gaze. Then, you can feel something, cold and sharp, drag itself from the dip in your spine, all the way up to your shoulder blades. A gasp escapes you, and your entire body shivers violently. 

- That's why I brought these. - Feyd Rautha whispers into your ear, and you can't help but sway lightly in your place, as if his words have the power to physically move you.

Then, your hand closes around a metal object, and you look down to be met with a beautifully crafted dagger. The blade is silver, shiny, and unbelievably sharp. It fits into your grasp as if it was made specially for you, and the possibility almost makes you smile. Then, confusion creases your brow, and your husband flashes you a deadly, black smile, as he steps back a couple of steps. 

He's holding a blade as well, jet black and strangely matte, a perfect antitype of yours. There's a sort of lazy excitement about him, hidden in every movement. It reminds you of the way he'd behave in the arena, while making a spectacle of death for you and your family. 

- I though this would work on you - he muses, twirling the blade in his hand, and your muscles seize with realization. - And it definitely works on me.

The idea is preposterous, utterly scandalous. Using a fight as some perverse attempt at foreplay, your brain swimms with conflicting emotions. 

- You're being ridiculous - you attempt to diffuse the situation, but your husband doesn't budge, rolling his shoulders.

- Come on, wife - he snarls, with a sharp smirk - Don't you want to hurt me?

Something boils inside of you at his words. Some ancient, terrifying anger that you supposed, has always been there with you. From the moment you stepped onto the red carpet, leading you towards your undoing at the altar. Red, like the spilled blood still staining the floor of this bedroom. The rage, which you swallowed down, when you recited the vows, when you let him unveil your face, kiss you in front of the entire Atreides court. Now, it seeped through every pore in your skin, covering you in a tar like courtain. 

You hate your husband. You hate Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Hate him for being your husband, for agreeing to this cruel match. For taking you away from your family, from your wise Father, and your strict Mother, and your sweet Brother. For ripping you away from love, which didn't even have time to properly bloom. Duncan's face dances in front of you like a taunting vision from an angry god, and your fingers tighten around the dagger. 

Feyd Rautha is right. You want to hurt him. You wanted to, before you even met him. 

- There you are - his lips pull back into a cruel, blackened smile of self-satisfaction - I was worried they took away all your venom, Viper. 

You'll show him fucking venom, you think, feet sliding on the floor, twisting your body into a dancing position. Two sets of shields click into life, and suddenly you begin to understand. 

This is your arena. This is your bull. 

This will be your battlefield for the rest of your life, for as long as you're able to withstand it. With courage and grandiose, your Father's voice haunts you, but soon after another echo rises in your mind. Your Mother, your teacher, her whisper slithers from your memory, a passing comment right before you're shipped off to Giedi Prime, when she squeezed your hand so tight, you were worried tendons under your skin would snap. 

Excitement and arousal flow freely from your husband's expression, as he watches yours harden. Something inexplicable settles over your features, a promise. You'll give him a fight of a lifetime, and he'll love it, every single time. It should unnerve you, the way his body lowers itself, like a panther ready to strike. It would've unnerved you some time ago. 

Now, however, it shows you a clear path to survival. This is how you take control.

Cold blood splatters from under your feet, as you jump towards him, a series of measured blows following closely behind. He blocks them, lets some be pushed back by the shield. Then, he's on you, brutal and unhibited slashes fly around your body, and you meet all of them with a blocking blade. You're pushed back, towards the wall, where remains of the previous killing still stain the concrete. Blood seeps into the thin fabric on your body, and you shiver in disgust, as it sticks to you. 

Your husband doesn't notice, his blade leaves a rather deep mark in the wall, as you duck under his arm, and avoid a nasty punch to the gut.

 Plap, plap, plap, your feet carry you through the room, as you try to gain some leverage. The mattress on the bed is surprisingly soft, when you climb on top of it, gaining the advantage of a higher position. An advantage, which is quickly torn out of your hands, as your husband grabs onto your ankle, tugging at it with such force, you tumble down in an instant.

Panic rises in your gut, as the world sins around you, and without really thinking, you let your mind flow into autopilot.

- Let me go! - the Voice tears out of your throat like a landslide, and Feyd Rautha throws himself off of you, his body colliding with the nearby desk. 

Books and papers crash to the floor with the force of his figure. Your head swimms, but you will it away, too focused on survival to care for your well-being. Both of you are panting, trying to recover from this sudden use of ancient magics. 

- I should rip that treacherous tongue right out of your skull - the threat would carry more strength, if your husband's expression wasn't absolutely dripping with unabashed lust. 

Never in your life has someone looked at you this way, and the shock of emotions is enough to pull you right to your feet. Your blade reflects the dim lights of the room, as you raise it high, body taunt and ready. 

- You'll never get that close.

A challenge, which doesn't even have enough time to properly resound in the thick air of the room, before Feyd Rautha pushes himself off the desk. Things clatter to the ground from the force of his movements, and you barely have time to react, when his blade sinks into your shield. Your body flies backwards, falling in heap with his at the foot of your marital bed. The edge digs into your back, your left hand pressed tightly into the mattress. 

He's hovering over you, panting like a wild animal, face illuminated red from below, where, just short of his juggular, your blade licks a stripe across his alabaster skin. His right hand is wedged between your bodies, dagger nicking you under your ribs. And you stay in this position, like a marble statue, your eyes melting into his, frozen in time. 

- You fought well, Atreides - his voice rumbles deep within his chest, and you can't help, but snarl at his words. - We would've taken each other to an early grave. 

Something dangerously close to fondness floods his features at the idea, and your fingers start to unravel, letting go of the dagger one by one. He doesn't have a chance to react, when your blade clatters to the floor, and your hand, now free, grabs the back of his head, pulling him down.

Your kiss opens the gates of hell, and soon, his own dagger is thrown across the room. You can't see, refuse to see, as your eyelids flutter closed. His lips are slightly chapped, but not any less delicious. Left hand thrashes in his hold, until he lets it go. Then, they both find purchase against his sharp cheekbones, and you hold him so tight, you might break his face with your ministrations. 

- I knew it would work - he pants against your lips, you can hear the smile in every syllable.

- Shut the fuck up - you snarl, fingers digging deeper into his skin.

He groans into the kiss, immediately forcing his tongue into your mouth, as his hands work hard to manouver your legs open enough, for him to slot in between. Then, his touch is everywhere. On your legs, he drags the sheer fabric up and down your thighs, as he carresses your skin, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your hips. They venture upwards, to grab at your breasts, they fight their way into your hair, where he pulls and scrapes. 

It doesn't matter, you think, when you hear the fabric tear, and the carefully chosen attire falls from your body. Nothing matters. 

You're boneless and defenseless against this one insidious emotion, which carries your every move, which compells you to arch your back, to reveal your running pulse under his searching lips. Feyd Rautha bites down on your skin, right where your neck meets your shoulder, and you respond in kind, head descending upon his porcelain skin. He shudders under your teeth and tongue, his entire body tensing.

This is how you take control, and you've never felt so greedy. 

His trousers aren't even fully off of his legs, when he enters you, clumsily and with urgency, bare feet sliding on the floor. Surprisingly inexperienced, he chases your core with his entire body, as if the heat of your insides in a completely foreign sensation.Your moan tears at the column of your throat, where his lips leave a trail of purple marks. The covers remains undisturbed, as your husband ruts into you, pressing your back harder against the edge of the bed. It's uncomfortable, it's hurtful, but somehow, it feels perfect for the two of you. Fucking like wild animals, not even able to make it onto the bed.

- I hate you - you repeat, like a mantra, broken voice cascading with every thrust. - I hate you, I ha- 

Your head rolls backwards, when a particularly hard thrust nearly breaks you, but your husband is here to help, his hand grabbing the the roots of your hair, bringing your head down, so you can watch as he performs a magic trick of repeatedly disapearing into your body. 

You're not sure who's blood his hand slips on, but suddenly, you're fully on the floor, your body crushed by his. Nothing stops his wild movements, not the sloppiness of it all, not the hard wails he tears from your body. If anything, the more strain his body is under, the more ferocious he's being. Your hand shoots up, all five fingers digging into his throat, and you're rewarded with an angelic moan, which almost brings you to your finish line. Almost. 

His head leans down into the crook of your neck, where he whispers something in Harkonnen, a gurgle of rough sounds, interrupted by sinful moans. He sounds so beautiful, so conflicted, for a second you consider being gentle with him. Alas, you hate him still.  

Another realization dawns upon you, as your feet kick with force into your husbands backside, to force him deeper, to keep him inside. This is still a fight. You're still on the battlefield, still waving a red flag in front of a raging bull. So, with courage and grandiose, your muscles tense, and you roll your husband over. 

The change in position makes both of you gasp in unison, as you sink down onto him. For a second, everything stops. His lips are red and swollen, sweat and blood mix on his skin, flow down in pinkish stripes. And he watches you, as one would a holy painting of a foreign god. With reverence and utter lack of understanding. You're fully aware the look is mirrored on your face. 

Slowly at first, your hips begin to rock, up and down, in a steady rhythm, that forces a shuddering breath to leave Feyd Rautha's lips. You bend down, to catch it, and because of your greed, you catch his bottom lip as well. The bite you give him is anything but romantic, and his hips jump from the floor, hitting a spot within you, you didn't know existed. He swallows your moan along with his own blood, and his fingertips map the curve of your spine, as you straighten upon him.

Fingernails latch themselves into the skin of his chest, as you speed up, chasing your own release and no one else's. Moans spill from your lips, the concept of shame abandoning your mind completely. Then, compelled by something dark and twisted you drag claw marks down his torso. 

His body shudders, and his hips lift off the ground, fucking into you with reckless abandon. The hold he has on the flesh of your hips is bruising, to say the least, but you did enough damage to call it even. Enough, to make your body tremble and tense up, as climax creeps up on you steadily. 

Like a shark sniffing for blood, he senses the change in your being, and as you tumble over the edge, a silent scream tearing at your throat, he suddenly rises into a seating position. His arms encircle you fully, pressing your sweaty bodies impossibly close, as he too finds his own end. 

It takes him second, to tumble over, filling you to the brim with ink. His head buries itself into your shoulder, inhaling your scent through deep gasps, each eliciting a broken growl from his chest. 

Your bones are gone completely, body relaxing and falling breathless into your husband's arms. After a while of sitting in complete stillness, he moves first. Strong hands lift you up, off of him, and you whine at the emptiness. 

Then, as a last hurrah, he throws you onto the bed, where your recovering body sinks into the soft mattress. It's heavenly, the way you seem to float in nothingness, head swimming from exertion. For a moment you don't even register him climbing into the bed with you, drunk on the fading tension seeping from your every pore.

The lights are almost completely out, yet his skin shines against the black comforter. You wish to see if he's flushed, like he was at the engagement party. Leaning on one arm, his fingers trail around the small wound under your ribs. Dried blood flakes off of your skin, and you shudder again. 

- I - you start, voice completely broken - I've never known hate, until I met you. 

You're not sure why you've said it. Perhaps, in this moment of serenity, truth seems to float to the surface much more easily. Or perhaps you're possessed, or worse, gone completely insane. Eother way, your eyebrows furrow, and Feyd Rautha leans down to kiss your forehead, gently. 

- If this is how your hate looks like - he whispers into your hairline, teeth scraping lightly against it - I dread to imagine your love. 

You'll never find out, you think, but for some reason can't fully vocalize it. 

He says something else, after a while, but your mind is becoming as heavy as your body, and as the day descends upon you in a heap of exhaustion, you fall asleep.

And while your story has nothing but suffering in the future, while there's death and mourning, and years of violence written in the stars for you. Right now, on the Harkonnen ship sailing through space to Giedi Prime, you sleep in the arms of your husband. Whether this strange symbiotic relationship will last, no one can tell, but there is hope, and what else could you possibly need? 

[dismas-n-dismay]

Suki - Chimera Falin amv

I present before you: The Chimera Falin Edit.

[mabaki]

@the-skrool joked I should draw Mabaki as an Asura and I was like: Dude, I know you're joking, but also not HAHAHA

So here, have a topless Asura Mabaki LMAO. This might be my favorite iteration so far so this might stick. look, I cant deny, I do love me some Asura too

[writerracha]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ like never before, part three — han jisung x female reader

↻ 1.6k :: best friend's brother :: cw. explicit smut. soft dom!jisung, dry humping, fingering, unprotected sex, slight degradation/dumbification, hair pulling, choking, claiming, creampie, dirty talk, use of "baby," "baby girl," "slut".

you spend a part of your summer vacation at your roommate's house, and her older brother is making you feel things you've never felt before. this time, you can't get jisung out of your mind, so you decide to visit him.

↻ 18+ mdni :: not proof read, pls be kind :: masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

I’m going to need you to ask for it. 

You can’t keep the words out of your head. They turn and turn all day, making you distracted. You can’t focus on anything - not the conversations, not your favorite tv show, not the book you skim through by the poolside. It doesn’t help that Jisung is around you all day, giving you those smirks of his, reminding you of what you did in the laundry room. You’ve taken a shower since, but it’s like you can still feel his cum on your stomach. 

He gave you four orgasms so far - but all you want is to feel him inside of you. You need Jisung to fuck you. And he’s made it clear that he wants it too. You just have to ask for it, right?

He gave you four orgasms so far - but all you want is to feel him inside of you. You need Jisung to fuck you. And he’s made it clear that he wants it too. You just have to ask for it, right?

I want to see how much you want this.

You lay in bed that night, unable to find sleep, trying to come up with an idea to do just that. How can you show him? You’re not very good at those games - you’ve never even sent a nude. Maybe you could do that. But it doesn’t feel quite right.

How desperate you can be.

Desperate. That’s the word. And your desperate self just doesn’t want to wait until you can form a plan. You want Jisung. You need him. Now. 

You slip on a pair of shorts in case you meet someone on the way - then you can just pretend you were too sleepy and got lost on your way to the bathroom. You tiptoe through the house to Jisung’s room, which is luckily not that far from yours. The house is quiet as you expect to be at one in the morning. 

You don’t knock on the door. You just go in, peeking inside to find Jisung sleeping in his bed. He’s not wearing a shirt, his hair falling in front of his eyes. You carefully close the door behind you, approaching him. You remove your shorts, staying in your panties and tight tank top. He doesn’t wake up as you step in his bed, crawling under the sheets. You straddle him, leaning forward to kiss his neck. There’s a sore spot there, near his collarbone - the hickey you’ve given him earlier. You giggle seeing it and feeling him stir as you tease it. 

You’re drunk on him. He’s teased you enough. It’s your turn now. 

Slowly, you start to roll your hips. You place your core against his cock, humming softly at the friction. Jisung frowns, and you start licking his skin again, his neck, his chest, his jaw. 

“Jisung…” you whisper in his ear. 

You bite his earlobe gently, pulling it teasingly. 

“Jisung, wake up,” you breathe. “Please, I need you…” 

He stirs a little, his eyes starting to flutter open. You move your hips more decidedly, letting out a louder moan. 

“I’m so wet, Sungie…” you sigh. “Please, wake up and touch me.” 

“Hm, what a sight,” he finally slurs out, rubbing his eyes. He is already grinning, and when his eyes meet yours, they glisten in the dark. “My baby girl came to beg for it?” 

You nod, pouting softly. “I was in bed, I couldn’t sleep…” You brush your hands across his chest. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

“Hm, yeah?” Jisung asks, bucking his hips, his cock hardening quickly. His voice is hoarse from sleep. “What is it that you want, baby?” 

“I - I want you to fuck me.” 

Jisung chuckles, his hands moving up your stomach to palm your tits. “You want it that bad, huh? Had to come and wake me up?” 

You nod shyly, and Jisung sits up, meeting you for a kiss. He pushes his mouth deeply against yours, sliding his tongue across your lips. 

“Needy baby,” he chuckles. “I have no idea how I still haven’t fucked you dumb. That body of yours… Fuck, the way you look at me. Fucking tease.” 

You let out a small laugh. Jisung takes your hair in a fist behind your head. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks in a sharp whisper. 

“It’s just - you have been teasing me so much…” 

He grins. “Only so I could get you where I wanted to. Which is right here, dry humping my cock like the desperate slut you are.”

You can’t even deny it - everything Jisung has been doing has brought you here, so it worked. You can’t resist him. It would be useless to try. 

“Ji…” 

He pulls on your hair, your head falling backwards, and starts to kiss your neck. He bites your skin, making you roll your hips desperately across his length. You’re soaking wet, feeling almost uncomfortable in your panties. 

“Please, Ji, can I put it inside?” you whimper.

In a quick movement, Jisung rolls you on your back, pushing you against the mattress. He towers over you, his hand leaving your hair to instead circle your neck. 

“Don’t think I’m going to rush this,” he grunts. “Gonna fuck you right.” 

He removes your clothes and his, leaving you both naked in his bed. Your legs are spread under him, and in a second Jisung’s fingers are deep inside your hole, stretching you. 

“Still so wet. I love that about you, baby girl,” he laughs. 

You just whimper in response, reaching for his cock. It hovers near your entrance, thick and hard, and you just want it to fill you up. 

“Right there,” he whispers, grinning up at you. His eyes are dark with lust. “That’s where you belong. Under me, your legs spread wide, your cunt ready to suck me in. Fuck.” 

You rolls your hips as Jisung kisses you.

“You wanted this too, huh? Tell me.” 

You swallow hard. “I wanted it too. So bad.” His tip pushes against your wetness, sending shivers of pleasure across your body. “Jisung, please.” 

“You on the pill?” 

You nod. 

“Good, ‘cause I’m fucking you raw.” 

He pushes his tip inside of you, and you gasp. He’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever had sex with - but your slick helps him penetrate you. He gives you some time to adjust, but he’s still quick in stretching you, bottoming inside your cunt. 

You choke out a moan, and Jisung pushes his hand on your mouth. 

“Stay fucking quiet, baby. Everyone is going to hear you if you moan like that. Unless you want my whole family to know I’m balls deep inside your cunt?” 

You shake your head, closing your eyes and breathing out slowly. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” Jisung growls. 

He looks down at your cunt, removing his cock almost entirely from inside of you before he thrust his hips and enters you completely again. You bite your lip, holding back your moans. He’s so deep, so thick, you’re drunk on the feel of him.

“How’s it feel, baby? Good?” he pants.

“Good,” you nod, “so fucking good.” 

With a chuckle, Jisung starts to pound into you, not holding back whatsoever. Once he realizes you’re trying not to make too much noise, his hand moves back around your neck, squeezing just enough air to make you dizzy. 

He fucks you deep into the mattress, the bed squeaking as he thrusts his hips sharply and quickly. He grunts in your ear, his body warm, and you hold onto him as best as you can. The room is filled with the sounds of your quick breathing, the sloppy sounds of your wetness, his hips against yours. 

Finally. 

“You’re taking me so well, baby girl,” he hisses, fucking you deep, so deep, your breath hitches in your throat. “Shit, fuck, you’re going to make me cum if you keep clenching like that…” 

You’re the one who cums first, though, your body shaking from your orgasm. Your juices make Jisung’s thrusts even easier, and you can’t come down from your high as he keeps hammering into you. 

“Fuck, that’s it, that’s just it - Open your eyes, look at me while I fuck you, let’s see how dumb I made you.”

Jisung growls, his fingers wrapped around your neck. You lazily open your eyes, your body almost limp against his, his cock still fucking you hard. 

“So fucking pretty,” he smirks, taking your chin tightly in between his fingers. “I’m gonna cum in you, and you’re going to keep every last fucking drop, do you hear me?” 

You breathe out, trying to steady your heartbeat. Jisung slaps your cheek gently. 

“Answer me,” he grunts. 

“Yes, Jisung,” you whimper. “Please, fill me up. I need your cum…” 

“Ah - fuck - yes -” 

He thrusts into you two times, his cock twitching hard inside of your cunt. You feel his cum fill your cunt so much it spills out, making a mess of things, but you almost cum again at the sensation. Jisung is grunting, and he does not even stop fucking you.

“Fuck - you feel even better with your cunt full of my cum. Gonna fuck it deep into you… So you remember who you belong to…” 

You roll your eyes, putting a hand on your own mouth to stop you from moaning. 

“Gonna cum again, baby girl? Come on. Make me feel it.” 

It only takes two more seconds until you cum, your cunt tightening around his cock. Only then does Jisung slow down, leaving his cock inside of you. His forehead falls against yours and you both breathe heavily. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispers to you. “It’s over for you now that I fucked you. You belong to me now - and I am so not done with you.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

it finally happened!!! i hope it wasn't too disappointing eheh i wrote this while being sick so... thank you so much for the support on this series i hope to continue! let me know if you have ideas/requests for these two. ♡ love you all

[literallyjusttoa]

Ok! Had to take a bit of a break for personal reasons (thank you guys sm for the support and patience!) BUT, I should be back, barring any sort of crazy irl shenanigans (knock on wood). As an offering, have my freehand studies of Apollo statues, as I tried to find features I could steal and integrate into my style.

First pass, I accidentally deleted the statue I was using as reference and also ewww gross I hate this one

second pass, ok alright, we're getting somewhere, I'm feeling it.

Third pass. I am no longer feeling it. Wtf happened. Alien looking ass.

Fourth pass. We are back on the saddle. However I am veering sharply towards realism and it is scaring me. This means it's time to ditch the references and stylize, leading to...

The fifth and final pass! I tried mixing the features I picked up from the statues with the style I already had, and it kind of worked? Idk how I feel about it. I feel more confident in my color placements tho so that's cool.

[elitadream]

Sorry you've been feeling poorly. Hope you feel better soon ❤️‍🩹

MY HEART. WHY, YOU INSANELY TALENTED AND CONSIDERATE HUMAN BEING-!!

Brb. Gotta go lie down and cry. (;﹏;)

[mobius-m-mobius]

Ten Favorite Shows

Rules: post gifs from your 10 favourite shows without naming them, then tag 10 people.

Tysm @wolfpup026, @insert-witty-user-name-here, and @lgwilt for the tags besties 🥰💖

This was so much fun!! Tagging @blackbirdofasgard, @too-funky, @petercapaldi, @eyeldritch, @agentmobius,

@faylights, @abitofboth, @bebx, @safedistancefrombeingsmart, @symphony-in-silver,

@tennant-davids, @bigpeepee, @lokimobius, @linz33y, and @veraynes-blog as always if y'all feel like it plus anyone else who wants to join, I'd love to know everyone's fav shows! 💕

[egginfroggin]

Hmmmm.

Yet another meme redraw for you all this fine day

It hasn't been officiated by Nintendo yet, but frankly, I do subscribe to the theory that DMK corrupted Sectonia via the mirror; I also think that Taranza has every right to knock him out cold for it

Tell me, which bin do you think DMK belongs in, recycling or trash?

Also I did the perspective after one in the morning on this, don't mind how skrungled DMK is

Also if anyone knows the meme this is based off of and can give me its name or a link to it, please do so if you wouldn't mind, I couldn't find it and had to do this all from memory

Have a good day, everyone ^^

(Program: Krita; time: about 3 hours [same time half the effort as the last one. huh])

[a-cakehound-or-critter-a-day]

12/30/2024 A little batch of doodles from y'all! Thank you to everyone who participated! <:D <3 @pinemartenstudios @sidi0s0 @awesomeundertalelover3 <3

[choosingwhatmatters]

Music in The Loyal Pin, Episode 4

Welcome back to my music rambles. Buckle up, creampuffs, this is going to be a long one. Luckily, it was very easy to structure. Let me tell you about four different types of kisses.

Handkiss – Big emotions

Last week I talked about a piece I call “Big emotions.” It is connected to situations in which our princesses (Pin is the princess of my heart, and nobody can take that title away from her) have a lot of feelings. Snake bites. Tears on letters. Happy reunions. And, in this episode, giddy memories of a kiss to the cheek, as well as the angry chuckage of rocks into a pond.

Although this piece sounds relatively tame, there’s a lot going on in the music, especially the harmonies. A harmony consists of all the notes that accompany the melody at any given time of a piece, plus the notes of the melody itself. Harmonies are the melody’s clothing. They are the bed in which the melody stretches and writhes.

Usually, there is one harmony that everything comes back to. Some call it first chord; some call it tonic. I call it home. Our piece starts out at home in D major. So far, so snug. But then, suddenly, there’s a c in the accompaniment and the first music theorists are already raising their eyebrows: there’s no c in the D major scale. The music is trying to throw us off balance. The whole phrase is repeated and then there’s even more shenanigans in the harmonies. First we greet a chord that is a welcome guest in the house of D major: B minor, its sad little sibling. But suddenly, B flat major appears. A foreigner! Not one, but two notes that do not belong to the D major scale. B flat major waves through the open door before the melody comes to rest in A major, another regular in the household, and there it stays without ever going back to D major.

The whole thing happens in the span of seconds, but it leaves us with several instances of startled surprise and a quality of unfinished-ness. Much like a character grappling with a big emotion, our ears must come to terms with what we’ve just heard.

We hear the melody of the piece one last time at the end of the episode, when Anil is kissing Pin’s hand. It’s only the beginning of the melody, and there’s hardly any accompaniment. No harmonies to throw us off guard. The piece only lasts for a few seconds, hinting at big emotions to come before it floats away.

Butterfly kiss – Anil’s theme

Anil’s theme has undergone a lot of changes in the course of the first four episode. It starts out as a sweet, playful melody that matches Pin’s wistful one. It is often played by a glockenspiel but is fully orchestrated in moments in which Anil twirls for her family. Or sneakily returns from the UK without anyone knowing.

Anil brings back with her a new version of her motif. This one we can hear when she is plotting against the men in Pin’s life or manipulating those around her. Instead of the usual, cheery major scale we’re used to, we can hear the melody in a minor scale. Minor scales tend to sound melancholic or sad. In the piece at hand, the melody sounds sinister which, again, goes back to the harmonies underneath. Harmonies are powerful allies and even more formidable foes.

In episode 4, we can hear the minor version of Anil’s motif when she schemes against Kuea, shortly after being interrupted at the pond with Pin. We hear it again when Pin remembers Pranot trying to kiss Anil’s hand.

And then there’s a brand-new version of the motif when Pin learns about the butterfly kiss.

The time signature is different now. Instead of our usual 4/4 time, we are in 3/4 time. This time measure often has a waltz-y, swaying quality to it. Together with an airy keyboard sound I cannot identify, the whole thing sounds whimsical and innocent. Anil’s theme glistens in silvery glockenspiel notes above this soundscape in a high octave. We are putting a pin (heh) in this fact, namely the use of the glockenspiel and the high pitch.

Lip kiss – Pin’s theme

Pin’s theme is a constant in the first four episodes. Sometimes we can hear the whole piece, sometimes it’s just the first three notes, but it’s everywhere. It hardly changes.

Up until that fateful moment in episode 3, when Pin becomes aware of her heartbeat when she is massaging Anil. The melody evolves. There are more notes and shorter note values. The same thing happens when Anil kisses Pin’s lips.

Y’all, I don’t even know where to start gushing because this is so beautiful. As Pin has these life-changing experiences, her melody expands. It’s played by a glockenspiel now, the same instrument that has been mostly Anil’s up until that point. The tempo is off, restless. It doesn’t fit the accompaniment. Yet. Something shook Pin’s world, and she has yet to regain balance.

French kiss – Pentatonic flourish

In my last post, I promised to take a look at the pentatonic shenanigans that happen every time Anil and Pin are close. When Pin massages Anil. When Anil smells Pin’s hair. When Anil draws Pin close at the pond. When Anil kisses Pin in a way from which there is no return. Semi-quavers are drizzling on our eardrums, the measure is almost undeterminable.

Pin’s theme is back to its usual piano, but it's off beat now. Accomplished, less tame. Then Anil explains the French kiss to her and leans in a second time. The accompaniment narrows to one sequence that is repeated time and again, and once more there's Pin's theme, off beat. She has found her confidence. She is part of the music, and part of something even more beautiful.

Remember the other pin I was talking about earlier? How, during the butterfly kiss, Anil’s theme is played on the glockenspiel in a high octave? Well, during the French kiss, we can hear the first three notes of Anil’s theme, on the piano. Just as Pin has borrowed Anil’s instrument, Anil is now borrowing Pin’s, and even more importantly: they're on the same instrument now. Both of their themes are reduced to the first few notes, Anil's in a low octave that we haven't heard before. The low pitch has a calming quality. It provides the foundation for the last two high piano notes: the first note of Pin's theme, played twice. In my head, Pin is saying "I ... I ...," without even knowing how to finish that sentence, and instead giving up. Giving in.

Dear friends ... this show is so bloody beautiful! I don’t even know what to do with myself. I’ve spent way too much time revelling in the soundscape of this episode, and I regret nothing. If the show ended now, there would still be heaps of things to talk about. But it's not ending. It's just starting out and that is making my undescribably happy.

The fact that the premise of the show seems designed for me (sapphic, historical, South-East Asian) tells me that The Loyal Pin is not the most lucrative story to tell. To have hundreds of people dedicating time, work and skill into telling this story, supported by the Ministry of Commerce, no less, leaves me in tears. What a journey! Thank you for travelling with me!

[potionpeddlerpatchy]

Look!! A rare pair sighting!!

Listen, I didn't have a cute lil scenario to add to this AMAZING commission by @fittsythesnail. I just can't get over how adorable it is 🥺🥺 (also, Ushijima is a giant and him wearing a matching hoodie is doing things to my brain!!)

[katsigian]

── ⁺⭒*˖ ☽ ˖ 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝘼𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 ˖ ☾ ˖*⭒⁺ ──

I was tagged by @gothimp @strafethesesinners @aceghosts @onehornedbeast @amalkavian @cloudofbutterflies92 @simonxriley thank you! ♡♡♡

𝙎𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙊𝘾, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙛𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮'𝙙 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧

𝘼 𝘿𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙮 𝘼𝙪𝙧𝙤𝙧𝙖

"ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɪꜱ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ

ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɪꜱ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀ

ɪ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴛʜɪɴɢ"

𝙎𝙪𝙜𝙖𝙧 𝙗𝙮 𝙎𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙏𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣

"ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴡʀᴀᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɪɴꜱ

ᴀᴅᴅɪᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ, ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴇᴠᴇʟᴏᴘᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴡ"

𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙃𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙮 𝙗𝙮 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙚

"ɪ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ꜱᴡɪɴɢɪɴ' ᴍʏ ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴀ ꜱᴡᴀʀᴍ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇᴇꜱ 'ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪ

ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ʜᴏɴᴇʏ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ

ɪ'ʟʟ ʀɪᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴍᴀꜱʜ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʀɴᴇᴛ'ꜱ ɴᴇꜱᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ?

ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ʟʟ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ, ɪ'ʟʟ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ

ɪ'ʟʟ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ 'ᴛɪʟ ɪ ɢᴏᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ"

𝙄𝙩 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝘽𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙗𝙮 𝙃𝙤𝙯𝙞𝙚𝙧

"ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɴᴏ ɪɴᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴍᴇ

ᴊᴇꜱᴜꜱ ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴛ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ʜᴏɴᴇʏ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ, ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ

ɪᴛ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇᴀʀɴᴇᴅ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʀᴍᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏᴏʀᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ɪ'ʟʟ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ

ᴏʜ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ, ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴍᴇʀᴄʏ ɴᴏ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴀꜰꜰᴏʀᴅ

ɪ ᴡᴀʀɴ ʏᴏᴜ, ʙᴀʙʏ, ᴇᴀᴄʜ ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴀꜱ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʙᴏʀɴ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ ʜᴏᴡʟɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛꜱɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏᴏʀ"

𝘽𝙖𝙙 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙗𝙮 𝙅𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩

ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴜᴇ

ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ

ɪ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ ʙᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ

ɪ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ ʀᴇᴀʟ ʙᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ

[All of these songs I really associate with Valen in some way - they apply to some part of his life or character. Bad Things and Sugar apply to his husband and the stuff they get up to 🫠 Black Honey, It Will Come Back, and Dangerous Thing speak directly to Valen's character and the things he's done]

𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙛𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙑𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧

[He dresses pretty simply - a lot of dark colours and the words 'comfortable', 'tactical', and 'utilitarian' come to mind. Valen doesn't mind spending more on items that he really likes and knows will last him for a long while. About 40% of his attire is gear for work; lots of tactical clothing that gives him a bit of protection and holds his other gear. Such as holsters, tac vests, and other related things.]

[that-tall-queer-bassist]

continuing a tag game! "9 people you would like to get to know better"

(the post was really long, and i'm always hesitant about reblogging those, so i hope it was okay to splinter off ^-^ here's the chain i got tagged in!)

Thank you @paradoxlemonade for the tag!!

1. 3 ships; hmm, probably Joel/Etho (double life smp, etc.), Joe Hills/Oli (hermitcraft/empires smp s2), and Witch Shelby/Princess Katherine (empires smp s2)

2. first ever ship; Sokka/Suki (<- first one ever, before i knew what shipping was) or Remus Lupin/Sirius Black (<- first obsessive ship)

3. last song; Take Me to War by The Crane Wives (its. so good. and also influencing a fic maybe shhh)

4. last movie; I want to say Lilo and Stitch? I think?

5. currently reading; Haven't started a new book yet, but the last thing i finished rereading was The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater. Very good book, i love it (have an au of it planned, may finish it someday)

6. currently watching; mm, it's been a while, but I don't think i finished The Queen's Gambit? That's the last show i was working my way through i think.

7. currently consuming; Boba tea! It's a mango fruit tea with rainbow jellies though, because boba pearls are a no texture XD

8. currently craving; a hug. Might grab one of my younger siblings and get them to cuddle with me :3

9 people to tag; @nevergonnasaygoodbi, @maybitsnia, @ilexdiapason, @neoflames, @bigb-enthusiast, @giddyfenix, @alittlebirb, @bishops-severed-torso, @ellalily

Of course, there's no pressure to participate if you don't want to <3

[clowningaroundmars]

Hobie1610 pt. 4

after so many months of waiting, the wait... is finally over.

here is the fourth and final part of this little au idea i had brewing in my head for some time now. i hope you guys enjoy?

and thanks so much to everyone leaving encouraging and kind comments on the previous parts as well! really appreciate y'all :)

hope this ending is a satisfying one :)

>pt. 1 here<

>pt. 3 here<

MJ: We’re going to hang tomorrow after my shoot, right?

It was a text that Miles looked at and looked at and looked at all day ever since it arrived into his messages that very morning. It literally came out of nowhere.

But how long ago was it that he and Hobie Jones ran into each other at Central Park? It had to have been like a week ago, he was pretty sure...

He thinks.

“Maybe the guy’s pushy or somethin’, he just really likes you for some reason,” Ganke had offered by way of explanation as they sat together at lunch for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Miles wasn’t entirely sure when he and Ganke ever got to chill like this together in the cafeteria area... but as luck would have had it, Ganke’s mom forgot to send over some money for the week, forcing him to buy from the cheaper menu that the school had to offer rather than ordering off of the many food delivery apps he had on lock in his phone.

They sat a ways away from the hustle and bustle of the main area, near a big window that looked outwards into the typical scene of the congested New York City streets, and Miles would have been perfectly content with this arrangement had it not been for The Text.

He jiggled his leg and rubbed at his jaw in between bites of his own cheap meal-- something he got even though he didn’t really want it, but what was he gonna do, let Ganke wait in line by himself?-- gazing at his cell phone sitting right by his elbow. The text message was gazing right back at him.

“I… dunno. I-- man, I wish I told you more about my patrols so you can remind me how long ago Central Park was. I swear it was only like… last week? Right?”

Ganke chomped on his own slice of pepperoni pizza and shrugged. “I think that was a while ago. Either way, he wants to go on this date with you. So you might as well.”`

Miles groaned. “It’s not a date, Ganks. We’re just… chillin’, hangin’ out a little,” he gestured with his hands, which was not convincing Ganke at all. “Y’know?”

Ganke leaned forward a little bit, glasses slipping down his nose as he grinned mischievously. “Did he figure out it was you, Mi? Is that why you’re so nervous about it?”

“Whaaat are you talking about? No… no, he didn’t! I just. Uh, I saved him from those scary gang members and then I swung him home and that was that. No one else knows but you and my parents, Ganke, promise.” Miles’ smile was even less convincing.

“Miles,” Ganke deadpanned, “have you ever thought about what would happen if some Flickstagram-famous model learns about your thing you got goin’ on? He could be pushing this because he knows already, dude. Or at least he thinks he does. You’re a weird kid after all, and it wouldn't take too long to put two and two together... no offense.”

Miles shoved a fist under his chin and chewed a french fry pensively, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't give him away.

The thing is, Hobie did know.

Miles still couldn’t shake off the memories of his warm fingertips hooking under his mask and slowly lifting it off of his face, the way his entire visage seemed so positively radiant with that dazzling smile once they met eyes. He remembered Hobie’s wiry arms clutching onto him for dear life as they flew across the stadium towards the exit, the easy banter they had going back and forth after the action finally died down and they were safely heading back to the outer gates of the park.

So Hobie definitely knew. That wasn’t really the problem... although, Ganke might be right. It could be in the future, if Miles didn’t play his cards right.

Hobie is a solid guy no matter what dimension Miles found him in. Even as the Prowler on earth-616, that Hobie Brown was as an upstanding citizen as any crook could be. But flashes of earth-42 kept sparking up right behind his eyes every time doubt popped up about a new player in his life here on earth-1610, and one can never just assume anyways.

And now Miles is sitting at his lunch table with his best friend— who, until now was the only living person on this planet who knew about his secret identity— ruminating on whether or not Ganke might end up being a damn seer after all. Ganke doesn’t know that Hobie knows, but he really just might be right anyhow. That would really be Miles' luck.

Goddamnit.

Is Hobie planning on blackmailing him somehow? His involvement with those thugs stealing a prominent museum’s precious security info seemed a bit off to him, the more he thought about it.

They joked about it many a time over text, but Miles would be lying if he said he hadn’t turned a couple of facts over and over on more than one sleepless night. Hobie mentioned having connections, a camera, and seemed almost too recklessly opportunistic when it came to the chance at nabbing that flash drive...

Doubt was sinking back in. Miles drummed his fingers on the table and shot Ganke a look. “... Whaddya think I should do if he does, then?”

“What, if he finds out?”

“Yeah.”

Ganke shrugs again, popping a pepperoni slice into his mouth and thinking while he chewed. “Web him up to a lamppost,” he said after a bit.

Miles snorted with laughter. “Ganke, be for real right now. You’ve got great coding and social media knowledge, dude. Could you hack his tech if asked you to? Like, just in case?”

Ganke waggled his head, making a show of really, really thinking it through. “Mmmmn, yeah maybe.”

Miles sighs. “What do I have to do?” He asks because he knows his best friend by now.

“Fifty bucks and you also have to do my laundry for a week. What?” Ganke exclaims upon suddenly being on the receiving end of Miles’ glare, “If I get caught, it could mean like federal level charges on my head, dude. Take it up with the law, not me!”

Miles sighs and returns back to his plate of cold fries. “Yeah, yeah. You got a point,”

“But you gotta meet up with him first, figure out what we're dealing with. Just stop putting it off, bro. Avoiding him'll make you look more suspicious. Might as well get it done and over with,”

Miles swallows his fries along with his anxiety, picks up his phone, and starts drafting his answer to Hobie’s sudden proposal.

He doesn't know why there's a pit of dread in his stomach, but he opts to ignore it this time.

He hopes Ganke is wrong.

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

The next day, MJ's cell phone vibrates on the portable vanity set up at the studio where his current shoot is taking place.

He’s busy, trying not to get too lost in the flurry of hands prepping him, the flashing of the cameras, the shouts of directions from the camera guy as he hits pose after pose with the props on set.

It’s when he’s changing into his last outfit for the shoot that he finally has some time to sip his water bottle and mindlessly scroll through dozens of notifications, finally coming across the one notif he waited to get the entire day: Miles. His name appeared at the very bottom.

... Meaning he received the message hours ago. Shit.

With his shoot almost over, MJ punched in a quick message and hit send, excitedly returning back to the set and finishing his work day up as quickly as humanly possible.

MJ's absentmindedly agreeing that every picture the director shows him is truly amazing, yes, amazing indeed, all while trying not to vibrate out of his mind-numbingly expensive designer outfit he’s been forced into. The only person he can think about as he dumbly nods along to whatever the crew is saying to him is Miles. Miles, Miles, Miles.

Miles has agreed to finally-- finally, after all of these weeks-- meet up with him and make good on his promise. Of course, MJ's slightly miffed that it had to be him to initiate the lunch date in the end, but whatever.

Closed mouths don’t get fed, after all. And Miles was technically not breaking his promise.

So now MJ is floating back down the hallway to the makeup room, gently pushing past all of the other models and swatting away at his mother’s hands while he makes his way over to his duffle bag.

“MJ, darling. Look at me,” his mother says as she hooks a finger under his chin and examines his makeup. “Do you wanna be wearing this when you go hang out with your little friend today?”

Your little friend, MJ almost scoffs out loud, but manages to school his expression into one of pure professionalism. “Yes, mom. Nothin' wrong with it,” he answers breezily.

She hovers. "I mean, it might make your friend think that... uhm, well. You know, it might give the wrong impression. He'll think you two are on a date! You're not allowed to date."

"Sure, mom. Except he knows I'm a model. The whole city does at this point." His tone drips with teenage attitude.

She lets him go.

Then, he’s unbuttoning his shirt and untying a sparkly scarf doubling as a belt to hold up the comically baggy jeans he was assigned to wear today, impatient to shrug himself out of those clothes and jump into his own so he can finally, finally, finally run down to the little cafe he told Miles to meet him at.

His mother was busy on a tablet typing away at something, chatting with MJ's agent once he found his way over to them, and even when neither of them noticed much about MJ on any other day, it seemed they were paying special attention to the way he was throwing his clothes back on with obvious glee now.

MJ had never smiled this much around them, and they sure took note of it now.

“Heard you’re getting ready to meet with a friend, MJ,” his agent told him once he turned his attention back to his client.

“Yyyep,” MJ answered noncommittally. He threw on a coat and started to reach for his messenger bag, stopping when a hand grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.

“We’re gonna keep in touch with the team, and keep updating you on the status of the shoot, but we gotta make sure you’ve got your phone on, right?” His agent looked him directly in the eye. “It’s great that you’re making friends again, Em, but you have to keep your head in the game.”

Yeah, of course. “Don’t let anything distract you from helping me make money” is what you mean, MJ thought ruefully, blinking back innocently.

He nodded and offered his agent a casual smile. “I mean yeah. He’s just a friend, I’m not gonna let that get in the way of my job. Don’t worry,” he adds, “I got my phone on. Hit me up when something cool happens.”

His agent and his mother exchange glances, but agree to release him anyways.

“I mean, he’s still a kid,” he hears his mother say as he quickly exits the room and finds his way towards the elevators. “I let him have a little fun every once in a while! The real work doesn’t start until he’s older right? Might as well let him have this for now..."

MJ rubs his thumb up and down along the edge of his phone case, feeling the bumps of the volume keys over and over.

He steps into the elevator when the doors slide open. He punches the button for the main lobby and stares down at his messages with Miles.

Yes, he thinks a bit vindictively, the real work doesn’t start until he’s older.

She definitely isn’t wrong about that.

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

"You ever think about running away at all?" Hobie asked Miles rather suddenly after they got their usual greetings done and over with.

The cafe Hobie picked was cute, quaint, and very small. A nice little reprieve from the noisy halls of their school and the bustling city streets, since the business didn't seem to have any other patrons at this hour aside from the two boys.

They picked their seats right next to the window and opted to people-watch for a bit as they scrolled through the cafe's stylized menu on their phones. The lighting of the late-afternoon day illuminated Hobie in such gorgeous warm light that Miles was almost suspicious; did he pick this place specifically because the late sun's rays would bounce off of nearby skyscrapers and cast them both in the best mood lighting New York City had to offer? It sure seemed like it.

Hobie leaned back in his seat and gave Miles the most charming smile he's seen on a guy yet, erasing his suspicions from his brain entirely. And... well, anything else as well.

"Uhhh," Miles offered intelligently.

Hobie huffed a laugh in response. "It's okay, I know it's a weird question. Forget I said it."

Miles shook his head. "Wait, no. Sorry, what'd you say again? I'm, uhm. Sorry, I think I'm just a little tired. Kind of out of it,"

Hobie nodded sagely, setting his phone aside for the time being. "Hmm, late night homework, right? Essays maybe?"

They chuckled and grinned at each other cheesily, the knowledge that they shared a big secret between them settling comfortably and cozily like a fat cat curling up near a fireplace. It was nice, kinda. To be in on something that not many other people were, like an inside joke or a long-running bit between old friends.

But then Miles' earlier conversation with Ganke at the school cafeteria floated back up in his mind again and he had to bite his lip to keep from frowning suddenly. He looked down, a bit ashamed.

"Hobie--" he started.

"MJ," Hobie interrupted, chin in his hand now.

Miles looked up. "MJ. Oh, yeah. Right, sorry."

"I don't really like my given name, so no one calls me that. Just call me MJ. Or Em, even. That's what my agent calls me."

"Agent. Geez. So you didn't really answer my question earlier, back when we first met," here, Miles folded his arms on the table in front of him. "How famous are you, really?"

MJ grinned like a mischievous cat, chin still in one hand. "You've been on my Flicksta page this entire time since you found it. How famous do you think I am? Not that hard to do research nowadays, right?"

Miles felt his face heating up. "H-how'd you know about that?"

"You liked a post of mine that I made like... last year, dude. I saw."

Miles silently cursed himself out as he shut his eyes in embarrassment and winced. "Yikes. Alright, I guess you caught me. That was my bad for sure!"

MJ's grin was crooked. "Yeah, I'm... pretty well-known. Not supermodel status yet obviously, but I've been on a couple billboards. Posters, some ads. I'm training to walk some shows. Whatever." He leaned back in his seat again and messed with his sweater's sleeves a little as he spoke. Distantly, Miles noticed how expensive MJ's clothing really looked, how plush the knit of his sweater was, and the tailoring of his coat.

"Whatever," Miles echoed inquisitively. "Do you hate it? Is that why you wanna run away?"

They met eyes.

"I thought I told you to forget that question, Morales," MJ replies coolly. "It was a weird one. I dunno why I even said it,"

Miles, sensing something in the air between them, wondered if he should have changed the subject. Too bad his mouth had a less-than-stellar track record of listening to his brain.

Instead, he opened it and quietly said: "If we're gonna be friends, and if you want me to not web you up to a pole somewhere in Manhattan, I gotta know your deal."

"Mn, my deal," MJ repeated warily.

"Yeah," Miles sighed, already resigning himself to just getting this over and done with already. No time like the present, right? "You mentioned... you mentioned having a camera and connections. And you're just... weird, man. Like, no offense but you being in Central Park when you were that one time? Running away from those gang members who looked like they were gonna strangle you for takin' their flash drive away from 'em? That was super risky. Something's up."

MJ nodded, still looking apprehensive but also like he wanted to give in. "Right, I've got your big secret. Now you wanna have one of mine. Fair, I guess."

Miles shrugged helplessly. "If we're gonna be friends... I mean, it is fair, right?"

MJ glanced around at the empty seats around them, grateful that even the cashier seems to have gone to the back so that they were both totally alone together. Good spot to pick after all, he thought to himself. He kept his voice down just in case anyways.

He licked his lips and leaned his elbows on the table. "Yeah. I get it. It's a big thing you're doing for the city, y'know... doin' what you do. So here it is: I hate being a model."

Miles blinked at him, waiting for more. MJ didn't immediately being speaking again so he made a go on kind of motion with a hand.

MJ laughed a bit, shaking his head. "This is gonna be stupid. It's gonna sound so stupid! God," he rubbed the bridge of his nose with a knuckle and looked outside at a small stream of people walking past, all in a hurry to get on with whatever it was that occupied their lives.

"... About as stupid as some kid from Brooklyn putting on a costume to go out and fight crime?" Miles smiled patiently.

"Well, kinda. It was because of some punk kid from Brooklyn putting on that costume to go fight crime that I finally had the courage to like, go out there and get into my little hobby of breaking and entering, snooping around places I shouldn't, trying to help people..." MJ stopped when he saw the look on his friend's face.

"You...?" Miles started, his lips forming the shape of the words he wanted to say but not quite letting them out into the open just yet.

Did he hear that right?

As if reading his thoughts, MJ nodded. "When you took up the mantle of Spiderman after our first guy died, I took it as a sign. To like... finally just do it, right? I guess all that was left was just taking the leap, y'know what I mean?"

Miles suppressed a shudder as he nodded along, pushing Peter B's lectures out of his mind for the moment.

"I hate being a model," MJ continued, a single loc falling into his determined face, "because I wanna be a journalist. Like... an investigative journalist. But I also like science stuff as well. I guess I dunno what I really wanna be when I'm older. All I know is... I have got to get away from my overbearing mom."

"Or else," Miles finishes for him, tilting his head as if to say remember our conversation at the park?

MJ grimly confirmed it. "Or else," he replied.

Miles blew out a breath and leaned all the way back in his own seat, folding his arms over his chest. "Wow."

"Yeah, heavy stuff. I know," MJ tossed his locs back over his shoulders and glanced up at the posted menu hanging high above the register. The cashier returned from the back, placing several different pastries from a baking tray into the cafe's clean little glass display at the counter.

"Wanna...?" MJ pointed his chin at them, already pushing his chair out to get up.

"Oh, yeah. Food! Duh," Miles answered and got up to follow suit. How could he possibly forget?

The rest of their hangout goes over wonderfully after the grim conversation, all things considered. They opt to chat amicably about surface-level stuff mostly; family dynamics, friends, schoolwork and more about MJ's day job as a model.

"My mom acts like she's my agent most days, too." MJ is recounting this in between sips of his black coffee, long fingers nursing the ceramic cup he was given. "She's the one who got me into these modeling gigs in the first place. She said I had 'the look'... whatever that means. I like bein' behind the camera, though. Not in front of it," he lamented.

Miles spears some lettuce that fell out of his sandwich with the toothpick his side of pickle came with, waving it around as he talks. "Your mom sounds like the type of parent that pushes their kids around a lot. I guess I would know what that's like,"

Sensing a chance to commiserate in their shared dilemma, MJ leans forward a bit and smiles. "Your folks sounded nice when you described them. What's up?"

"I love them, and they sure do love me, but," Miles shakes his head and picks the lettuce off of his toothpick. "I dunno. They want the best for me and... sometimes it feels like nothing else matters but that."

MJ has the lower half of his face carefully hidden behind his mug when he asks: "Have you told them?"

Miles sighed, long and loud. "Yep. Yeah. They know. They do. That was... a very long story but. Anyways, yeah, after all the stuff that went down this spring, I finally had to fess up. No one else knows but you guys, though, I swear."

Miles silently patted himself on the back for managing to completely omit Ganke from the conversation. Can't give up his ace up his sleeve so soon, now can he?

MJ nods sympathetically. "I wasn't kidding, you know. Back when I told you that your secret was safe with me. You've got one of mine, so. No one else but us,"

Miles raises a pinkie over their plates and makes eye contact with him. "Pinkie promise?"

MJ's eyes flash at him.

"Duh. I never break promises," he replies, hooking pinkies together and smiling. "I'm not really in the business of ruining the life of a pretty great hero right now."

"Until it benefits you, you mean," Miles says, really only half-joking.

MJ doesn't take the bait. Instead, he deflects the best way he knows how. "Oh yeah, absolutely. If someone's out there putting a billion-dollar bounty on your head someday, you already know I'm goin' for it. What? It's a billion dollars, dude!"

They laugh together as Miles throws a piece of tomato in his direction and MJ threatens to pour the rest of his coffee onto his lap.

It felt good, felt natural. Their banter was smooth and seamless which Miles thought was a relief because very few people he encountered in life wanted to keep up with his constant sarcasm and nerdy jokes. No one else seemed to share his sense of humor except for MJ, and it made him feel a bit of warmth in his chest.

Even if they only stayed friends, he seemed to be a great companion to have nonetheless. And Miles had Ganke as backup in case anything went wrong between them. It was a daunting thing to come to terms with, the fact that such a cool guy like Hobie M. Jones had the ability to stab him behind his back at any moment's notice, or accidentally let Miles' secret double life as the crime-fighting webslinger out at the most inopportune time.

But... it wouldn't be the first time a friend has double-crossed him.

Miles wasn't stupid. He knew that letting more and more people in on his secret identity was a huge gamble, especially when it came to keeping a secret as big as this was. The risk was too high, the rewards might not even be worth it.

Worst of all, his friends could be legit and then get hurt if they ever found themselves somehow caught in the crosshairs of his other life.

... But Miles didn't want to think about that right now. That was a problem for future him. Right now, they were both too busy being what neither of their own families seemed to want them to be: a pair of carefree kids.

In this moment, MJ didn't have to worry about stifling and busy schedules arranged for him without his consent. He didn't have to worry about itchy fabrics or ill-fitting designer clothes or loud and bright cameras capturing his every move. With Miles, he could finally let loose.

And in this moment, Miles didn't have to worry about crime-fighting (for now), juggling mountains of schoolwork to please his parents, or keeping up appearances so he didn't arouse suspicions as to where he always was when he managed to slip away. With MJ, he could relax a little and enjoy the small things that always escaped his notice as he rushed this way and that, desperately trying to keep up with the chaos of his everyday life. Time seemed to slow down and speed up simultaneously when they were together.

They finished up their meal and exited the cafe, thanking the cashier and pulling on their coats to hopefully battle the frigid winter air of the city. They made their way up and down blocks, past shops and restaurants, weaving in and out of passing crowds on the sidewalk.

As they wandered aimlessly, unable to escape each other's gravitational pull for even one second, they talked some more.

They talked about Miles' art, MJ's secret science experiments in his room and how he fought his mom to get into Visions in the first place, about Miles' parents and his daily workload he usually juggles. They tried talking about Miles' start as Spiderman, but they didn't get too far along that topic before realizing there were only so many code words they could use to say what they wanted to say out loud before devolving into a fit of giggles.

They chatted about their plans after they graduate, how Miles still wants to go to Princeton and how MJ is planning on funding his own college education once he saves up enough money to leave his station in life and go wherever the wind takes him.

Miles seemed a bit sad at the thought that their friendship looked to have an eventual expiration date in the future, but there didn't seem to be anything changing MJ's mind anytime soon. After all, he didn't even know if he was going to keep in touch with Ganke once they stopped being roommates. And they ended up being pretty tight, against all odds.

So as they kept their casual pace through the city, Miles made a mental note to remember and cherish days like these as much as he could. He checked his phone for the time... this blissful moment of normalcy would have to end soon.

"So," Miles said once their long conversation eventually wound down. Their feet had taken them to a nearby subway station, the gum-covered concrete steps already beckoning them both to bid each other adieu.

"So..." MJ glanced at him, stopping them both by the railing and smiling down at his friend.

The day was drawing to a close, the sun had fully set about half an hour ago and they both needed to get out of the streets and back to their regular everyday lives. For Miles, this meant he had to get at least an hour of patrolling in before swinging back to his dorm room and getting started on his studies for their chem test on Monday.

For MJ, it meant returning back to Manhattan and steeling himself in preparation for the eventual lecture he knew he was going to get, about not staying out so late without supervision and how he didn't respond in time to his agent's texts. The usual.

"I hate to say it, but it's lookin' like we might have to say goodbye for now," Miles shrugged, hanging his head for comical effect.

MJ laughed brightly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sound like you don't even wanna leave."

"You might be right about that. Wish me luck tonight, I gotta... y'know," Miles leaned casually as he could manage against the railing, shrugging a shoulder.

"Right. Do your extracurriculars,"

Miles groaned. "Yuck. Let's not call it that, please! You sound like my dad. Let's just call it my weird hobby instead."

"Okay, so I guess I gotta let you go to do your weird hobby instead, then."

"Which just so happens to be graffiti, by the way," Miles' lips quirk up mischievously, giving MJ a look as he slowly slides against the railing and places a foot on the first step. "I like to spray paint around the city every now and then... in case anyone wants to know. In case they ask."

MJ bobs his head in response, following Miles' movements. "Ah, right. Spray painting! Super cool. Anyone asks where you are, I got your back, man."

Miles' smile is as dazzling as it is endearing as he places a hand on the metal railing and lowers himself some more, unable to bring himself to cut the invisible rope anchoring him and MJ together, holding them there in that one space as a constant stream of New Yorkers climb up and down the steps beside them.

Thank you New York City, Miles finds himself thinking.

No one glanced in their direction, they were completely surrounded by people, but still alone. The lights of nearby shop signs and street lamps gave MJ a bit of a halo around his hair, and from the angle he was standing at, Miles looked up at it and believed that it made him just glow.

They gazed deeply into each other's eyes, the usual noise of the city falling easily into the background. It was just the two of them.

"... Yeah." Miles says a bit awkwardly, unable to pull away. "Yeah, that sounds... good. Great. Thanks man! You're a real one,"

MJ smiles knowingly above him. "So you might wanna head on down now. Don't wanna keep you from catching your train."

Miles grins back. "Right. My train."

"Go get 'em, Tiger." MJ responds, offering him a little salute with his fingers and finally turning away to disappear into the thick crowds that flowed up and down the city sidewalks like water.

After a little bit, Miles felt like he could breathe normally again.

He descended down.

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

Miles' life went right back to normal, with a new element added in.

He still rushed through his days of back-breaking homework and tests, still tried to keep up with the crime-fighting and his family back home who kept pestering him with exclamations about how he was always late to events and get-togethers, especially as the holidays rolled around.

(His mother pulled him aside for a quick little chat on how he needs to get better at communicating where he was so that she and Jeff could make up excuses for him ahead of time)

He still gamed mindlessly with Ganke on most weekends after their school break ended and the students all traveled back to their dorms, he still texted his extra-dimensional friends whenever he was free and had a minute to spare.

But now he made some space for another special person in his life: Hobie M. Jones.

They passed notes back and forth in the classes they shared like a pair of friends back in elementary school (to avoid leaving a trail of evidence on their phones, Miles argued when he brought it up to MJ, who just laughed) and walked each other to their classes whenever they could.

But it was risky business keeping someone like MJ so close, especially if it could arouse suspicion when Spiderman happened to swoop in and save him out of the blue. Both Miles and Spiderman hovering around MJ's vicinity day in and day out could be a possible liability to contend with indeed, so Miles still tried keeping his distance whenever possible.

For what it was worth, MJ seemed to understand. He was also occasionally followed by cameras from online fans in the real world or opportunistic reporters looking to try and pry precious info of a new marketing campaign MJ happened to be a part of, so this kind of life wasn't new to him either.

Thankfully, he agreed it was best to only get together in private.

As the months flew by, exams and assignments came and went, but their friendship only flourished.

Miles found himself admitting some surprising things to MJ on late-night text conversations when he couldn't sleep and needed to hop out of his dorm window to burn some energy. He found himself doodling his friend in his sketchbook often, unable to scrub the images of his flawless modeling photos from his brain.

He found himself... doodling their names together on hastily discarded sticky notes and coming up with illegible graffiti so he can mash their names together on stickers and shamelessly slap them up onto signs, onto walls, onto bathroom stalls and stairwells and notebooks and poles and bus stops and--

Miles startled out of a reverie as he was balancing himself on a random window ledge somewhere in the city, fully suited up, sketchbook in hand as he doodled little hearts around a profile study of MJ. Tucked under the page he was working on was an embarrassing amount of stickers with his and MJ's last names on them.

God. The humiliation he would face if MJ ever got his hands on this book. His mind flashes back to the sheer embarrassment he felt back when Gwen suddenly dropped down into his room from a portal and began to leaf through his old sketchbook, finding one too many drawings of her own face in the pages.

The memories snapped him out of his weird love-induced haze and forced him to shamefully fold over the corner of the page and hide those little hearts.

First, you ran away from him after you figured out he was an MJ, now you're obsessed with him. ¿Quién te puedes entender?

The sound of Miles' conscience was taking the harsh shape of his mother's voice. Not good.

He sighed and shut his sketchbook, shoving it into his backpack that was webbed onto the wall right next to him. Crime never slept, but it did have its ebbs and flows that Miles found himself in tune with as the months went by. This hour on a Thursday evening happened to be one of the slower hours for crime fighting, it seemed.

Regardless, he yanked his bag from its sticky confines and brushed the webs off, straightening himself up from his position and mindlessly checking his phone for any pressing updates.

Finding none, and with nothing much else to do... he sent MJ a quick text.

Miles: Busy rn?

He knocked himself on the forehead for it, knowing he might regret what he was about to propose but... he couldn't get the guy out of his head. He was dreaming about MJ on the regular now, which was never a good sign. Might as well see if he was up to doing any crazy last-minute stunts since the heart seemed to want what it wanted.

The reply came almost immediately after.

MJ: Nope, just surrounded by a pile of annoying hw, why do you ask?

Miles grinned as he typed a quick reply, hit send, and shot a web up to climb to the roof of the building.

Miles: I'm thinking I'm like... about a 15 mins walk away from your place. Wanna hang? I can swing by

He can almost taste the eye roll in MJ's replies, which made him smile beneath his mask.

MJ: You're corny as hell and that's exactly why you're my friend

MJ: Just give me a few to get ready

Miles sends back an affirmative, and tucks his phone right into his bag's side pocket which he then throws over a shoulder. He turns towards the general direction that MJ's penthouse apartment is located, right over the Brooklyn Bridge.

On his way there, he rehearses all of the coolest lines he could think of, not quite hoping to impress his friend or anything, but hoping that maybe MJ won't see him for the weird dork everyone else treats him as. And... to also keep him from suspecting anything or whatever.

They've hung out together countless times before, after their initial meetup. And not once did flawless-fashionable-cool-model MJ make him feel like he was ever uncool or off-putting. Maybe that was why Miles was so infatuated with him, when it came down to it. Still a good idea to play it safe, just in case.

It would have served Miles much better if he gave this friendship an even wider berth, retained his mysterious reputation... but there was something so arresting about MJ's eyes, his mannerisms and gentleness that contrasted so sharply with his quick wit, surprising bravery and intelligence.

Miles can shoot off the wittiest lines on the planet, but at the end of the day, he was still a boy with a crush. Alas.

In the time that he vaulted around NYC as Earth-1610's Spiderman, Miles developed a knack for snappy one-liners that MJ seemed to find endearing. Whenever they were together, they often fell into good-natured jabs and quips at each other, and he was so enamoured by it.

And it seemed like they just... naturally fell into the gravity of each other's orbit often anyways. Miles would look up into a crowd anywhere at Visions and immediately be able to find MJ. Like he developed an MJ-sense alongside his own spidery ones.

Two twin stars locked in orbit, a binary system forever hurtling through space together.

God, he really needed to get it together. That was super cheesy even for him, and he watched Titanic on his laptop damn near a hundred times at this point.

The thought had him yanking on his webs much harder and flying through the late evening air just to burn off the heat that built up in his gut.

He had to quickly remind himself that regardless of whatever happened between them, he promised that he would forever cherish it all. Miles wasn't an idiot, he knew that being Spiderman put a dampener on a lot of his relationships in life. It was a constant tug-of-war between him and his parents, and Ganke often reminds him of how absent he is at school, even when he's present.

Whatever happens between him and MJ in the future is whatever happens. Miles has already made peace with the inevitability of reality, like he so often needed to in this life. No need to get his hopes up.

Sobering up, Spiderman does several somersaults in the air before attaching a web onto the corner of MJ's swanky high-rise located not too far from the bridge. He sticks to the reflective glass and lets gravity do all the work for him as he drops down a few stories, hoping he was just a quick black blur that could be chalked up to just being a bird of some kind in case anyone happened to glance out their windows.

He hasn't been over to MJ's apartment at all, but knows the building from the outside very well thanks to the two friends' prior escapades. MJ's mom was strict according to him, and after sneaking them both out of the window to go to a mall or hang out at a park, swing around the city a bit and then drop MJ off back home, Spiderman was well acquainted with his bedroom window as a result.

He finds it again effortlessly and hangs upside down by a web, slowly lowering himself into view.

MJ's eyes light up immediately upon seeing him. He perks up, gets up from his computer chair to carefully lock the bedroom door and moves right back to his window.

"Well hello there, Spiderman! Glad you could make it." MJ smiles warmly, keeping his voice down. "Sorry, mom and the team are in the living room and I just told her I'm lockin' myself in here to study as hard as I can. Finals coming up and all... but we don't have too much time."

"Which is why you're only stepping out for a bit of air, right? Real quick, I promise." Spiderman replies good-naturedly. "It'll help clear your head."

MJ huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. "Where would I be without you?"

"It's Spiderman's job to help all of the citizens of New York... and you look like you could use it, so,"

MJ slides his window open even wider, already throwing a leg over the sill. "My hero."

Together, they drop down a few stories, just free-falling and enjoying the chill of the late evening for a few seconds, shrouded by the dusk's descent that was already darkening the vast sky above them.

MJ gasps breathlessly when Spiderman shoots out a web and sends them sailing over congested streets filled to the brim with cars and trucks, over tall street lamps and past bright digital billboards advertising all kinds of products.

They zoom past more buildings, arcing gracefully around corners. At one point, MJ dares to loosen a grip on Spiderman's shoulders and splay his fingers out against the wind.

They fly together like birds for a minute more, soaring through the air and then rounding right back on the path they carved into it so Spiderman could deposit his friend right back home.

MJ said they didn't have much time, right? And Miles was satisfied with their short little hangout anyhow. He got his hands on his crush, had him clinging onto his arms and his neck the entire time they were airborne. It was getting late and he had to head back to Visions himself as well.

"Take me up to the roof real quick," MJ pants into his ear. Miles tries very hard not to think too much about that as he wordlessly follows orders and makes a beeline for the roof access.

Together, they land near the edge, overlooking the concrete jungle that was Manhattan, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings that seemed to reach up to heavens, still much taller than MJ's own building.

It was a miracle they weren't seen together, but that might've been because of the glitter and glitz of the city night all around them. New Yorkers never really looked up anyways.

Below them, the traffic and the bustle of the city continued at its usual pace; a constant thrum of vibrations, sounds and lights as they flowed up and down the streets like blood cells traveling through veins.

Both boys leaned their elbows onto the roof's raised edge and peered all around them, enjoying their temporary peace, catching their breath.

"I'm real glad I met you, you know?" MJ says, uncharacteristically sincere. His face was an open door now, but he was still unable to meet Spiderman's eyes.

Miles thought it might be appropriate to keep his mask on for now.

"Man, I only swung us around for like a few minutes. You don't need to confess your love for me, I'll take a thanks as payment. That's all." He joked but still tried to keep the sarcasm light. Didn't want to ruin the moment, after all.

MJ offered a crooked smirk at that, but then sobered up again. "Nah, really, man. I mean it. I'm not sure where I'd be right now if I hadn't transferred over to Visions and literally bumped into you. Crazy how life works like that, huh?"

"Right, especially since you were my biggest fan before that," Miles reminds him. "Serendipity or whatever."

MJ nods slowly. "Serendipity. Yeah... exactly. Sorry. What did you just say?"

Caught off guard, Miles hesitates for a bit. Play dumb, Morales!

"Uhh, what did I just say?"

MJ laughs, punching Miles on the arm before folding his own arms over his chest. "I was a fan of the old Spiderman before you came along. When he died..." he averts his eyes, studying his shoes. "Yeah, that sucked. But then you came along out of the blue... anyways. I just took it as a sign, that's all."

Miles dramatically wilts against the side of the roof. "Daaamnn, bro. I just swung you around the city for a bit! I gave you a free ride, and I don't even get to be your favorite? I see how it is."

MJ bursts out laughing. "Don't worry, Spiderman," he says, holding up his hands placatingly. "You're on your way to replacing him soon enough! Keep giving me those free rides. And uh... thanks," he finishes lamely, raising his hand to shoot his friend a salute. "Yeah. Thanks. For this."

They smile sheepishly at each other for a few seconds and Miles swears he's going to start roasting alive in his suit pretty soon from the way the warmth in his chest was radiating outward towards every limb.

Butterflies were swirling inside of his gut and he swears he can hear the sappy music from a romance movie Miles watched recently playing somewhere near them. Maybe now was the time to... stop avoiding his feelings? Take that leap of faith, right?

He's done it many times before. This time was probably no different than any other time where he's been thrown way out of his comfort zone only to be kinda glad it happened, in retrospect.

He opened his mouth and started to speak at the same time MJ did.

"So, Em--"

"Uh, so--"

They jumped in unison, wide eyes meeting wide lenses. MJ dipped his head.

"Oh, sorry I was--" Miles chuckled, bopping his forehead with a hand. "S-sorry, what were you gonna say?"

He winced at the jarring awkwardness of it all. The sappy music went silent, the mood thoroughly ruined.

"Oh, well, uh--" MJ looked just as flustered as Miles felt. "N-nah, sorry, I was just gonna say that... that it's been a little while now. So I should probably be heading back," he gestured awkwardly over his shoulder towards the side of the building, trailing off.

"Riiiight, right. Yeah, duh. Of course. Just, uh," Miles turns so his back is facing his friend, gesturing at it as if to say hop on. "Lost track of time, I guess. My bad,"

"What were you gonna say?" MJ asks, right next to Miles' ear as always.

Silently, Miles tucks that part of himself away again for later.

He was really 100% willing to risk it all and go for it, just fully display all of that for a measly chance at getting to date the most popular kid at school right now, and one of the coolest people that he's ever met. He would kick himself if he weren't carrying him right there on his back.

What a stupid idea, Miles. Real dumb, even for you.

In a fraction of a second, he stuffs his emotions right back down in him. Time and place. Not the time, not the place, he reasons. They'd just met a few months ago, and they got off on a pretty rocky start. It just wasn't the time to be making such rash decisions. Yeah, that was it.

"Nah, forget it. I think I was just gonna ask if you wanted to come with me and Ganke to our favorite comic shop this weekend, but that's a dumb question--"

MJ suddenly squeezed his hands tighter around Miles' shoulders. "Duh! It's a dumb question because the answer is obviously yes, of course."

"You like comic books!? Since when?" Miles exclaimed in shock.

"I'm beating you as the top student in chem class right now. You are not nerdier than me. Stop playin' with me." MJ grumbles grumpily. He digs his chin vindictively into Miles' shoulder.

Miles' loud bark of laughter echoed off the rooftop as he takes a running leap towards the ledge, hops on it and promptly sends them plummeting several stories down.

MJ's cry echoed around them even louder.

After about a minute or so, MJ's back inside of his room and they're both trying very hard to suppress laughter so hard that their cheeks hurt and they're crying tears.

Thankfully, outside of the bedroom door, MJ's family never heard a thing.

[crispycreambacon]

My friend and I had a brief discussion on what the name of the relationship between Ryan and the Professor should be (not romantic. not a shipname. I refuse-), and eventually we decided on Beefbuds (a play on the fact Ryan's called Beef Boy and also alliteration ehe!!!)

BUT. One of my suggestions was Beef Jelly (a combination of Beef Boy and jellybeans), and I thought, "That's gotta be an existing food item" so I looked it up

Lo and behold!