#my brain starts oozing about ten days in

[delineate-creates]

WIP Tag Game!!!

Thank you for the tag @cindle-writes 🥰

Tagging @ujiin and @0p4l3sc3nc3 but no pressure if you don’t wanna share anything!

Okay, so in order, these are three WIPs for this year’s inktober and one regular ole sketch…we got:

Day 6: Trek (Pride and Prejudice 2005)

Day 15: Guidebook (golden trio)

Day 17: Journal (Tom w/ diary)

Tom with a snake…is it Nagini? Who knows!

I figured I’d post a few since I’ve been so uncharacteristically active. And also! I hope to have a tentative list of fandoms/subjects I’ll be doing for my inktober posts soon, which I’ll be posting w/ their corresponding tags so that people can block/mute them if they don’t wanna see. I know most of y’all follow me for HP stuff, so I thought a little heads up might be appreciated!

[atimesfeeler]

I loved @twilightkitkat 's post SO MUCH I just had to add to it. It reminded me of a fic I'm working on rn.

I especially liked the part with Vanessa because I don’t think she just left him because of the reason Wade thinks. She didn’t just want him to be a superhero or whatever- in the flash back, she’s begging him to open up to her, to be present, to let her help him and I don’t thinks Wade could do it.

He felt like, incorrectly, that he couldn’t burden her with it. He has so much baggage and pain and issues, and he can’t corrupt her with that. He had cancer and instead of spending his last days with her, he left her. And when he survived he avoided her until she was literally kidnapped.

Everyone thinks Logan runs but really Wade does. He doesn’t want the people he loves to know he’s in pain. At his birthday party, he’s obviously miserable but everybody’s together! And smiling! So he’s going to be happy and pretend he’s just fine. But he’s not even very good at hiding it bc, like mentioned before, it’s a little bitter. His jokes don’t land or they come out passive aggressive and tense. But nobody calls him out for it except Logan. Logan who tells him in the meanest way that he’s a clown but that he’s sad, pathetic, and attention starved. He’s not buying the clown act.

And when Logan moves in, I love the idea that he starts noticing Wade when his mask falls or he gets too tired to pretend.

I’m writing a fic where Wade deals with chronic pain in less healthy ways and, of course, he tries to hide it. It's more brief and censored on tumblr bc I don't want to get my account terminated again, but it will be more detailed on ao3.

…

He dealt with it in other ways. The pain.

After all, a little bit of death couldn’t hurt, right?

Treating himself gently only sometimes worked. If he did everything right, if he did all the steps then maybe, maybe it would ease up. Sleep well, wake up at the right time, eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, draw a scalding bath, and take some hard hitting drugs.

Most days, Wade was much more impatient. Most days, Wade failed. It was too hard to take care of himself when waking up felt like dragging himself up from glacier water and pounding on the underside of the ice. Cooking was a nightmare he didn’t even want to consider tackling, and he was rarely patient enough to wait for the bath to fill or for sleep to take him as his body wracked with pain.

There were faster, easier, more instant ways of relieving the pain.

Any pain that didn’t stem from his own body was good.

With Vanessa, Wade had tried the healthy way. The three meals, ten hours of sleep, and taking his vitamins. The whole mile. There was this urge he constantly resisted that told him it would release the tension in his skull if he carved under his eye into his cheek where the migraine pulsed, like he was some sort of fucked up carpenter with voices in his head.

Vanessa didn’t understand it. If he was in pain, why would he want to be in more? She understood his masochistic tendencies in bed where they mixed pain and pleasure, but just pain? Just harm for the sake of being harmed? They got into a lot of fights about it.

He resisted the attempts. Hid them from her where he could. Sometimes he’d miscalculate, and she’d walk into the bathroom before he could heal and clean up his brain splattered on the bathroom tile. She hated it, and Wade hated that he was hurting her.

He reeled back any anger or snippy comments that stemmed from the sheer newness of having his body feel like it was dying all the time. It was so hard to interact when pain rippled through him like a feedback chamber. It made his fuse short and curt. His witty remarks turned snappish and bitchy. People asked stupid questions and made even stupider comments when he was having a Bad Pain Day, and everything felt a bit more raw and oozing. Wade didn’t have the energy to keep up the act and while his mind rarely stopped running, it shifted into something darker when pain was on his mind. His jokes fell flat, laced with a bitter ending. Sometimes, Wade didn’t even want to talk. He wanted to punch someone. Maybe even himself. And every time he snapped or said something he didn’t mean, he wanted to hurt himself even more.

Quickly, he grew exhausted putting on a brave face, and he had never been good at letting people help him. There was this awful clash of wanting to be comforted by the people he loved and hating that he needed comfort. It made him feel weak and pathetic, and Wade already hated so much about himself that he didn’t want anyone to see the twisted, fucked up parts of him. How ironic that he always had an audience anyway. He couldn’t hide it from you or whoever was watching him those days, but he could hide it from the people he loved. Shield them from it, almost.

On Bad Pain Days, Wade didn’t want anything to be different. He didn’t want to acknowledge the pain he dealt with, and seeing that pity on her face set his teeth on edge. It both hurt to be babied and, later, it hurt to be ignored when he stubbornly insisted he was fine.

Obviously, it didn’t work out.

It was better with Al.

Al tried to help. Once or twice. Her motherly instincts kicked in, maybe, Wade didn’t know. He shot himself once in front of her while they were watching the Bachelorette together, and she cursed him out and told him to stop and never do it again. Wade took his little attempts to the bathroom after that. He cleaned up after himself. He went out. Wade tended not to do the more dramatic methods that draw attention.

Wade had it down to a science. A decent chunk out of his frontal lobe sent Wade into a pleasant, almost subspace-like place. He would just… float and forget that his body hurt all that bad. It was good for Bad Brain DaysTM too when Wade’s thoughts were louder, faster than normal, and the voices stopped sounding like himself. When the fourth wall was a little too easy to see, and it got to him, being the doomed comic relief, when his head was trying to split his consciousness in two.

If his temporal lobe was nicked, then Wade would start hallucinating and hear a banger of a song while time, space, and movement sort of fucked up for a second. It felt like getting high, but he didn’t need an entire bag of cocaine and to hot box weed to get there.

If something happened to his parietal lobe, the pain wouldn’t know where to go. A bear could literally be eating his insides, but the pain signals couldn’t register if they had nowhere to go.

He did most of his questionable coping methods in the stereotypical bathroom spot. It was private, and Al got onto him for getting blood and bits all over the apartment. He once left his liver or his kidney in the kitchen sink, and Althea threatened to call the cops on him - her coke stash be damned. Now he’d drape himself in the empty tub, play music loudly, and expertly deal with the pain.

The system he had was fine. Regulated. It was working. It was fine. It wasn’t going to get any better.

Until Logan.

...

I haven't posted it on ao3 yet, but it will be apart of the series for my fic where Wade cries in the Honda instead of fighting.

[aspiringtrashpanda]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SATAN! I love you, you finnicky feline bastard. A friend of mine recently shared this great video essay with me, and I knew I had to substitute today's prompt to do something involving CATS. Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 20 Prompt: Hot Cider Halloween Costumes Featuring Cats: The Musical, chaos reigning in the House of Lamentation, and Satan's secret past revealed... This is 2.6k but I swear it's worth it

“Alright,” You were already reaching for the popcorn piled around Beelzebub. You didn’t miss his sharp side-eye, but Belphegor muttered reassurance that they could make more if Beel felt he hadn’t eaten his fill. “Are we all ready?”

A chorus of hummed affirmation was only interrupted by Beel’s concerned, “Satan isn’t here.”

Levi’s already tense frame managed to stiffen further, Beel’s realization prompting him to peer over his shoulder into the dark shadows of your bedroom, encroaching the circle of safety lit by the glow of the television screen. “Hey, where is he?”

“Oh…” Hesitating, you mumbled a swift, “I didn’t invite him. So anyway, shall we?”

It was Asmo that started that accusing melody reminiscent of when you’d been sent to the principal’s office as a child. “Oooo, is Satan in trouble?”

Mammon nearly choked on his cola. “Hey! What’s that mean?!” 

“Nothing!” You knew it was best to stop a Mammon Jealousy Spiral™ before it spun out of control. With five pairs of eyes waiting for the big reveal, you let them down gently, “It’s just… Trust me, you don’t want to watch this with him.”

“Why?” Beel asked in between crunches of unpopped kernels. 

“Yes.” The voice managed to freeze the blood of all those in the room, the spite spilling in a low song. “Why?”

Six pairs of eyes snapped to the door, panic rearing within your chest when you made out a familiar silhouette lounging in the doorway. Shit.

Satan’s vibrant green fingernails curled around the door knob, shut the panel with more force than necessary. His voice oozed contempt, anger, and for a moment, you wondered if you were his villain origin story. “Did you really think you could watch Cats without me?”

He marched into the room without another word, settling down beside Belphie and positioning himself closer than anyone else to the screen. Asmo instantly protested that he would damage his eye sight, and in response, Satan slipped on his reading glasses.

“Brain build. +2 observation and +3 intellect,” Levi muttered to himself, nodding in approval. Mammon shot him a look of disgust. 

When you had still failed to press play, to start the movie, Satan fixed you with an impatient frown. “Well? Are we watching the movie or not? 

“Satan,” You winced, “You’ve read the reviews.”

You thought you had been able to protect him.

“I need to experience it with my own two eyes.” Satan steeled his resolve, rolling his shoulders. 

How were you supposed to protect him from himself? 

So, you prayed to the Celestial Realm above and tossed the remote to Mammon. Though all he did we toggle the button to start the movie, your conscience felt as though the action alleviated some guilt. 

Alas, about ten minutes into the movie, Satan’s rage moved from near to downright palpable. It was sour on your tongue. So sour that not even the extra buttery popcorn could rid the taste from your mouth. The whole point of watching Tom Hooper’s 2019 film adaptation of Cats, the Tony award winning musical, was to revel in the warmth of the dumpster fire, to laugh and jeer and jab at the uncanny CGI cat-people-things. All the fun of a Cats watch party was dampened by the vibrating bomb a little too close to the television.

“You don’t understand,” Satan cried, “This…This…This trainwreck of a film completely obliterates all that is Cats!”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Asmo argued, his eyes lighting up as Jennyanydots’ exterior fur was unzipped in a truly terrifying manner to reveal a snazzy little magenta number underneath. “Oh, a skin suit! How fresh~!” 

Levi and Beel exchanged a very concerned glance, popcorn falling from Mammon’s mouth as his jaw hit the floor. Belphie simply snickered, eyes already shut. It wouldn’t be long before he tapped out of this plane of existence for the remainder of the night. 

Though, Satan failed to falter. No, he carried on, “See, Cats is all about the whimsy, the theater, the rotating cast of characters that are not meant to represent anything larger than themselves! Why is Victoria suddenly the protagonist? Why remove the three-part harmony from the Gumby Cat number? These are entirely illogical choices!” 

You stifled a sigh. It was going to be a long night. 

Beel and Belphie bailed first, sometime after Satan paused the movie to explain the importance of the choreography in Grizabella’s Memory, how the director had completely fumbled the ball by allowing Victoria to touch the former Jellicle cat before the climactic lyrics pleading just that. Mammon was next, too unnerved by the dancers on all fours, lapping milk from a saucer. Satan was quick to explain that esteemed choreographer Gillian Lynne’s original moves aimed to be evocative of cats, unlike the movie monstrosity’s literal interpretation of feline behavior. Mammon didn’t stick around to hear the last of the critique. 

Asmo hung around for a while, genuinely entertained by the uncomfortably horny touches and svelte frames of the dancers. Though, whenever he commented on Macavity’s physique, Satan would launch into a rant regarding Macavity’s enlarged role and how it only served to allow the mediocre A-Listers on the bill to show up to set for three days, and then bail for the rest of production. It got old after a while.

It surprised you that Levi lasted the longest, more intrigued by the lore hidden in the Cats original production than the film adaptation. He found it particularly fascinating that a plot had been shoe-horned into a show that was simply meant to showcase all different sorts of cats. He likened it to a slice-of-life anime introducing a shonen-esque training arc, when there was never a goal from the beginning. 

Satan had nothing to say to that. You thought he was simply trying to keep his wrath in check, by that point. 

It was well past midnight by the time your room had emptied out in its entirety, and the sheer oddity of the Old Deutoronomy number that closed out the movie had left you exhausted. As you drifted off to dreams that you were certain would seem less feverish than the film you had just seen, you couldn’t help but wonder: Why was Satan so invested in Cats? You managed to make note of your query in your D.D.D., as you figured it would come up again later.

Later just so happened to fall on October 20th–Satan’s birthday. 

It would be an average morning to Satan, you were positive. As he typically followed a relaxed Sunday schedule of wake up, read in bed, shower, eat, read in the library, eat, read in bed, and then sleep, you knew that your plan would be flawlessly executed as long as it remained completely out of his orbit of interaction. 

You sent out the messages the moment your alarm went off, bright (well, as bright as it could get in the Devildom) and early. Everyone swung by Asmo’s room at their assigned times, Raphael on hand with his sewing kit. As Simeon, Luke, and Barbatos prepared a lunch large enough to feed three Beelzebubs, Levi ran over the game plan with those who had been absent from the very important movie night. 

When the messages–all faked and sent from the same room–entered the aether, you were positive that Satan would regard them as any regular chat. 

11:31am - Lucifer in House of Lamentation (New) I expect everyone to be in the dining room for noon, sharp. 

11:32am - Asmodeus in House of Lamentation (New) Okey dokey, Lucifer♡

11:32am - Mammon in House of Lamentation (New) How much is my presence worth to ya?

11:33am - Leviathan in House of Lamentation (New) 💀

11:33am - Lucifer in House of Lamentation (New) We’ve been over this. Raphael is coming by to tailor your Halloween costumes. Don’t be late.

11:34am - Satan in House of Lamentation (New) When did we decide on costumes? I have not been informed of the theme.

11:45am - Satan in House of Lamentation (New) Lucifer?

His footsteps sounded down the hall moments after the residents of the House of Lamentation and their guests had taken their positions around the dining room table. You beamed, glancing around at your assembled soldiers. There had been no hiccups. You had prepared the perfect surprise.

Or should you say, the purrfect surprise? For when Satan entered the room, Thirteen set off her traps, showering him in confetti and blinding him with flashing lights, the gathered demons, angels, and humans shouting, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SATAN!” 

According to the plan, Satan blinked, disoriented from the assault of the reaper’s ingenious tech, and took a moment to rub his eyes, chuckling, “Oh, thank you, but…”

And bam! His vision clear, his jaw dropped as he finally managed to register the scene before him. 

It was a normal Sunday afternoon, and a normal birthday lunch. A massive banner stretched above the hearth, marking the day of his creation, and Beel was already reaching for the cake in the midst of the plates laid out upon the tablecloth. All of Satan’s housemates grazed upon the spread, laughing, smiling, bickering and shouting. 

Only they were dressed as cats. And not any cats, but full-blown replicas of costumes from Broadway’s production of Cats. 

Ears and whiskers blended into faux fur and expert makeup, thick tails dragging on the ground and sticking out from the backs of chairs. Belphie was using his black and white mottled tail as a pillow, Beel using the fake claws to skewer Luke’s macarons a few plates over. Even Diavolo sported a thick crimson mane, Barbatos brushing it with a tool you knew Satan recognized from his own stash of grooming supplies. 

Thirteen, wedged between yourself and Mephistopheles, was making a show of handling her fork and knife, regardless of the costume nails that clinked against the utensils with every minute movement. Simeon and Solomon, meanwhile, were attempting to teach Luke how to purr.

Part of you wished you could be in Satan’s shoes, could see the madness from his perspective. He had a better view of Levi snapping at Mammon when the latter tripped over his tail. 

“What is this?!” Satan gawked, watching as Lucifer took a slow sip from his coffee, a concerned gleam to his dark eyes that had your insides twitching with the effort of restraining your laughter.

Lucifer responded as if it was the most obvious answer in the universe, his whiskers bouncing with the words. “We’ve gathered today to witness Old Diavonomy’s choice for the Jellicle Ball.”

Diavolo laughed that deep, joyful laugh, stepping away from Barbatos’s careful care (and if they had control over the fake ears, you were certain Barbatos’s would be plastered to his skull) to gesture towards the table with swinging arms. “Welcome, dear Satanshanks the Railway cat. You will sing for me, won’t you?”

“You’re joking,” Satan balked, and you could spot the gears turning in his head all the way from your seat. He clenched his hands into a fist, unfurled them. Opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. 

Asmo was leaning over the table, whispering to Raphael, “I bet he’s going to choose the Magical Mr. Mephistofelees. I mean, look how handsome he is! ♡” 

Mephistopheles hissed in return and you held back a snort. You had to give him points for staying in character. Thirteen swiped at his ear–the cat one, not the real one–with her lip curled in irritation. You had a feeling he had accidentally spat in her food. 

“No,” Raphael shook his head, ashy tabby fur glued to his cheeks stiff and unnatural. “It’s going to be Mammovity or Belphefur Jones.”

You glanced at Belphie, whiskers fully immersed in a bowl of pudding, tail still tucked beneath his head. You supposed that was better than Mammon, who you could tell was actively researching how much he could get for auctioning off these costumes. 

“LOL you’re kidding, right?” Levi piped up, cyan claws clicking as he gestured to Beel, now on his sixth serving of food. “Grizabeela is the right choice.”

And Satan stood there, the confusion clearing in his eyes, that slightly delayed comprehension melting the tension in his shoulders to resigned acceptance. He sighed, threw his hands up in surrender. “Aright. Cut the theatrics. Who found it?”

“Found what?” You asked, coyly batting your eyelashes as you rested your chin on the padded knuckles of your cat costume.

“The tape.” Despite the conflicted emotions in Satan’s sea green eyes, he surveyed the paw-print cookies and noodle bowls with wonton cat ears with unrestrained curiosity. You waved him over, beckoning to him like a kitten hiding in an alley. The suspicion returned to his gaze.

“Leviathan.” Luke wasted no time throwing Levi under the bus. You supposed it wasn’t personal. The young angel never liked lying. 

“HEY! Asmo helped!” 

Unlike Levi, hiding under the table in fear of Satan’s wrath, Asmo only grabbed his own tail, waved it towards Satan with a playful wink. Satan grimaced. 

“Satan,” Solomon smirked, silver spotted ears matching his hair perfectly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a Broadway star? I would have loved to have seen your debut.” 

Satan groaned, burying his face in his hands to hide the faint blush beginning to curl over the shell of his ears. 

“Satan,” Simeon’s smile was leagues from kind, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was his intended expression, or the way the makeup morphed his features into something far more angular, far more intimidating. “I didn’t realize you could dance so well. Would a cat costume have helped the Lord of Masks with his choreography in the TSL musical?”

“Aw, don’t tease him!” Thirteen crowed, the glint in her eyes anything but protective, “His fur will get all matted.”

Bristling, Satan finally approached the table, accepting the proffered mug of coffee from Solomon with a clipped, “Thank you.” It made your chest swell with affection, how he feigned such annoyance when really, he wanted nothing more than to join the feline fiesta. You knew Satan would never lose control when cats were involved. 

“Here!” Mammon passed a carton Satan’s way, “We got ya some premium milk for your birthday.”

“A lot of cats are actually lactose intolerant!” Luke protested, turning to Raphael for back up. The other angel simply stared at him, entirely indifferent. 

“That’s quite alright,” Barbatos soothed, and a glass of creamy white liquid was placed before the guest of honor. “I brought some cursed cashew milk for our feline friend.” 

“Very thoughtful, Barboria,” Lucifer approved, already uncorking a bottle of vintage demonus regardless of the day’s hour. 

“I need all of you to fuck off, right now.” But contrary to his words, Satan was laughing, and the more he laughed, the more his shoulders shook with mirth, tossing the tension from his frame in a matter of seconds. When he looked at you, you beamed with all your teeth–including the prosthetics Asmo had applied to sharpen your canines. 

“Alright, alright,” Diavolo chuckled, “Satanshanks is the birthday boy, after all. His word is law.”

He paused, drawing everyone’s attention to the Demon Prince at the head of the table. He stood, puffed out his chest and flexed his artificial cat claws. When he spoke, he did so with a bravado that demanded respect. “And if there’s anything important that we’ve learned today, it is not that Satan performed in the original Broadway production of cats, but that…”

Before Satan could catch on, the table burst into song, howling the climax of the final act in Cats in all sorts of different keys. 

“A cat is not… A dog!”  

And though Satan scowled, poured himself anothing mug of steaming hell coffee and threw it back like a shot of tequila, you knew this birthday would become another beloved memory. A memory, far from alone in the moonlight, and instead surrounded by all those he loved.

“Hey Asmo,” Satan spoke after a long swig of cursed cashew milk, “Can you do my makeup, too?”

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

[ateriblewriter]

It’s Kind of Funny (q.h)

requested: sort of but not really. they requested one thing and this is what my brain came up with but it doesn’t really go with what was requested but it kind of does at the same time? sorry about that.

warnings: none really

enjoy! let me know what you guys think (please)

y/n always loved the off season because it meant that she could spend more time with her beloved quinn, wether it was in vancouver or michigan. where they were didn’t matter, as long as they were together. it had been like that for years, until this year. this off season she was stuck in vancouver. with it being summer and all, many of her co-workers opted to take vacations, leaving the office short on people. y/n being the nice person she was, decided to take one for the team and work through her summer.

quinn planned on staying with his girlfriend but she knew he missed his family and urged him to go home to michigan to visit with them. to combat the fact that they weren’t going to be together, they set up a schedule with certain dates and times where they would sit down and chat over the phone. sometimes the call would take place over facetime, which often times of you were alone would lead to sexy times

unfortunately for y/n tonight wasn't a phone date night. after having a crummy day at work and desperately missing her quinn, she just really wanted hear his voice and maybe see his face. ideally she would love to curl up into his side as he held her, but she was going to take what she could get. and sure they had been messaging all day long but it wasn't anything compared to hearing his voice

"hey queenie. im a little busy right now what's up?" quinn inquired. he was currently out on the boat with his brothers and a couple of others. it wasn't the ideal place to have a conversation but since it wasn't a regularly scheduled time something must have been up.

even though it had been an unplanned call quinn was always willing and wanting to talking with his girlfriend. she was his everything. it had physically pained him when he had to leave her behind in canada. he wished like hell that he could have brought her along with him to michigan, but he understood how important her job was to her.

"i just need to hear your voice. today wasn’t good and i need you.” her voice was soft and quiet a hard combination to hear over the boat’s motor. but it had sounded a little bit off to him, there was a certain sadness oozing out of it.

"y/n? what's up? are you okay?” he pulled the boat to a stop as best he could. they hadn't started wake boarding yet, so no one was in the water. he could tell she was about to say something when he noticed the phone no longer in his hand.

"no phones quinn!" jack plucked he mobile device from his brother's grasp. there was a rule that bee put in place some time ago that no phones were allowed on the boat. of course they still brought them in case of emergencies, but that was their only purpose. this was friends and family time, everything else could wait.

"come one man, can i have it back? it's y/n" quinn tried to get his property back from his younger brother. "please jack."

"oh it's queenie? pass it here jack!" luke jokingly used the nickname that had been reserved only for quinn to use. the younger boy made grabby hands towards the thing in his older brother’s hands to which jack happily gave him, mischievous smiles dancing around their faces. holding the phone up to his ear, luke started to speak mimicking quinn's voice the best he could.

"queenie, darling, sweetie pie, my cutie patootie. you are the love of my life. i miss you so much. my love for you is endless. i want to marry you and have ten babies, three dogs, a cat and, maybe a fish!" the youngest sibling finished his little speech by making kissing noises into the receiver of the phone, causing everyone on the boat to erupt into laughter. everyone except quinn, who's face was beet red.

"luke come on. please, give it back" quinn began begging luke to stop and give him his phone back.

"but i'm not done talking to y/n. we still have things to discuss." luke giggled holding the device out of quinn's reach, coincidentally over the edge of the boat. “i haven’t told her about the big house yet!”

he had had enough. he was going to get the electronic back. climbing over his brother, quinn reached as far as he could and almost got it before the phone was knocked out of luke's hand. everyone watched in horror as the mobile device sunk to the bottom of the lake.

to say he was mad would be an understatement, quinn hughes was furious. y/n called him sounding like she was having a hard time with life and their summer distance and his stupid little brother had to go and dropped his phone.

"im sorry. i didn't mean for that to happen quinn." luke apologized profusely, but quinn wasn't listening anymore. sitting back down in the driver's seat, he turned the boat around, heading back for home base, so he could call her back on his computer.

y/n felt her phone vibrating in her pocket before she heard the deafening ringtone she programed into her phone letting her know that it was her favorite boy calling her. the caller was confirmed when she unlocked her phone, accepting the call and quinn's face popped up on the screen. once she answered and pleasant greetings were given, quinn listened as y/n ranted about her bad day throwing in an i’m sorry and a i love you every once in a while, and she did the same for him when it was his turn to complain about the people he was with.

“so what happened before?” y/n placed an elbow on the table and her head on her fist. she felt a lot better now that she was talking with her boo.

“it’s kind of funny, but it’s not funny.” quinn launched into the story of what happened after luke said what he did and why he was on a computer and not his phone.

“you really want to marry me? and start a family of ten with a couple of dogs and cats?” y/n joked about what the youngest hughes had said. a smile appearing on her face, that made quinn feel warm inside despite being thousands of miles away.

of course he did, he loved her and even had a ring picked out, he was just waiting for the right moment. the only thing he wasn’t sure about the ten kids. but who knew maybe a big family was in their future.

[canyouhearthelight]

Machine is Perfect, but Flesh is Free Act Two

After the last chapter, I got a lot of questions around "why isn't this horror". No, not just you, those of you who messaged or tagged or commented. I got about ten total. You are not alone.

There is, actually, a few very real reasons why I specified that this isn't horror.

At least a dozen people who I know for a fact will or have read this live with permanent pain or permanent prosthetics on a daily basis. It's not horror, it's a very real thing that happens and people have to deal with, so I feel that tagging it as horror is ableist.

The protagonist is horrified by a lot of what happens in the story, but exactly none of it is due to their bio hacks. The pain is just a daily thing. Even fully abled ballet dancers have an 'acceptable' amount of pain that is part of the process. (may my toes forgive me, eventually)

Bio hacking and 'ownership' of the modifications is very much a cyberpunk trope, so once I tagged it with that, I felt adding anything else related was over the top. I am sorry, it's a thing, it's part of the genre. I even gave references to stories and living conditions this is drawn from.

All that aside, thanks to @baelpenrose for encouraging me to write this story and not just encouraging but demanding I finish. The fact that you needed to know the end so badly let me know I had a story.

And for @vulgarvulpine... This is dedicated to you.

My “day off” consisted of a silent maid allowing me to soak in a warm bath as long as I wanted before I was moved to the sun room to watch the snow outside fall but never touch the heated glass walls and ceiling.  No rehearsals, no interactions, only warm, soft food and matching pajamas.  I was allowed unlimited salt on my dinner, and a massage for my pain before my sleep period.

It was a decadence I had forgotten existed.

When I woke the following morning, I was pleased to discover I hadn’t overindulged and added a puffy face and aching head to my numerous daily discomforts. After my normal breakfast and being dressed in rehearsal clothes, I was whisked away to the studio.  The familiar jostling and pangs throughout my body made it clear that the room I spent most of my life in hadn’t relocated.  Something did seem different, though.  Ripples of unease and hushed whispers moved through my security detail, leaving a tension so firm that I felt I could strum the threads of it each time a guard came close to me.  Curiosity stirred within me, but I knew I couldn’t ask - no one would tell Master Arik’s prized possession anything security related.

As if summoned by my very thoughts, Arik’s voice broke from my reverie. My heart hammered so hard I could hear it, and I was certain he could see my hair twitch as I felt my pulse radiate across my scalp. “We were quite successful,” he oozed in what must pass for charm. Gently, he grabbed my jaw with his cold fingers. “Hmm. No wine.” I inhaled sharply in relief as he released me. “I have added additional security to the studio - it will be locked the entire time you are within, keyed to the genetic material I gave you.”

Pain flared in my spine as I started in shock, but my brain could not force out the objections echoing in my head. I am being imprisoned for doing what you asked?

He turned away from me, waving one hand nonchalantly. “I must protect my property, after all. And while owning a person is illegal, I do have a patent on the genetics you carry.” A sharp clap startled me, and he whirled back around. “But this is a boon for you!” he cooed. “After all, if you are locked within the studio, there is no reason not to allow you full nerve blocks during rehearsals.”

I blinked slowly as I digested his words. Full nerve blocks, I thought. Not the half-blocks that left me just functional enough to pay attention. “All rehearsals?”

“Even warm ups,” he nodded. “Starting as soon as you cross this threshold.”

Swallowing thickly, I asked the same question I always asked after a job well done. “And my family?”

“Ten percent of your stock has been paid out to them,” he nodded. “As promised.”

I knew I had performed flawlessly. My stock was surely on the rise… all the murmuring from the audience, the ball I had not been permitted to attend… My parents must have been paid well. Enough to buy a house, at least.

All it took was a nod, and I was wheeled through the entrance to the studio, a double thud locking it behind me. Banishing thoughts of Arik or my family from my mind, I set my jaw and my arms to force myself from the chair.

M. Russo, my instructor, scoffed his impatience and hauled me to my feet.  Only through experience and willpower was I able to keep from screaming as every joint in my hips and legs sent fire through my body. “I am told I must give you these injections now, before we rehearse,” he huffed.

With one shaking hand, I managed to push my warm up pants down on my left hip, pointing to the port where the injection belonged. “Hard,” I gasped.

My advice was clearly unneeded, as he stabbed the probe into me as though it was a knife - Urus could only dream of being so harsh.  Before he even pulled his hand back, I had pointed to the other port, which he dispassionately injected as well.  I nodded as I felt the nerve block take effect, and immediately started testing my limbs before walking over to the barre to begin stretching.  It was only after completing the first two positions that I realized M. Russo was not snapping his usual corrections.

Turning my neck slowly, I finally found him. He was still standing beside my chair, blinking slowly at me. “Monsieur,” I called quietly. “I will not know if I am correct if you are not close enough to see.”

The gentle correction seemed to be all it took to restore our familiar roles, because M. Russo proceeded to sweep up his switch and begin tapping my limbs. I was proud that we only needed four or so corrections before I ceased overcorrecting and only a handful of other corrections were needed throughout my warm up.

“Master Arik has decided you will be Esmeralda next,” I was informed. “You did not have enough leaps in the pas de deux, he says.”

There are no leaps in the pas de deux, I grumbled to myself. M. Russo had added them where lifts should be, of course there were not enough leaps.  But the role of Esmeralda had several kicks and opportunities for leaps, with some performances leaving me in awe of the skill of the unmodified performers.

“You shall leap higher, and longer, and with more perfection,” M. Russo announced, unknowingly echoing my own thoughts. “Show me your footwork, and we will move on to the jetes.”

For two months, I leapt in my sleep, flying like a bird. Each kick was a flap of my wings, each jete I imagined taking flight.  M. Russo grumbled about being cheated of my capabilities, and only became more stern with his corrections. More and more precision was expected, with the role already requiring each motion to be precisely on beat to very sparse music.  By the time the performance arrived, he had snapped several rods in his hands out of sheer frustration at the limits Master Arik had placed on us. “Leap, but not too high,” he muttered constantly. “Kick, but only so fast.”

When the performance finally came, I went through the familiar routine of a light warm up without the block, five hundred grams of food, and then being wheeled through the corridors and backstage to be dressed like a doll. Urus looked far more on edge than usual, nearly dropping the block for my performance. His injections were half-hearted at best.

“Pray my costume fails,” I muttered to him. “Surely someone will be lashed to death if that happens.”

All he did was grunt in response. “The feast after this display is much larger than I would like.”

The comment mattered little to me, since I would not be permitted at the celebration. Slowly, I tested my limbs and took position before the curtains withdrew, music already swelling into my ears. I was soon focused on the precise footwork and the soaring, athletic leaps M. Russo transformed several kicks into, all other thoughts forced from my mind. Left hand, right foot, I told myself. Ballon, ballon. Float.

I was in the middle of launching one of the leaps that tapped my foot against my tambourine when a sharp crack jarred me, sending me tumbling to the stage upon landing.  Fear gripped me as I imagined Master Arik’s displeasure - what punishment would this earn? I screamed in my mind as gasps and shouts filled the hall.  Rather than try to regain my feet, I laid as limply as possible in hopes of claiming I had fainted.

Hard hands gripped my arms as the shouts were replaced by screams, and I was dragged to my feet and from the stage.  Whatever I had done was so bad that the curtains were not even closing. Not that it mattered - everyone was too busy screaming and running from the theater to notice. I was too busy being stuffed into my chair to figure out what I had done, but I was starting to think something far worse had happened to send people away in such terror.

“Take them to the studio and seal it,” Urus shouted angrily before I could even be changed out of my costume.

The journey that took place was disorienting, dizzying as I was flown through the hallways. Twists and turns I did not recognize blurred my eyes and forced my stomach to coil in nausea. A sharp double thud behind me ended my journey, mercifully before I had the chance to be sick on myself. Instead, I jumped to my feet and whirled around looking for someone to question.

I was only greeted by the pale reflection of myself in an empty room, standing on my own feet. The world seemed to spin around me as I realized that my nerve block was still in place and I was, mercifully, in control of my own body. In sheer shock, I sat in the chair again to avoid falling to the floor for the second time in a single night.

It was only two breaths into collecting myself that I heard shouting from the hallway, followed by the door behind me unlocking. My brief chance at freedom had been wasted. “Ensure they haven’t been injured,” Arik’s voice commanded. “Urus, you and the doctor only, I trust no one else.”

Once again, I was yanked to my feet, this time followed by a soft swear. The doctor’s hands flew to Urus’s, and matching stings hit each of my hips. “Be more careful,” the doctor scolded without clarification before carefully examining each of my limbs as though I was for sale. Once he finished, he nodded sharply. “No heat exhaustion, no injuries. The bullet missed entirely.”

“That one did, at least,” Arik spat in frustration. “Urus, have the locks been installed on their quarters?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“I want their bedding brought down here and two guards posted at all times.”

“Staggered shifts, sir.” It wasn’t a question, more an assumption.

“Make it four. Two at the door and one at each turn.  And for the sake of fish, let them be seated.”

I was dropped into my chair more than lowered, but I was too dumbfounded to care.  All I could think about were the leaps and kicks M. Russo and I had choreographed, the feeling of flying.  The brief moment I stood on my own feet with no pain flickered in and out, that same free and soaring sensation threaded through. I fell asleep then and there from exhaustion into dreams of flying.

<<Prev    Masterpost    Next>>

[thissliceofnonsense]

Be nonsense, you can make sense later

I came up with an idea to make a story about dryads when I was ten. I blabbered to anyone who would listen (or not, as long as they tolerated me.) about it. Every time I wrote something I would immediately tell everyone. (It was awful and pretentious and one version got me kicked out of the house for a day sooo...)

There was always something wrong with it, and years later I still haven't finished it. I liked plotting. So I would do that. Plot and rewrite and plot some more. It never got past the first chapter, and I can't abandon it to start a new project.

This, right now, is the first time I've written more than 1000 words. OF PROSE. ACTUAL PROSE AND I HAVE SOMETHING THAT IS USUABLE AND IT'S SO AMAZING TO HAVE THIS LITTLE THING AS A "LOOK! ALL THIS TIME IS SOMEWHAT JUSTIFIED! I DIDN'T WASTE MY CHILDHOOD!" (it's not really that but my thoughts are excited.)

So I've found that the "secret" is not 'get rid of distractions' (I have more than enough distraction in my head.) or 'have a word count goal' (although I did try out novel pad as a two-week free trial and it was great)

The thing that has gotten me to be somewhat more productive than a slug is... be nonsensical.

Most writing processes (as far as I know) is - plot a bit. write a first draft (of the whole story) then edit and edit until it's usable.

Here's my writing process (why does that sound so pretentious?)- cry. Plot a bit. Restrain self from plotting too much (less than a page). Write a 'nonsense draft.'

It's basically plot prose. I write sections of the scene in the POV of the character - I can backtrack and reform and write out of order or say *dumb stuff happens here* - until I've discovered the emotional essence or point of the scene. I can re-plot if I feel overwhelmed (since the scene is out of order and redundant and each page I have is a new stream of thought, I usually make a chronological "which snippet goes where")

I use this as my primordial ooze to write the actual scene and make edits as I write. (I use a reMarkable tablet to handwrite my drafts then type it) By the time I've finished the scene, it's on a 26th or something draft.

If I do need to rewrite a scene for plot reasons (like now) I can usually keep most of the original writing, so nothing is wasted, I promise.

Moral of the story - write in the way your brain works. Mine cycles between chaos (then gets overwhelmed) and order (then gets bored). If you start to feel strained or stressed writing forward, edit the previous writing with an "idea brain" until it feels useable.

Also also - iterations where you are not looking for perfection but rather *ooh this feels nice and completely insane, let's do it*

And some things some may find helpful -

story genius - book that has both a step-by-step framework but is still flexible and intuitive enough. (Plus psychology)

.... that's it.

Anywho - have fun fellow storytellers... writing is hard, but you'll get there eventually. Revel in your mess for now.

[redpandaramblings]

Like Caramel For Chocolate- An Omega Bakugou x Alpha f!Reader fic. Part 2.

Part 1- Here

Next- Here

Content Warning: Negative headspace, omegaverse, self deprecation, depressive thoughts, pushy parental figures, ambiguous omegaverse reproduction, unhealthy relationships, relationship that could be easily fixed if idiots would use their words and communicate

Where we left off-

You twisted the hem of your shirt, silence growing as you thought. Your mother wasn’t saying anything new. On your lonelier days, like today, the words sounded eerily similar to your own thoughts. If this conversation had happened on any other day, you knew how forceful your ‘No!’ would be. But today was today.

“Okay.” Your whisper seemed more like a shout into the quiet. “I’ll do it. I’ll go.”

“You will? Oh Y/N! How wonderful! Since I already said yes, of course. You’ll need to come home right away, the omiai is the day after tomorrow, and we need to get you a proper outfit!”

“So soon?” Your mind raced. Bakugou was still in heat. What would you do? There was no way… Your thoughts slowed. But there was a way. Plenty of ways. Katsuki had many friends that could look after him. Friends he was actually comfortable letting into his apartment. You knew he’d let Kirishima take care of him. Mina absolutely could convince him to eat and drink, no matter how grumpy he was. There was a pain in your chest as a familiar thought wound through your brain. Katsuki didn’t need you. He never had. As if in a fog, you heard yourself saying, “I’ll need a little bit to take care of some things here; but I can be home tonight. See you soon.” You heard your mother happily continue rambling even as you hung up. You stared at the wall for a few minutes, unseeing. You were really doing this, huh? Pushing yourself up, you rummaged around your kitchen; finding bags and filling them with snacks and drinks. Before you could think better of it, you dialed Kirishima. He answered on the fourth ring. “Hey dude! What’s up?” “Kiri, I need your help. Can you come over now? I’ll explain when you get here.” “Yeah man, I’ll be right over. Hang tight.” A few short minutes later, there was a knock on your door. You opened it to see a tall, concerned looking redhead. You ushered him inside as you went back to the kitchen, continuing to make up care packs. “Hey, now what is it, Y/n? It sounded serious.” “It is and it isn’t,” you say; looking over at him as you shove gatorade into bags. “There’s a… family emergency. I need to go home right away for a few days.” “Ouch, that’s rough man! It’s Bakubro having his heat right now?” “Exactly. That’s why I need your help. Can you bring one of these bags to him each day? Make sure he eats and drinks at least? I know he trusts you.”

Kirishima nodded enthusiastically. “Of course man! Anything to help!” He looked over the supplies, inconspicuously checking what you’d already packed. “You want to scent some stuff for him before you go too?” You shook your head, forcing yourself not to wince as you lied to your friend yet again. “I’d better not. I don’t want to give him a bag of stuff soaked in distressed alpha scent. Besides, I scented some stuff for him this morning; that should be enough.”

Kirishima frowned but nodded. “I guess that makes sense. Have you told him yet?”

You shake your head. “No. No reason to stress him out until I know for sure what I’m dealing with, and call when I have a better idea. Might not even take a full day if I’m lucky.” “Yeah, hopefully. It’s really shit timing, isn’t it.” You nod as you place the last of the bags on the counter, satisfied with your work. “It is. But I trust you to take care of him. You’re a great alpha like that.” Kirishima chuckled and preened at the praise. “I am great, aren’t I? I’ll do my best, but I’m no match for you.” You give a small, tight smile as you walk to your junk drawer, rummaging until you find one of your spare keys. You chuck it at your friend, who catches it easily. “Here. This way you can let yourself in and just grab a bag each day.”

“Can do, Dudette! Anything else?”

You considered as you retrieved a duffle bag, making a mental list of what you’d need to pack. “Not really? I haven’t told anybody else that I’m going yet. Wasn’t sure if I should ask Mina or some of the others to check in too. You know how Bakugou can be with his heats, and I want to make sure he’s comfortable.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense. I’ll probably wait til tomorrow and see what he wants to do.” Kiri watched you as you paced around. “Need any help packing?”

You nodded with half a smile. “Yeah. Thanks, Kiri.”

In a few short hours you were packed with enough supplies for a few days, and on a train headed home. Your mother had agreed to meet you at the station. The scenery rushed by a window in a blur. Your eyes were unfocused as you watched the view whip by. You were really doing this. For the first time in years, you were leaving your omega… No. You were leaving Katsuki alone for his heat. You were leaving him alone so you could go to a marriage date. To meet an omega theoretically with the intention of bonding. Guilt weighed heavily on you as you exited the train hours later. You saw your mother waving to you from across the station. This was it. No turning back now.

~~~

Bakugou growled as the morning light streamed in his window, smacking him across the eyes. He wished he could just sleep until the whole fucking heat was over. He hated everything about it. He hated the itching of his skin, the hazy fog affecting his brain, the slimy slick that oozed out of him steadily. He hated the burning need to fuck and breed and to have his alpha close. Bakugou snarled to himself. He refused to be a slave to his weak ass biology. He wasn’t some weak, pitiful, flower. He was a top ten hero! He was going to be number one! And the next bastard who told him he should be home tending to his pups and letting an alpha take care of him was going to get an explosion up the ass. As if he needed some knotted headed alpha. Bakugou glanced at his clock, frowning when he saw the time. Usually his alpha would be here by now to drop off his care bag. He scratched at the swollen, irritated scent glands on his neck. It’s not like he fucking cared if Y/N was late. Just, he couldn’t remember the last time she had been. And maybe he was getting antsy because the strength of his heat scent was already starting to overpower the scented blanket he had woven into his nest, close to his pillows.

A knock sounded from the door, and with a relieved huff Bakugou rushed to answer it. He took a deep breath in to calm himself, before flinging the door open.

“About fucking time you showed up, shitty…” He trailed off as his brain registered the tall, red-headed man standing in front of him was very much not his alpha. “What the fuck are you doing here, shitty hair?”

Kirishima rubbed the back of his head, looking sheepish. “Hey man, sorry not to call beforehand, but I told Y/N I wouldn’t.” Confused, Bakugou looks Kirishima up and down again, this time spotting the familiar bag the redhead was holding. “What the fuck are you doing with my stuff? Where’s my shitty alpha?” Kiri frowned and held up the bag. “Don’t call Y/N shitty. She asked me to bring this over. Look, man, can I just come in and explain what’s going on?”

Reluctantly, Bakugou stood aside holding the door open as his friend came in. The blond stuck his head into the hallway, half looking for his alpha. His inner omega growing restless when there was no sign of you. With a grumble, he slammed the door, turning to where his friend had thrown himself onto the sofa. “So what the fuck, Kirishima? Where’s Y/N? Why didn’t she come here herself?”

Kiri tilted his head back, looking at the ceiling. “She had some sort of family emergency and had to go home for a bit. She didn’t want to worry you because she didn’t know how serious it was or how long it would take. She said she’d call and update us when she’s able to.”

Bakugou’s omega whimpered in his chest. His alpha was gone? His alpha had left him alone when he couldn’t follow to make sure they were alright? He knew how much your family stressed you out normally, let alone in an emergency. A traitorous part of his brain whispered to him, asking if this wasn’t exactly what he had wanted? Hadn’t he growled at his mate, wanting to be left alone? Bakugou hadn’t realized there was a plaintive whine escaping his throat until Kirishima wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey, bro, it’s okay. I know it’s rough, but I’m here. And I can call Mina and Sero if you want company. Been a while since we’ve had a pack get together. Y/N might not be here right now, but she wanted to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible.”

Bakugou nodded stiffly as he went to go paw through the bag Kirishima had brought.

Jerky, drinks, chocolate- Bakugou frowned. “Was this the only bag?”

“I mean, there’s a bag for each day for about a week’s worth; so I just grabbed one. Why man, something missing? Need me to go get you something?”

Katsuki shook his head. He wasn’t going to ask Kirishima of all people where his usual bag of scented items was. If Y/N was in a rush, that would explain it. Bakugou hoped that was the case, and he wouldn’t have to actually ask you to scent things for him again. He’d rather be kidnapped by villains again than admit to how much your rich chocolate scent soothed him and helped him sleep peacefully. There was no way the items you had left yesterday would last him through the rest of his heat.

“Actually, shitty hair, could you go get me some Yakult? Been craving it this heat.” Kiri jumped up with a grin. “Sure, bro! No problem! Be right back!” The omega gave a lazy wave as Kiri jogged out the door. As soon as the door shut, he bolted to the bathroom and applied as much scent blocker as he could stand. It wouldn’t hold up long against his heat pheromones, but should work for what he intended to do. Bakugou grabbed his keyring from the hook by the door, rushed down the hallway to the stairway, and started climbing upward; taking the stairs three at a time. In less than a minute, he was standing outside the door to your apartment.

It felt strange, Katsuki thought as he flipped through his keys until he found yours. It was strange that in all your years of dating he had only been inside your apartment a handful of times. He unlocked the door, pushing it open and stepping inside. As the wall of scent that was uniquely you smacked him in the face, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease. Maybe the strangest thing was that you lived three floors apart instead of sharing a space together. Because then he wouldn’t be here, doing this; he thought as he made a beeline to your bedroom. He knew exactly what he was after. Recently scented items lost their smell fairly quickly. But something you used daily, with your scent glands brushing against it every time? That would last him a month, if not longer. Besides. You were his alpha. He wouldn’t have to come in and steal your pillow if you had just scented more stuff for him in the first place. He buried his face in your pillow and inhaled deeply. He whimpered as your rich scent filled his nose, causing his slick to increase. Reluctantly he made his way to the door with his prize, even as every instinct told him to build a nest on the soft bed and wait for his mate to come home to him.

~~~~~

You sighed, adjusting the cuffs of the outfit your mother had picked and shoved you into. Today was the day. The day you met your perspective “bride.” You snorted at the old fashioned ideology. At times like these you felt like you understood Bakugou better. Omegas deserved to be treated as more than just their dynamic. Luckily, most of society agreed nowadays; with omegas able to hold any job and no one being forced to marry. Unluckily, the omiai remained one of the last extremely traditional accepted ceremonies. Your parents were in another room, exchanging your scented handkerchief with one from whoever the poor omega was. According to tradition, if you both went into heat and rut upon scenting each other; you would both be married and mated that same day. What happened more often, you thought cynically, is as long as you didn’t gag at each other’s scent, you’d meet in person to see if you found each other compatible.

You were broken out of your ruminations by the sound of a door opening. Your mother practically skipped toward you, holding out the paper wrapped package with the hanky inside. You tuned out her nattering about how good this match could be as you unwrapped the paper and brought the cloth to your nose. Your brow furrowed. You inhaled deeply, just to make sure. The sharp tang of citrus hit your nose. You knew this scent from somewhere. “Hey mom,” you spoke softly. “I think I’d like to see them now.”

“Oh!” Your mother blinked in surprise. “Of course, of course! This way!”

Your mother led you into an elegant private room. You settled onto a cushion as your parents went to see if the omega had agreed to meet. Glancing about the room, you wondered exactly how many times you’d see the inside of this teahouse if you kept agreeing to these meetings. It didn’t feel right, you thought with a frown. But if you gave up on Bakugou, this was your destiny. Awkward meeting after awkward meeting until you clicked enough with someone to risk settling down.

You glanced up at the sound of the door. In came your parents, then the Yokomadas. You did a double take as the final person, the omega you were here to meet, entered the room. They looked equally as startled as your eyes locked.

“Y/N?”

“Denki?!”

That's it for part 2! Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for part 3! If anyone has any questions regarding the fic or how this particular omegaverse operates, please feel free to shoot me an ask.

Taglist- @yzviea, @not-a-pushover, @thelilypieforever, @kumihayu, @aomi04 Also, please note that @snuggleyourredpandas is my main account, so it you see a message reply from them, that's me!

[yslkook]

#move the needle (10)

#corporate masterlist summary: you and jungkook go on a date (or two), and work is...work. word count: 10k warnings: cursing, alcohol, smut (fingering, grinding, making out, sex), discussions of mental health a/n: omg lol this chapter really got away from me. enjoy and ty to @cutechim​ for loving this couple 

Your calendar has quickly become overtaken with periodic lunch dates with Hae-Ri. She feels like a friend now, though you are still cautious with crossing professional and personal boundaries with her. But it feels easy with her- to talk about both the workplace and about personal things.

You’ve dubbed it powersuit hour, because you and Hae-Ri had both showed up in sharp powersuits without telling the other. You had wanted to make a good impression on her and it seems that she just lives in powersuits and heels.

You hate tall heels, but you put them on to match her (sometimes). You decide that the blisters and cuts aren’t worth it and opt for a smaller heel, loafers or oxfords.

Not a single hair of Hae-Ri’s is out of place, not a single smudge of lipstick can be found on her lips (even as she eats) and she oozes charm. She makes you want to straighten your back and sit tall (which you normally do, but now you’re just aware of it). 

She makes you want more. Well, she’s part of the reason why you want more from life, from work, from yourself.

The thought of returning to school gradually worms its way into your brain more often than usual, but you stamp it away as quickly as it comes. Dr. Lee tells you to embrace it, but you don’t think you’re ready yet. But maybe one day you will be. Dr. Lee tells you that you’re ready for more than you think you are, that you’ve almost allowed yourself everything you’ve subconsciously forbidden yourself from.

Maybe someday you’ll gather the courage to unlock those parts of yourself.

It’s only been several weeks since you had stayed the night at Jungkook’s apartment and had shared your first of many kisses with him. You find yourself daydreaming about his lips, specifically of his kisses and the slip of his tongue in your mouth quite often during the day.

When you had gone to Yuna’s apartment the next day to pick up your small duffel bag, she had only looked at you knowingly. Despite your cheeks burning, you neither confirmed nor denied anything.

And now, because you and Jungkook both can’t seem to keep your hands off of each other, you’ve taken to waking up forty-five minutes earlier than usual to drive into Seoul to pick him up and go to work together.

Grandma looks at you knowingly, teasing you most of the time as you leave the house. You only glare at her half-heartedly.

It’s a time for you both to have a coffee and a small breakfast together in his apartment. Sometimes Taehyung joins you, giving Jungkook sly looks. Looks that Jungkook pointedly avoids.

On the days that you and Jungkook are alone for an extra ten minutes in his kitchen, he finds himself kissing the gloss right off of your lips with you slotted in between his legs and his hands cradled around your hips. He wishes he could have just a little more with you, a little more than quick morning kisses and coffee, a little more than catching glimpses of you at work.

Jungkook wants more of you. He wants you in his life as a permanent fixture, as his girlfriend. As his best friend. Which is why he’s planning on asking you on a real date today. He’s timed it perfectly, he’ll ask you right after you park the car at work.

He’s already made reservations at a restaurant you had briefly mentioned to him over the last week. You had really only told him out of innocent intentions- simply to tell him just because you had found something you wanted to try. You hadn’t intended to say it as a means for him to ask you on a date.

But if it so happened that way, you wouldn’t complain.

The car ride to work is sometimes quiet, with the faint sound of his playlist coming out of the speakers. Sometimes you both idly chatted about what your morning would look like, or you’d both be singing along to whatever song was playing. You were either holding his hand or touching his thigh with your hand, at any instance that you could, whenever you could.

For someone who hadn’t been held or touched very often, you sure couldn’t get enough of it recently.

“Hey,” Jungkook murmurs when you pull into your usual parking space, “Gotta ask you something, baby.”

“Hmm?” You say distractedly, unbuckling your seatbelt and reaching for your bag in the backseat.

“Pay attention,” Jungkook says gently, cupping your neck. You turn your head to look him in the eyes with a raised eyebrow. His palms feel clammy and he wonders if you feel it against your skin. But he doesn’t pull away.

“Will you-,” Jungkook takes a deep breath, “Go on a date with me? I made reservations at that restaurant you mentioned the other week- fuck, was that presumptuous of me? Should I have asked you first and then made reser-umph-”

You cut him off with a firm kiss to ease him. You smile against the kiss, surely a good sign. But still he needs to hear your approval.

“Ask me again, baby,” You encourage softly, thumbing away stray gloss from his lips.

“Will you go on a date with me? I really like you, if you couldn’t tell, and I want to go on a date with you,” Jungkook says, ignoring the way his cheeks must be red by now.

Your face splits into another beaming smile.

“Yes,” You breathe, “Yes, yes, yes. And if you couldn’t tell. I really like you.”

Another minute of his lips on yours, stealing your breath right before work. The worry of someone seeing you both seems to slip away with the slip of his tongue in your mouth.

“You must be a mind reader,” You say hoarsely, “Because I was just about to make reservations at that restaurant for us.”

Neither of you notice the sly eyes of one Kim Seokjin glancing at you both through the windshield as he walks past your car. You and Jungkook are too blissfully wrapped in each other to notice him.

“So,” Jin says, his voice saccharine sweet. You know that voice, but you’re hardly paying attention to him. He has a secret. A secret about you. 

“What?” You bark, not taking your eyes off of your dual monitor as you reply to an email from Hae-ri.

If you paid attention to Jin’s voice, then maybe you could have stopped his questioning before it started. But your back is turned away from him and when he smugly tells you what he knows, you nearly fall off your chair-

“I saw you k-i-s-s-i-n-g Jung-”

“Shut the fuck! Shut the fuck up,” You whisper-shout and discreetly kick him in the shin. He gasps, his pillowy lips parted in feigned shock.

“Hey! These are my good pants,” Jin protests indignantly, “Besides it’s not like either of you were hiding, I mean you were sucking the poor man’s face off-”

“Seokjin!” You hiss, “Will you shut up-”

“You should be grateful it was just me and not someone more important-”

“At this point, I would rather it have been someone else, considering how obnoxious you are-”

“Really? You would’ve rather your boss have walked by you sucking face with our resident golden boy?”

“Shut up,” You groan and sink into your seat but you can’t help but laugh, “We should’ve been more careful…”

“Oh so now there’s a we?” Jin says in hushed tones with wide eyes, “I knew it. Yuna and I both called it, after that night in the bar. But you wound me, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me-”

“Jin,” You complain, “Later, I promise.”

“Okay,” His face splits into a wide smile and he pauses for a second before saying, “I’m proud of you.”

He squeezes your shoulder reassuringly before leaving your cubicle. 

Jungkook’s throat is dry when he pulls up in front of your house. He takes a sharp swig of water before texting you with nervous fingers that he’s arrived. 

And when you step out of your house in heels, a burgundy long sleeved top tucked into your tight, black pants, Jungkook groans to himself.

How do you always look so good? 

He immediately hops out of the car to greet you with a quick hello and a side hug. Without saying another word, he approaches your Grandma and swallows his nerves immediately and bows in front of her.

Parents and grandparents love him, he has nothing to worry about.

“You must be Jungkook,” Grandma says swiftly, crossing her arms across her chest and eyeing him carefully.

If he sees the panic in your eyes, he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

Jungkook smiles widely, bunny smile on display and Grandma, to your surprise smiles back. 

“You must be Grandma,” Jungkook says, his voice a little teasing.

“What gave it away,” Grandma says sarcastically.

“Your granddaughter has the same pretty eyes,” Jungkook says genuinely and you hold back a roll of your eyes. But Grandma eats it up, because who wouldn’t?

“Bring my granddaughter back before midnight, huh?” Grandma says, half joking and waving a finger at him.

“Grandma! Don’t embarrass me,” You nearly whine and try to tug Jungkook away but he stays rooted on the spot.

“Wouldn’t dream of anything else, Grandma,” Jungkook says, “I’ll have her back safe and sound.”

“No funny business-”

“Grandma! We’re leaving,” You hiss, glaring at your laughing Grandma as you drag Jungkook away.

“Sorry about her,” You mumble once you're seated in the passenger’s seat and press a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Grandma’s right there, don’t try any funny business,” Jungkook teases and waves at Grandma. Of course she waves back.

“Alright, princess, you ready for the best first date of your life?” Jungkook says airily, not really expecting a response. But you make a funny noise in between a laugh and a groan.

“I don’t have much to compare this first date to, if I’m being honest,” You confess with a shrug.

“That doesn’t matter,” Jungkook says easily, “Besides, this is the only one that matters.”

Jungkook is the perfect gentleman the entire night, not that you expected anything less from the man who has a heart of gold. He walks you into the restaurant with a hand over your lower back as he smoothly gives his name for the reservation. The host leads you both to a quiet corner of the restaurant- you wonder if he’d specifically requested that. The lights are dim, miniature chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and illuminating you in a pretty golden wash.

“After you, baby,” He murmurs, giving you a squeeze of your hip and gesturing for you to slide into the mahogany seats of the booth.

Jungkook sits across from you, eyes sparkling in the glow of the restaurant. The host leaves you both with menus, embossed in red and gold.

Dinner with him is easy- it’s easy to be yourself, to let yourself relax. You playfully push your foot to his and let it slide up his calf. To which he does the same and winks at you. Talking to him is easy, and just being in his presence makes your heart burst and speed up in anticipation.

The backseat of Jungkook’s car even smells like him, but maybe that’s because your head is against the broad expanse of his chest. The warm, spicy scent of his cologne pleasantly fills your nostrils and you hum. His heartbeat is pressed right against your ear, a calming symphony that has you mesmerized. Jungkook’s arm is draped over your shoulder and he rubs your shoulder over your blouse.

You both sit in a comfortable silence together. You don’t really want to let the night end, not just yet. 

Jungkook looks down at you, a small smile on his face as he tugs your hand in his and squeezes. Your heart jumps in your chest at the small action- you can’t resist looking up at him and leaning in closer.

Your gaze dips to his pouty, pink lips back to his doe eyes. “Kiss me, Bambi,” You demand softly, and his lips are on yours in the same breath. He’s playful, squeezing your hips and giggling into your mouth.

But at some point, your tongue slips into his mouth with a satisfied hum and your hands thread through his soft hair, tugging gently. He moans into your mouth and you swallow everything he breathes into you.

Jungkook tastes like everything you want. The city lights around you fade away when you’re in his arms- all you see is the swell of his lips and the way he looks at you as if you contain the universe in your kiss.

You always want him to look at you like this. It’s easy to push away the distant memory of his cold eyes from months ago when he holds you tightly and kisses you as if he’s trying to pour his soul into you. His chest is flush against yours- his warmth enveloping you in every crevice. Jungkook presses his forehead against yours when your hips start rocking into his, a low and broken moan spilling from his throat.

“Jungkook,” You mumble, tightening your grip around his head, “Feels good…”

The heat of your clothed pussy against his clothed cock is enough to tint his cheeks. Jungkook holds you steady with one hand on your hips and the other cradling your neck. You lean into his touch eagerly, speeding your own movements up against him.

“Rock with me, baby,” Jungkook says hoarsely, moving your hips in time with his. You look at him with hooded eyes as you lean forward for a rushed kiss, the sound of your broken moans cut off by the urgency of your kiss.

Your hips roll into his in a practiced symphony and neither of you are patient enough to pull away for a breath. You just want him- you want all of him, anything he’ll give you. You want him to devour you- you want to feel his heartbeat beside yours.

You want him to feel good with you, as good as you feel with him. You want more.

“Can I touch you,” Jungkook asks softly, pulling away to look at you. You’re nodding already before he even finishes the question, impatiently untucking your blouse from the waistband of your pants.

“Take it off, baby,” You nearly whine at him, “Want you to take it off.”

“Are you sure,” Jungkook rasps.

“Yes,” You say impatiently, “Don’t you wanna see me baby? See your dream girl’s tits?”

Jungkook’s throat goes dry, his cock jumping at your words and you smirk at him. Your eyes are swirling with mischief and desire.

For him. You want him.

Jungkook tugs at your top impatiently, pushing it up and off of your shoulders and unclasps your bra in one quick motion.

“Fuck,” Jungkook breathes, eyes glued to your chest. He’s unable to look away from the color and swirls of ink painting your glowing skin, blooming on your shoulder and dipping into your chest. He sees a wash of color nearly hidden in the valley of your breasts.

“Will you tell me about your tattoos someday,” Jungkook asks softly, cradling your cheek.

“Mmm, maybe if you get a second date,” You tease and turn your head slightly to kiss his palm.

“And what does a guy have to do to get a second date?” Jungkook asks, curling his hands around your tits.

“You make me cum twice and you get a second date,” You sigh breathily when he squeezes you delicately. You grind your hips into his to get him to touch you more and he pinches your nipple playfully.

“Oh, that’s all?” Jungkook asks cockily, his voice bursting with confidence.

“You-ohhh, Jungkook,” You gasp when he dots your neck in featherlight kisses, tracing his way over your tattoos with his lips as he learns the curves of your body. 

“Shit,” You groan, throwing your hands out to brace yourself against his broad shoulders, “Fuck, Jungkook…”

He buries his face in your chest, inhaling your woodsy, musky perfume as his big hands trail your sides and heat you up from within. Jungkook’s lips suddenly shift to kiss your tits and you moan, possibly louder Jungkook’s ever heard you moan before.

You’d be a little more embarrassed (maybe, likely not), if you didn’t want him to do that again. And again. And again.

Jungkook thinks your tits look good in his hands and he thinks buried in between them might be one of his favorite places to be. You’re so warm in his lap- you look like an angel, a goddess above him.

His dream girl. His dream girl in his lap, in his arms, moaning his name. Moaning for him. 

His cock hardens more just from your soft sounds. He’s desperate for you, rutting his hips against you as he licks your nipple. He looks up, watching for your reaction- your eyes are hooded, lips parted in desire. You thread your hands through his dark strands and push his head further into your chest. 

Jungkook pulls away from kissing your tits with a soft pop! The haze clouding your mind begins to lift and you frown at him, about to chastise him, but he only maneuvers you so that your back is flat against the car seat and he’s hovering over you.

Your breasts bounce and he can’t look away. He is only a man, after all. You smirk at him and drag your foot over his thigh before wrapping both legs around his narrow waist.

“Do that again. I’ve never felt like that before,” You confess airily, pressing a hand to his chest and scratching lightly.

“Nobody’s sucked on your tits before, princess?” Jungkook asks curiously.

“Well, not like that…” You shrug, “And… it’s been a long time, you know? I didn’t really… Didn’t really want to do much of anything for a long time.”

“I know, baby,” Jungkook coos, settling his weight on top of you and kissing you deeply, “I’m happy you picked me.”

“Me too,” You mumble, “I’m happy you picked me, too.”

It’s a tight fit, but Jungkook finds a way to make it work. You tug at his sweater wanting to feel and see his arms and his chest. He’s your Bambi, your golden boy, and you want to feel golden, too.

Jungkook pulls away for a moment and pulls his sweater off of him, rustling his dark hair in the process. You hum, delighted that his bare skin is only inches away from you.

You trace his tattoos with your fingers curiously, enjoying the way the corded muscle of his arm feels under your skin. “Will you tell me about your tattoos someday,” You repeat his words back to him, rubbing his arm fondly.

“Maybe if you get a second date,” Jungkook teases, giving your words right back to you. He kisses your lips quickly, then licks a stripe down your neck, kissing your collarbones...your chest, your belly. He wants to keep his lips here, along the swell of your tits, just to pull those noises from your throat for even a second longer.

“And what does a girl have to do to get a second date,” You exhale shakily.

“Mmm,” Jungkook says thoughtfully, “I make you cum twice, and you get a second date.”

A choked noise rips from your throat and Jungkook only grins salaciously at you. He brackets your head with his thick forearms- you can see the blooms and swirls of colors of his tattoos in your periphery. But really all you want to do is focus on him.

Jungkook can’t get enough of the smooth push and pull of your lips against his. Somehow, you both move in synchronized harmony- you follow him and he follows you. You swallow his moans and he swallows your sighs. Give and take.

But right now, he just wants to give. 

You roam his forearms, his biceps, squeezing and touching lightly as you make your way to his shoulder blades. A moan of his name sits in between you both when you feel the corded lines of muscle.

You can’t believe this beautiful man is laying on top of you like this. “You’re pretty,” You mumble, “Pretty boy Bambi.”

Jungkook takes your teasing without complaining, so long as you continue to rake your nails along his back like that. 

Besides he has plenty of time to quiet your teasing.

Your back arches off of the seat when he licks your nipple, swirling his tongue around your sensitive skin. 

You didn’t think it could ever feel that good, but the man clearly knows what he’s doing. And that’s a conversation for another time. As he nips and licks your tits, he grinds his hips into yours. You feel the hot glide of his clothed, hardened cock against your already soaked pussy- and how are you supposed to let him leave this car without making him cum as well?

“You could cum like this, couldn't you?” Jungkook says softly, looking up at you from your chest with hooded eyes. 

You nod- words seem to fail you.

“Use your words, baby,” Jungkook encourages, cupping your chin with his index finger and his thumb. 

“Yes, but-“ You cut your train of thought off as he speeds his hips up against you. He’s struggling too, it seems, his brow furrowed and sweat beginning to gather at his forehead. His hair falls into his eyes and you instantly push it away.

You always want to see his eyes.

“But what,” Jungkook murmurs. his grip on you is tight, and he’s right- you could most definitely cum like this. Just from his simple touch and his warm mouth.

“More, I want more,” You breathe, “Will you…”

But Jungkook doesn’t let you finish, only rolling your nipples in his fingers as he kisses your tits. He senses your thighs beginning to quake and your eyes beginning to roll back. You latch your hands onto his upper arms as Jungkook rocks into you, and you feel the coil snap with a loud call of his name you cum in his arms.

He hasn’t even touched you yet. He smirks at you but you return his gaze unabashedly, despite the heat in your cheeks.

If you look that beautiful coming undone just from grinding on him, he wonders how you’ll look when he eats you out. When he fucks you on his cock. Or even his fingers. 

“One down, one to go,” Jungkook teases and you swat his chest. 

“I liked that,” You admit softly and pull him down for a gentle kiss to his neck and then his lips.

“Me too,” Jungkook smiles, eyes sparkling as he nudges your nose with his. He kisses you again, lazily and slowly as you float down from your bliss. Your bliss with him in it.

“You were saying something earlier,” Jungkook murmurs, barely a hair’s breadth from you.

“Oh,” You reply, a little dazed, “Oh yeah.”

“Wanna finish your train of thought?” 

“Absolutely,” You grin, threading your hand through his and pulling his other hand to rest on your chest. You hum contentedly when he squeezes, eyes glossing over your tattoos in curiosity.

For another day.

“I wanna fuck you,” You say bluntly, taking Jungkook by surprise. His lips part in surprise and it makes you giggle. “What, cat got your tongue, Bambi?”

“N-no,” Jungkook stutters, “No. ‘M not fuckin’ you for the first time in my car.”

“And why not,” You complain, raking your nails over his abs impatiently and palming his cock through his pants, “I mean I know, it’s a tight fit, but-”

“No,” Jungkook says firmly, “I’m not making love with you for the first time in my car, baby. Gonna wine, dine, and sixty-nine you-”

“Oh, now you’re making love to me, huh?” You tease with a knowing smile, cradling his face in your hands, “But I just want your cock, and you’ve already wine and dined me…”

“You’ll have my fingers instead,” Jungkook murmurs, his voice low and rough. You gasp at how deep his voice has gone, how smooth it sounds. 

How his words demand respect and you want to listen to him.

“How does that sound, baby? Does my pretty baby want my fingers?” Jungkook asks and you nod, biting your bottom lip harshly.

“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop,” Jungkook says, pulling your bottom lip out of the grip your teeth have on it.

You only nod but Jungkook shakes his head. “Use your words, baby,” Jungkook murmurs, “Use your words with me.”

“Y-yes,” You say, cheeks heating up, “Want your fingers. And I-I’ll tell you if I want you to s-stop.”

“Good girl,” Jungkook says, not missing your soft but sharp inhale, “Gonna unbutton your pants now, alright?”

His hands are gentle and firm as he drags your pants down your legs, but not all the way. After all, it’s too tight of a space to properly do much of anything. The sight of a large group of flowers on your upper thigh distracts him- his kisses up your calf and along your thigh make you feel a little shy.

You’re on a cloud, you must be- a slow moving, cotton candy soft cloud where your head is empty and filled with thoughts only of Jungkook and his touch. His big hands gripping your thighs as if it’s nothing, cramped but close to you as much as he can be.

“Cute panties, baby,” Jungkook teases, snapping the waistband of your plain baby pink underwear.

“Shut up,” You grin, tugging at his hair playfully.

“You know,” Jungkook says throatily, “Wanna take my time with you. Make you cum with my fingers first, then on my tongue… but you’re so fuckin’ impatient, baby. What am I gonna do with you?”

What comes out of your mouth next isn’t your fault, it’s really not. It’s not your fault that his abs flex right in your face, that his arms flex and bulge in front of your very eyes. It’s not your fault your eyes instantly land on his big hands, specifically, the hand lined with tattoos on his knuckles spilling into his forearm and his bicep.

“Choke me,” You blurt out without thinking.

Your stupid, silly mind. Running faster than you can keep up with. And yet, embarrassment eludes you. You grin a little sheepishly when he looks at you with wide, surprised doe eyes.

“Too soon?” You shrug, your smile fading and feeling a little self conscious when he stays silent for longer than a moment, “I’m sorry, ‘m awful at reading the room-”

“No, no,” Jungkook murmurs, stopping your train of thought before it begins, “You just surprise me. That’s all.”

“I hope that’s a good type of surprise,” You laugh nervously, “And not like the type of surprise you get when you turn your work computer on and realized you missed a meeting that was put on the calendar after you logged off-”

“Definitely a good type of surprise,” Jungkook nearly purrs.

“Okay,” You say faintly.

Your mind is spinning, taking off in another direction with Jungkook right by your side. He parts your thighs easily, dotting your inner thighs with needy kisses. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Jungkook moans into your skin, “Smell so good. Bet you taste even better, pretty girl.

“But that’s for another day, when my legs aren’t about to give out from being cramped.”

You laugh, pulling a crinkly-eyed smile from him too. He shifts a little to kiss your hips, hands never leaving your heated skin. Vulnerability crawls up your arms uneasily when he pushes your panties to the side. He wants to pull them off of your bare legs but there’s not enough room in the car, so this will do. You don’t recall the last time anyone had seen you like this- you swallow in anticipation, trying to prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him.

But Jungkook only looks at you adoringly, as if he can’t believe you’re opening yourself up to him in this way. He hovers over you, slotting himself in between your legs and presses his lips to yours quickly. 

You gasp into his mouth, a soft cry of his name filling the comfortable quiet when his index finger slips into your pussy. It’s been so long- and you can’t recall a time when it felt like this. Pretty noises spill from your bitten lips as you try to wrap your legs around his narrow waist. His eyes are burning into yours, your cheeks heating up from the intensity of his gaze. 

You don’t know where to put your hands and your brief panic is evident in your face. You feel awkward around him a little- he’s clearly adept with his fingers, his hips rolling in a practiced symphony. And then there’s you.

You can’t even meet his eyes when the soft noises of your wetness fill the space between you both.

“Hey,” Jungkook says a little gruffly, his fingers still stuffed in your pussy, “It’s just me. You can touch me, baby.”

“O-okay.”

You tentatively press your fingers to his sides, trying not to feel so awkward. But the more he reassures you, the more he drops kisses to your neck and the more he rubs your clit, you relax. 

Jungkook is nothing if not a quick learner, and he’s on a mission to learn what you like. He watches your face carefully with each stroke of his fingers in you and quickly finds a steady rhythm that has you gripping his arms tightly. The slight bite of pain from your freshly done nails is nothing compared to the way his name sounds like flowers blooming on your lips.

He thinks he’s got a pretty good read on you.

“Good girl,” Jungkook tests and smirks when a gush of wetness coats his fingers. You squirm in his arms, from embarrassment and to get more friction, but he’s not having any of it.

“I told you,” Jungkook rasps, “It’s just me, princess. Just wanna take care of you. You gonna let me?”

Before you can reply, Jungkook draws lazy circles on your clit and your head jerks backwards as you squirm. The back of your head hits the door panel with a thunk and you wince with a laugh.

“Sorry, baby,” Jungkook murmurs with a soft grin and cradles the back of your head, “Next time, I’ll take you home like you deserve.”

“Next time? You still owe me an orgasm,” You tease.

Jungkook’s eyes shift as he strokes you again, your teasing words dying on your tongue. “I know you’re close, baby,” Jungkook groans, “Can feel it.”

He scissors his fingers inside you and speeds his circles on your clit. “O-oh-Jungkook,” You mumble, “Fuck, that feels good- Oh!”

Jungkook catches it before you do, the way your thighs begin to quiver, your grip on him tightening and your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Cum, baby, cum all over my fingers,” Jungkook murmurs, “Good girl, my pretty girl.”

You whine at his words, the sound ripping out of your mouth sounding foreign to you as the pressure building finally blossoms in your belly and snaps. Waves of pleasure push through you, haziness surrounding your eyes. But all you can really make out is Jungkook and his pretty, brown eyes.

He pulls his hands away from your pussy and you blink at him with wide eyes when he shows you his glistening fingers with a crooked grin. Your mouth falls open in surprise when he licks his fingers clean and grins at you salaciously. You swallow nervously.

“Knew it. Knew you’d taste good,” Jungkook says and kisses you harshly. You wish you weren’t in the confines of the car, so you could properly feel him.

You feel as if the air has been punched out of your lungs. The man slotted on top of you, pressing soft kisses to your hair and caressing your cheeks is somehow the same man with a filthy mouth on him.

Ah. The duality of man, you suppose.

“Holy shit,” You mutter.

“How was that?” Jungkook asks, sincerity in his voice, “Too much? Are you okay?”

“Holy shit,” You repeat, “That was...fun. I liked that. A lot. And…”

You look away from him, feeling a little shy but he has a hand on your chin and pulls your gaze back to him. “And?”

“And… I-uh,” You stammer, “I-I’m- it feels really good with you. With you specifically. And I hope… that I can make you feel as good as you make me-umph-”

He cuts you off with a bruising kiss, somehow holding your hips tight in his hands. You can feel the hardness and heaviness of his cock against your hip and it makes you swallow.

“W-what about you,” You mumble against his lips, “I wanna take care of that for you-”

“Next time, baby,” Jungkook promises you and you pout at him. He only laughs, eyes crinkled and he kisses your pout away. “I promised Grandma I’d have you home by midnight-”

“Glad to see you’re a man of your word,” You murmur and Jungkook pulls off of you, somehow ignoring how hard his cock is in the confines of his pants. He helps you button up your pants and cleans up your smudged lip gloss. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the tent in his pants and he clicks his tongue at you.

“My eyes are up here,” He teases, “Second date, baby. Just wanted to make you feel good.”

“There’s a lot riding on that second date, huh?” You muse, “Maybe I will, too. Ride you, I mean. On our second date.”

Grandma is asleep when you fumble with the keys and try to open the door as quietly as you can without disturbing her. Your face is incredibly heated and your lips are pulled apart in a permanent smile. As they usually seem to be around Jungkook.

He waits for you to go inside and waves at you as he takes off.

You’re giddy as you tiptoe to your bedroom to change, do your nighttime skincare routine and get into bed. You had told Jungkook to text you when he gets home, but really, you might just text him anyways. It should take him about twenty minutes to get home, considering the late hour.

Your phone lights up with his name and you can’t help but smile fondly. 

Jungkook: im home You: me too Jungkook: very funny You: :)  You: I had a great time tonight kook Jungkook: me too :)  You: goodnight  You: baby  You: 💗 Jungkook: goodnight princess 💖

Sleep comes easily to you that night.

You: i’m really sore You: also good morning

And somehow Jungkook is supposed to respond to your text as if that doesn’t send a pulse of desire down his spine. He knows you say it innocently, probably just to genuinely tell him. But he can’t help where his thoughts go.

Honestly, the minute he got home, he had to take a shower and jerk himself off with how uncomfortably hard he was. He flushes when he thinks about how pretty and pliant you looked in his arms the night before, how the blatant trust and adoration in your eyes was reserved only for him.

It sends another rush of heat to his cock. He can’t believe he fingered you in his car of all places- he genuinely hadn’t planned for it to happen. But it did, and he loves that you feel comfortable with him.

He wonders if it’s going too fast- too much, too soon. He had confessed to Taehyung later the following afternoon over ramen that he was scared of making you uncomfortable-

“She hasn’t been in a serious relationship before, I don’t want to push too hard,” Jungkook says after slurping his ramen.

“I think she would tell you if you’re pushing too hard,” Taehyung says bluntly, “She’s never held back before, has she?”

“No, but-”

“Have you ever known her to be anything other than honest with you? Besides, she’s the one who stopped you both from going further that one morning she came over for coffee before work right?”

“Yeah… said it was making her nervous how quickly we got to this level of closeness.”

“Exactly. Just ask her to be honest with you, ask her if she’s comfortable, and go from there.”

Taehyung punches his shoulder and Jungkook nearly chokes.

It feels so easy with you- easy to talk to you, easy to gauge your feelings, your wants and desires. He can’t recall it being this easy with anyone else. Jungkook chastises himself for comparing you to other women in his past.

He has to remind himself to not think of you with rose-tinted glasses. You’ve chastised him for it once or twice before-

“Jungkook,” You mumble softly, running a hand through his hair.

“Hmm?”

“You know I love when you call me your dream girl,” You admit, “But you have to promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t… don’t put me on this pedestal. Don’t think of me a certain way where you excuse when I hurt your feelings or do something wrong.”

“O-okay.”

He thinks you’re perfect, imperfections and all.

The only instruction Jungkook gives you for your second date is to dress up a little, on the dressier side of casual. And he tells you that you’ll be outdoors and that he has a backup plan in case it rains. Though he’s hoping that it doesn’t.

A few weeks have gone by since Jungkook had taken you to dinner and made you cum twice in his car (a memory that you tuck away for when your fingers dip into your panties). You still see Jungkook pretty often- picking him up from his apartment a few times a week, seeing him at work, sneaking glances and kisses.

He asks you if you’d like to stay the weekend with him as part of your second date.. Your first instinct is to wholeheartedly say yes, but you hesitate. Is it too soon?

Does that even matter? You panic, telling Jungkook you would let him know. And immediately talk it out with Jin and Yuna, feeling much better after-

“Do you want to stay at his place?” Yuna asks bluntly.

“Yeah-”

“Then stay at his place,” Jin chimes in.

“But you don’t think it’s too soon? We’ve only been on one date, I mean what if it’s moving too fast and we just- we just get tired of each other-”

“I think you’re both two consenting adults who are super fuckin’ into each other. Just enjoy yourselves,” Jin shrugs, “We’re too old for games anyway.”

“I know that,” You sigh, “I just- isn’t there supposed to be more of a chase?”

“You can make him chase you while still sleeping with him before the second date,” Yuna says slyly.

“You speaking from experience?” You grin and Seokjin sputters, a dash of red tinting his cheeks.

And then Grandma had convinced you to spend the weekend at Jungkook’s apartment. She knows more than you let on, you think. She must know how you’re both itching to have each other and be in your own bubble for a bit. She manages to persuade you that final inch and give into what your heart wants. She tells you to be happy and embrace it for once.

She tells you she’ll call you everyday and you nod. So you text Jungkook, telling him that you’ll come by on Friday after work.

And Jungkook can’t help the rush of giddiness that follows. Friday can’t come soon enough- the rushes, stolen glances and kisses aren’t cutting it for him. Excitement courses through his veins at the thought of you spending the entire weekend with him. He makes sure the already clean apartment is spotless for when you arrive, groceries are stocked, and he makes sure that your favorite candle of his is stocked up.

You had gone to Jungkook’s apartment complex from home after work on Friday with your night bag and promises from Grandma. You had picked up a bottle of wine, a box of chocolate croissants for Jungkook and Taehyung and some flowers, as it was your first time spending the weekend at his place. 

Excited nerves bounce around in your head.

Jungkook had come down to greet you once you had street parked (an impressive parking job, if you do say so yourself), and he had planted a deep kiss on your lips. As if he hadn’t seen you only a few hours prior. But still, you laugh and it’s loud and giddy.

You’ve never stayed the night with any boyfriend (not that you have one to compare the experience to), but because it’s Jungkook… it makes you giddy.

Jungkook wordlessly takes your bag from you easily and slings an arm around your shoulders, his eyes crinkling with his smile. You staying the weekend makes his heart burst- he hopes you have as much fun with him as he has with you.

He kisses you hello in the elevator, arm still slung around your shoulders. “Hi,” Jungkook breathes.

“Hey,” You say just as softly, “I’m glad I’m here.”

“Me too,” Jungkook says into your hair and takes your hand once you arrive on his floor.

He smiles at you brightly, your favorite bunny smile sending butterflies through your belly. He tells you to get comfortable, so you say hello to Taehyung who pulls you into a hug and shoots Jungkook a sly look over his head.

Jungkook can’t even bring himself to roll his eyes at Taehyung, too caught up with the fact that you were in his apartment for the entire weekend. 

Friday night had been spent watching scary movies, eating soup and meat and drinking wine in the living room. You had fallen asleep cuddled close to Jungkook, tucked into his side in your night clothes.

He carries you to his bed, kissing your forehead and quickly falling asleep next to you. He dreams of you and wakes up with you, a rosy notion that he falls in love with more each time.

Jungkook feels you peppering him with barely there kisses, your arm lazily sliding around him to cup his cheek. He doesn’t open his eyes, only holding your wrist in place and leaning into your warm touch.

“I know you’re awake,” You murmur, a smile in your voice. He loves your morning voice, the rich honey of it that only he gets to hear.

Jungkook only hums. You huff, sidling up closer to him and throwing your leg over his waist. His grip on you drifts to your waist and a smile ghosts his face.

“Good morning, baby,” You try again, pressing a kiss to his lips. This seems to wake him up and he rolls you on your back, slotting himself between your thighs and murmuring his own ‘good morning’.

“Wanna tell you somethin’ Kook,” You murmur against his lips. 

“Yeah?” Jungkook says, lips pressed against the column of your throat. He pulls away when you whine at him for his attention on what you’re about to say and he blinks the still warm arms of sleep from his eyes.

You wonder if you should splay your heart out to him, or turn your back on your heart and allow your brain to speak for it. But he’s looking at you so endearingly that you embrace your tender heart this time.

“I really like you,” You say softly. It’s not new information for him, but you like repeating it to him whenever you can.

“You don’t like like me? I’ve missed a step somewhere,” Jungkook teases, laughing when you smack his shoulder. But you laugh with him, because that’s how it is between you both. Only smiles and laughter and almost love.

“I really, really like you, sweet girl,” Jungkook murmurs.

You look at him with hearts in your eyes, excitement in your smile and pull him in for another kiss. “I like you so much, Jungkook,” You mumble, determination in your eyes. Before he can reply and tell you the same, your nails scratch at his chest. 

It doesn’t take much for his cock to harden fully- he’d already been more than half hard when you had woken him up with kisses. It only takes a few whispered words, a few strokes of your hand on his bare chest, a few slips of your tongue in his mouth, a few glides of your hips.

Jungkook lazily lets you flip him on his back, his hands nestled over your hips from under your shirt. Your nails are gentle over his skin, eyes wide as if you’re trying to soak in every inch of him and commit him to memory. He pulls you down for a kiss, and then another, and palms your tits playfully. Pulling a soft groan out of you.

The gentle tug of fatigue still dots your limbs, your body moving just as slowly as your mind. All you know is that you want him to feel good, your pretty boy.

The way the dim sunlight filters onto your skin makes you glow golden. Jungkook is mesmerized when you pull your night shorts off, hovering over his hips. You look to him curiously, hands stalling over his boxers.

“Wanna ride you,” You say simply.

“Thought I told you that was for after our second date,” Jungkook teases, “Besides, you’re not wet enough-”

“I can ride you like this,” You mumble, brushing your clothed pussy over his clothed cock, “Wanna make you feel good, too.”

“Is this okay?” You whisper unsurely, eyes wide and searching for his approval.

“More than, baby,” Jungkook says hoarsely, “You’re so pretty. My pretty girl.”

You grind your hips into his, the warmth of his body lighting you up from within. Just being near him, being on top of him like this, makes your pussy clench around nothing. Jungkook can see a wet patch forming on your panties with each drag of your clit over his cock.

You groan softly, bursts of slow honey erupting from behind your eyelids. You reach for his hand on your hip and thread your fingers through his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. His eyes begin to wander just as yours do- to your thighs and the swirls of ink curling along your skin, your wide, blown out eyes. 

Jungkook lets the pads of his fingers sink into your thighs and he groans with half-lidded eyes. A soft flush creeps up his chest and blooms on his cheeks at the noises coming out of your mouth and spilling into the quiet, morning air.

He doesn’t know where he wants to touch- he just knows he wants to touch you everywhere. He can’t get enough of the feel of you in his arms. You’re a vision above him, hips moving languidly, hands raking over his forearms. It’s quiet between you both, the stillness of the early morning still weighing on his shoulders. 

Jungkook feels it building in his belly, a coil almost ready to snap. It only takes a few more drags of your nails on his skin, a few more of your breathy sighs of his name, a few more lazy swivels of your hips on his aching cock for him to cum in his boxers. His eyes nearly roll to the back of his head, swirls and images of you at the back of his eyelids imploding as he groans your name. 

“Kook,” You mumble, “Wanna cum. Help me, make me cum.”

Jungkook focuses on you, eyes drawn to the intensity with which you grind on his softening cock. He presses his thumb to the wet spot on your panties that has dripped onto his boxers, mixing with his own cum.

“Oh, honey,” Jungkook sighs, “Look at you. Messy girl. My pretty baby can’t cum on her own, huh? Need me?”

“Yeah,” You nod eagerly, “Yeah, I need you, baby…”

It only takes the slip of his fingers into your panties, swiping over your glossy folds and a few lazy rubs of his thumb for you to come undone just by his touch. Your eyelids flutter, a quiet whisper of his name tucked into the planes of his chest.

“You’re messy,” You grin and eye his boxers. He gives you a sheepish grin.

“Stay here,” Jungkook murmurs. He rolls off of the bed, feeling quite gross with his sticky boxers sticking to him like a second skin. He takes a pair of clean underwear and washes himself down carefully.

“It’s still early,” You say once he returns to bed with you, pulling you into his side and rubbing your shoulder adoringly, “Sun’s barely up yet.”

“So let’s go back to sleep for a bit,” Jungkook murmurs, rolling onto his side and pressing his chest to your back. He’s already dozing off, your warmth filtering around him like a cloud.

You wake up with his soft lips on your neck, his hands loose around your waist, and his nose in your hair. “Lemme make you cum again,” Jungkook says groggily into your hair. 

So you do.

Jungkook hadn’t told you much about where your second date would be taking place. You had been suspicious when he had packed the trunk of his car in a rush, not really allowing you to poke around and ask questions.

It’s about a twenty minute ride to wherever he’s taking you to, and you spend most of it chit-chatting or staring out of the window, enjoying the cool springtime sunshine.

A beautiful park comes into view, lush trees and shades of orange, pink and purples. When he parks and pulls out a large picnic basket for you with a shy smile, you can hear your heart beating in your ears loudly. You can’t help the grin that threatens to take over your face. He has a hand at the small of your back loosely as he leads you further and further into the park. 

It’s a beautiful day, perfect for your blouse, light jacket and your jeans.  Kids are running around with their friends and parents, but really, it just feels like you and Jungkook are alone in a bubble. 

“What’s all this, Jungkook?” You murmur, sitting next to him once you lay out the dark green checkered picnic blanket on the grass.

“Well, we’re at a park. See the Han river is right there,” Jungkook rolls his eyes and you swat his shoulder, “I-uh… Open the basket.”

You gasp, pushing Jungkook’s shoulder in disbelief when you see the assortment of food containers and two bottles of wine in the basket.

“You made this?” You murmur, “You did this for us?”

Your throat begins to close up and tears prick the back of your eyes, despite your watery smile. He’s so incredibly thoughtful and kind- everything you never thought you could have.

“I like that one the best,” You muse, swirling your glass of red wine (you can’t remember which one it is) in your hand.

“I hope you know which one that is, because I sure don’t,” Jungkook says.

“It’s the red one.”

“You don’t say.”

You laugh and lean against his shoulder. The people around you have begun to thin out as the sun had begun to go down. It’s a nice view of the river, but your favorite view is the one right next to you.

“Thank you,” You murmur, “I...I’m really happy and flattered you did this for me.” You stamp a kiss to his cheek quickly and lean further onto his shoulder. The silver hoops decorating his ears nearly tickle your head. He only wraps an arm around you and squeezes your waist. Jungkook looks at you, only to find you already looking at him. Your gaze flickers to his slightly parted lips and back to his deep eyes. 

You close the gap and kiss him quickly. It’s chaste, only lasting a few seconds- you’re not used to kissing him like that out in public. Heat crawls up your cheeks, but you still grin at him.

“Want to go for a walk?” He murmurs into your hair. You nod and stand, feeling a little wobbly with all of the wine going straight to your head. Jungkook steadies you (because of course he does) with a hand on your back.

“Are you good to drive after?” You implore, folding up the picnic blanket, “Should I call Jin and Yuna to pick us up?”

“I’m good,” Jungkook says with a crooked smile, “I got us, baby. Let’s go put this in the car.”

You’ll always be safe with him, he wants to say. But he doesn’t, only opening the picnic basket for you to slip the boxes of food into. Jungkook gently nudges your shoulder and follows your lead to his car.

The sun is slowly dipping down, illuminating the sky in hues of pinks, purples, and oranges. You and Jungkook walk side by side along the river- you’re unable to keep your eyes off of the way the sky reflects in the water and Jungkook is unable to keep his eyes off of you.

Your hand brushes along his accidentally, the warmth of his fingers sending goosebumps up your arms. Giving yourself a pep talk, you slip your hand into his and he can’t keep the pleasant surprise off of his face. 

Jungkook squeezes your hand every so often as you both quietly talk and walk, enjoying the light spring breeze.

Jungkook wants to learn every curve and soft sinew of your body- he wants to learn what gets you to sigh his name in that way, that way that causes a seed of possessiveness to plant itself in his belly. He desperately wants to learn what makes you tick, what you like.

For now, he’ll keep it slow. The slow, hot glide of his cock in your wetness is enough for now. The tight grip you have on his forearms, the bounce of your tits brushing against his chest is enough. You beg him for a kiss as your legs lock around his waist, pulling a deeper brush of his cock inside of you, and he’s happy to indulge you. 

Jungkook swallows everything you give him. He had stilled inside you with the first push of his cock into your pussy-

He watches your face, looking for any signs of discomfort. You tell him to wait while your eyes are squeezed shut, holding onto his biceps tightly. 

You’re so wet and warm for him. He wants to stay like this for as long as he can- the feeling of your pussy clenching around him (inadvertently or not) is addicting. 

“Okay,” You mumble, “I’m okay. Be slow with me?”

“Yes,” Jungkook replies instantly, kissing your forehead, “Yes, baby.” He thinks you like slow, but he thinks you might like spicy, too.

You cum rather quickly on his cock with his voice low in your ear and his fingers tracing over your clit and your nipples. He holds back, biting his tongue and instead nips at your neck as your pussy pulses around him. You’re smiling at him, a little dazed and a little dopey, your fingers tugging his hair.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” You murmur sweetly, your cheeks heating up, “You’re so good, your cock feels so good…”

Jungkook groans into your neck, his grip on your thighs tight as he tries to stop himself from ramming his cock into your pussy.

That’s for another day. Jungkook lifts his head, nudging your cheek with his nose and peers down at you. A thin layer of sweat coats your skin and Jungkook cradles your cheek protectively.

“Kiss me,” You demand softly, needily. He drops his head once more, capturing your lips with his and moaning into your mouth when you slip your tongue into his. 

Jungkook loses himself in you, tracing your tattoos with his fingers as his rhythm sputters. Broken moans of your name spill into your lips as he cums into the condom when he stops his strokes. 

“Holy shit,” Jungkook murmurs into your neck and you hum in agreement. He drops his weight onto you and you smile lazily, enjoying the feel of him all around you. He thinks your pussy is made for him- the velvety grip of your walls around him is dreamy. He needs a minute to regain his bearings, but he can see your eyes starting to flutter.

He’s already made you cum four times- or was it five? You’re deliciously tired. You groan in protest when he pulls out and pushes himself off of you with shaky legs to get up to clean the both of you up. 

“Kook,” You complain softly, “Come back.”

You close your eyes for a minute and he’s in between your legs, cleaning you up and pulling a shirt over your head and sliding your arms through. “Figured you’d get cold,” Jungkook murmurs, his own bottom half covered with fresh boxers.

“Have some water,” He says, tipping the bottle of water towards your lips. 

“Thanks,” You mutter, “Let’s nap. And then eat after.”

You’re already rolling closer to him, face pressed to his chest and hands loose around his waist. 

Before he succumbs to sleep, Jungkook wonders if this is too much, too fast. But he doesn’t allow himself to go down that path- you both have spoken extensively about what you felt okay with and what you wanted from each other. Even if it might be early in this, it feels right and that’s something you both can agree on.

Sleep comes easily for both of you.

Diversity and inclusion in the workplace makes you scoff out loud and roll your eyes. You’ve only been here for five years, but you’ve seen how this plays out. While the concept itself might have western origins, the company is embracing the idea. But with workshops like this, people have their eyes open for the hour (or however long the workshop is) and don’t do the work outside of the workplace. It’s checking the box, in your opinion. Which is why you’re so reluctant to get involved with things like this.

Maybe you’re a cynic. Maybe it’s because you’ve been stonewalled at this company for so long. Maybe you should and could appreciate it more if the people around you would actually utilize the principles they preached about.

But the fact that your boss is leading today’s workshop makes you curious. What could your boss, the same boss who publicly ridicules you and blocks you from your own personal and professional development, have to say about a topic as pertinent as diversity and inclusion?

Your eyes are narrowed and sharp as you assess the conference room. Your boss is flipping through slides and speaking as if he knows anything and everything about the topic.

“...As a global company, we should be aware of the impact of our actions and words. And something for us to be proud of is the number of female executives at our company, we have some of the highest…”

You scoff out loud, drawing the surprised eyes of everyone in the room. You return their stares and ignore the way your heart speeds up at the unwarranted attention.

“Do you have something you want to say?” Your boss all but sneers at you and you double down on your icy gaze. You choose your next course of action a little recklessly, but you can’t bite your tongue. Not this time.

“You really wanna hear what I have to say?” You say, gripping your mug of coffee tightly, “We can’t talk about this without people acknowledging the way they continue to perpetuate toxic work environments- I mean, are you the best person to discuss this?”

A harsh, ruthless silence falls in the room and nearly chokes you. Anxiety crawls in your veins and suddenly you feel like throwing up. You leave quickly and quietly, but not before throwing another icy stare to everyone in the room.

Holy shit. You’ve definitely just lost your job, there’s no question about it. You can already hear the rumor mill. Your boss would be more than happy to let you go and cut his losses. What had you just done?

You make a beeline for Jin’s office. You don’t even know if he’s in a meeting or has something he’s working on but you don’t know where else to go. He tries to soothe you and calm you down, but you’re full on freaking out by this point-

“I’m gonna lose my job,” You say, your face in your hands, “What the fuck, I don’t know what came over me-”

He calls your name firmly, “Stop. I shouldn’t say this but… he deserved it. And you’re not the only person who has problems with him. You know that.”

“I’m the only one who embarrassed him like that! I’m gonna fucking lose this job, and then what? What am I going to do? I don’t want to go to HR-”

Jin stands in front of you and holds your upper arms steady, telling you to breathe with him. Your heart begins to slow and your vision clears a little. 

“You know if it comes down to that, you have people to vouch for you,” Jin murmurs.

“Okay,” You say, a little lightheaded, “Okay.”

Jin hugs you, but he can’t quite stop the trembling that follows. “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know,” Jin promises, “In the meantime, you should leave early. Or go find Jungkook, and then leave early.”

You crack a small smile, “That’s hardly appropriate. Thanks, Seokjin.”

You leave the building after seeing Jungkook. He walks you to your car, holding your trembling hand discreetly and kisses your hair, telling you to be brave and that everything will be okay. And you want to believe him, you really do. But this pit in your stomach feels too familiar for you to ignore.

tags: @koo-zy​

[lostinfic]

prompt 20, any rating, tenrose!

Ten x Rose; rated G; autumn fluff and mutual pining, not an AU!

previous prompts!

//

The Doctor opened the TARDIS doors with a grin and a flourish.

“New Amsterdam! Established by the Dutch West India Company in 1624.”

Rose tried not to laugh. “Are you sure this isn’t New new new new new new new Amsterdam?”

The Doctor peered outside. The narrow brown houses with decorative gables lining the river looked old, but the boats passing by were decidedly modern.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah. Just Amsterdam, then.”

“It’s new to me,” she said, both to make the Doctor feel better about landing in the wrong place and because she had always wanted to visit the Netherlands. She wondered sometimes if the TARDIS had access to her mental bucket list.

Rose traded her rough woolen dress and white cap for denim dungarees and a striped, long-sleeve, t-shirt.

It was a beautiful autumn day, just on the right side of cool. A breeze stirred the branches of leafy elms and poplars, dotting the water with golden leaves.

The Doctor and Rose rented bikes and decided to follow the Amstel River. It was a nice change of pace, to pedal rather than run.

There, amongst tourists and commuters, amongst ringing bells and chatter, Rose imagined herself and the Doctor going about their daily lives in Amsterdam. Riding their bikes to work, stopping for Stroopwafel and produce in Albert Cuyp market, perhaps that café with the second-hand English bookstore would be their favourite. She imagined a tiny flat looking over the canals, notebooks piled on the windowsill, a grey cat lounging on them, the scent of geranium drifting in from the flower boxes.

She’d been having these kind of thoughts more and more since the Doctor had regenerated. At first, she thought they were daydreams, but they had an odd déjà vu quality. She disliked thinking of them as visions, but that’s the best word she could come up with. Was it a coincidence they started after she’d absorbed the heart of the TARDIS?

“Rose?”

The Doctor’s forehead was wrinkled with worry. She’d lost track of where they were— they’d stopped on a bridge. A glass-roofed cruise boat glided underneath.

She had yet to tell the Doctor about her visions. She feared his reaction if he thought she longed for a banal, domestic life with him.

“I thought I saw something in the water,” she lied.

“Oh, not again,” the Doctor said.

“What?”

He leaned over the railing, sonic screwdriver pointed toward the canal.

“Last time I was here, there were spaceships in Rembrandt’s paintings, and we had to pop back to the 17th century. Let me tell you, Rembrandt may be a master painter, but he’s not a master warrior. He was useless. We fought off the Nix all on our own.”

“We? You and Sarah Jane?” she asked.

“Tegan and Nyssa,” he said offhandedly, still observing the canal. Then, remembering his resolution to be more forthcoming about his past, “I’ll tell you about them later. I will. What did it look like, the thing you saw in the water?”

“You know, I think it was just a duck. My brain is too used to seeing weird stuff when I’m with you.”

He chuckled.

“Well, if you see any goblin-like creatures coming out of the water, let me know, the Nix might be at it again.”

“Will do.” She smiled.

The Doctor took Rose’s hand and gave it a light squeeze. For a moment he looked like he was going to say something important, and an image of him in a blue suit flashed through her mind.

“I think Amstelpark is that way,” was all he said.

In the park, the cycling pace was slower. They followed the path parallel to the river. Families enjoyed the playground and mini-golf and groups of students relaxed in the café near the pond. But as they traveled southward, the crowd thinned and the landscape turned bucolic. Tall grass shimmered with slanted autumn light, insects buzzed in wildflowers, and an old-fashioned windmill turned lazily.

The Doctor and Rose stopped and sat on the riverbank. From his trans-dimensional pockets, he pulled a bottle of water for her. A light mist skated above the water, lending the landscape a hazy quality reminiscent of Rembrandt’s art.

The last time they’d lain in the grass was on New Earth, bubbling with nervousness and getting reacquainted. And just like then, they were babbling and joking, reminiscing, but with a level of comfort they didn’t have on New Earth. And yet, they were still holding back with half-finished sentences, furtive glances and hesitant touches. When he reclined fully, arms behind his head, the desire to cuddle up to him and lay her head on his chest was so strong, she had to pinch herself to a bruise. And Rose was relieved when a goblin-like creature emerged from the river.

—

The grey cat isn’t theirs, but their neighbour’s. His name is Felix, and he has quite the talent for walking the ledge between open windows and making himself at home in everybody’s flat.

Those notebooks are filled with information about a mysterious corporation they are chasing around the globe. For now, the Doctor works at the science museum while Rose investigates underground tunnels with her team.

Life with her one-hearted Doctor is far from banal, but there are days when Rose plants geranium in flower boxes, mornings when they sit for hours in their friend Joan’s café. And there are sunny fall afternoons when they lounge in Amstelpark, eating freshly-baked Stroopwafel, crispy and oozing caramel.

A drop lands on the Doctor’s chin, and Rose wipes it off with her thumb, and he kisses her, caramel-sweet. It’s so easy, so natural.

“Do you remember when we fought the Nix here,” he says.

“I remember the look on the emperor’s face when he realized you were the same man who’d once defeated him.”

They mimic the emperor’s expression of surprise and frustration-- though it’s hard to replicate with only two eyes-- and burst out laughing.

Rose thinks she’ll plant tulip bulbs in the flower boxes. In the spring, they’ll bloom. She’ll open the windows and their fragrance will waft in, melting snow will drip from the roof, and Felix will visit, and they will cuddle up in bed, again and again. Such is life when time always flows forward, linear, but ever changing through the seasons, like the canals of Amsterdam.

[cathrrrine]

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 15 - GHOST

----

[2009.]

Cold, unforgiving metal met the tender skin of my arm as I blocked his punch. That's going to leave a bruise. His blows were getting stronger, faster. He was testing my skills, they wanted to see how far I could be pushed. Although I wasn't far from the edge, I wasn't going to let myself fail today either.

"Focus!" He yelled.

I grimaced, ducking under his arm and landing a punch to his gut. Rookie move, but it was all I had at that moment. He grabbed my arm, quick as lightning, and dragged me by the chin so he could look me in the eye. My fists were still clenched but the exhaustion was starting to take a toll on me. I panted heavily as I tried to mask how drained I was.

With my arm still in his grasp, he said, "Who are you fighting for?"

It was almost a mantra that I was forced to reiterate every single time I fucked up. "Hydra."

He said it again, louder this time, his grip on my hand growing tighter. He could break my wrist if I didn't deliver. Hell, he could break every single limb I had. I couldn't fail.

"Hydra!" I scoffed. I belonged to them. I had to die for them. Hydra ran through my blood, and if it was ever spilled one day, it would be justified in their name.

That's what they told me.

Who was I to question them? I was nothing but a vessel, a weapon for these people. If I failed to deliver what was asked of me, I'd be killed. How ironic was that? To kill or be killed.

I hated it.

As soon as he let my arm go, I thrusted the top of my head into his face. I heard what sounded like his nose breaking and true enough, as I regained my balance and faced him, I found him wiping blood from his nose with the heel of his hand. It was satisfying, to say the least, to see that I finally made a dent.

"Perfect." He nodded.

God, it wasn't over yet.

He pulled his knives out of the holsters he wore, spinning them in the air and catching them both flawlessly. It was his signature trick. Honestly, I thought it was a bit too dramatic. But what can I say? Hydra loves their drama.

"Pay attention." He pointed the tip of the knife towards me. "Or you'll bleed."

He pounced, spinning his knives like they were toys and not murder weapons. He thrusted his right knife in the vague direction of my shoulder, I took a half-step back and circled around so I was behind him. It only took a second for him to whip around again, but I expected that move. So, I threw my leg up as soon as he did and I kicked the weapon out of his grip.

The knife spun around threateningly in the air before falling onto the concrete across the room with a thump. He didn't seem to pay any mind to his fallen weapon. That's when I remembered he had another. He twirled it around his fingers before gripping the handle and thrusting his right arm with full force, the gears of his metal arm whirring as he did so.

I thought I had it. I jumped back so he wouldn't catch my rib, but he was quick to calculate my movements. I should have known.

The pain was searing.

Blood oozed out of the newly-made wound on my calf, the knife buried to the hilt. I screamed uncontrollably as the pain of it kicked in, my body going limp immediately.

"That's enough, soldat."

Tears were falling down my face against my will. You know how sometimes your body does things you don't want it to do? I know, logically, tears were just how your body reacted to certain things. For example, being stabbed in the goddamn calf. But I knew, despite literal fucking science, the people around me took it as a sign of weakness. That's how messed up in the head they are.

But I wasn't weak. I just got through 2 hours of intensive training with the Winter Soldier while they just watched.

I'd like to see the lot of you fight him and manage to not get killed.

One of the medics went over to my side and helped me up. The Winter Soldier stepped aside and watched me with disdainful eyes. I knew I disappointed him. That alone could have fucked up my assessment. How did I not see it coming? How did I miscalculate that movement?

The Commander leaned in to talk to him as he watched me limp away. I made eye contact with both of them. The Commander's lips were moving but I couldn't make out a word of what he was saying.

Through pain-ridden eyes and a half-delirious mind, I could almost make sense of what the conversation was about.

Girl...Mission...Out...Threat.

Next thing I know, I was being treated by Dr. Nolan in the Medical Room. I don't think I processed anything yet. My brain felt numb. My eyes were glued to the knife — now on a metal tray — that I failed to dodge.

My mind flickered through all the different scenarios that I could have went with. I was beyond frustrated with myself and with my complete and utter failure. What were they going to do with me now? They couldn't really kill me...could they?

My mind reeled back to the conversation I saw that the Soldier and the Commander had earlier. What were they talking about? Did they finally decide what to do with me? The defective agent?

I wasn't perfect. I tried to be, but I wasn't. Somehow I always found myself disagreeing with their rules and their missions, even if I carried them out anyway. Although, sometimes I couldn't help but protest. I had to. Even if the consequences would hurt me. If they knew that I'd gone against more than just a few of their regulations, there's no doubt I'd be dead within the minute.

Footsteps came through the corridor, yet I didn't even think to look up.

"Your mission." The familiar faded black of a case file was thrown into my lap carelessly, the papers crinkling in protest as it landed. I looked up to see an annoyed expression that was attached to the face of one of the high-ranking agents.

"Mission? I thought I failed the assessment." My thumbs flicked through the papers almost automatically, scanning through the details quickly. I didn't miss the red stamp on the front. This wasn't just any mission.

He–David, I think–shrugged, "The Commander asked me to hand this to you. You're leaving in an hour."

"What?"

I was...thrilled and appalled at the same time. The whole point of the assessment was for them to see that I was worthy enough to be placed on important missions like these. If they trusted me with it, that means I succeeded.

"In an hour?" Dr. Nolan chipped in. "She hasn't fully recovered from her stab wound yet. You need at least two to three weeks of rest."

The red star-shaped stamp looked even more brighter in that moment, even if the room was poorly lit. "I've had worse. I can survive a limp."

"You won't even be able to walk." He raised an eyebrow at me in disagreement. Somewhere deep down, I knew I should listen to him. I wasn't in the best shape for a fight, let alone a mission like this one.

David huffed, "Orders are orders."

Then my brain clicked back into place. David was right. I nodded once. "I'll be at the hangar in 30 minutes."

"You better gear up by then. They wont wait up for you."

Dr. Nolan sighed and shook his head before wrapping my leg up with bandage. "Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you."

———

Snow was blowing in my face. The cold seeped through my coat, prickling my skin like tiny little needles made of ice.

"Any minute now." He spoke through the earpiece.

We were supposed to ambush a S.H.I.E.L.D operation that was a threat to Hydra. I wasn't entirely sure why I was sent along with the Winter Soldier, but I wasn't in the place to argue. Not when I just barely survived the assessment.

"Get in position." I crouched down, trying to smother a whimper that threatened to escape my throat. My calf was burning, but that wasn't a priority right now. Everything was always burning somehow, and I learned to ignore it overtime. I scanned the area through the scope of my sniper rifle. As soon as a car came into view, I steadied my hand on the trigger.

"Now."

Four continuous shots for each tire. Every single one blew out and the car spun out of control, spinning from left to right. It was a narrow road, the plan was bound to work to our liking. After a few nasty turns, the car swerved off the cliff, leaving nothing but dust and debris in it's place.

"They're not dead yet. Keep an eye out."

It was quicker than I expected, but I spotted two figures climbing out of the wreck after a while. Their movements were slow and staggered, but alive nonetheless.

"Target acquired."

I watched through the scope as he stepped out of his position in the shadows. One of the figures moved in front of the other, shielding them with their own body. I knew it was useless. He'd kill them both anyway.

A single shot rang out. I could picture the bullet going through one body to the other. They both dropped to the ground, dead.

"Target eliminated."

"Roger."

He didn't say a word. I didn't hear the usual rustle of his movements through the earpiece. Silence engulfed me. Usually, I wouldn't be so unnerved. He was always silent. But this time it felt...strange. I stayed where I was, unmoving. Something in my head told me I shouldn't move, shouldn't speak.

It seemed too easy.

I don't know what it was, but I didn't take my eyes off him. Something about this whole thing seemed...off. He could have completed this mission alone.

Why did they ask me to go with him?

He turned away from the bodies and faced me. I gulped, hands trembling as I held my rifle reluctantly. What was he doing?

"Sir?" I managed to say. Everything was telling me to RUN. NOW.

Slowly, he raised his gun and pointed it towards me.

Girl...Mission...Out...Threat.

My whole body trembled at the sight before me.

"Take the girl on your next mission. I need you to take her out. She's a threat to us, soldier. She's defective. Eliminate her. "

I was right.

Bang! The sound of a gunshot snapped me back to reality. It was real. They wanted to kill me. The Winter Soldier was standing ten feet away from me with a gun in his hand, ready to kill. To eliminate the threat.

Out of reflex, I pulled the trigger of my rifle that was pointed to his head, only to find it empty.

Four bullets. They only gave me four bullets and nothing more.

Without thinking, I ran. I dropped the rifle and ran as fast as my legs could take me. I heard another gunshot, closer this time. That's when I started to feel a strange sort of stinging at the back of my leg. The pressure felt strenuous as I continued to sprint in the snow.

Oh, God...Dr. Nolan was right.

I could feel the pain taking over once more as my stitches started to pop. Warm, thick liquid ran down my leg and seeped through the pants of my uniform as the wound on my calf bled out. Between the stinging cold and the stinging pain, I was starting to feel hopeless. I couldn't possibly go against him.

Bang!

Closer this time. I was running blindly into a vast, wide-open landscape of infinite snow. Not only that, but I was also leaving behind a trail of blood behind me. Deep scarlet upon stark white. What a contrast. Was this Hansel and Gretel or some shit?

"You cannot run forever." His voice was crisp, threatening. I couldn't take the fear that ran cold through me. If I stopped running now, I wouldn't ever get up again. He was the embodiment of fear, and he was chasing me.

I tore off my earpiece and threw it behind me. How could I have been so foolish today? Of course they sent him out here to kill me.

All along I thought I was playing the part perfectly. But, maybe I didn't hide my doubts of Hydra as well as I thought I had. Did they find out about everything I've failed to do?

How could I have killed those innocent children? How could I have murdered that innocent family? Or that innocent man who just so happened to stumble across a Hydra operation?

I was fine with the blood and the gore. I was used to that. The only thing that never sat right with me was when the innocent had to be slaughtered. The first time I went through with it, they haunted my dreams. Their animalistic cries for mercy, their howls of pain...I couldn't live with myself.

They were right. I was defective. I didn't have the makings of a Hydra agent. I wasn't as ruthless as I should be.

I ran and ran, hoping that he was far behind me. The snow was getting thicker by the minute, it was getting harder for me to see and to navigate.

I ran until my aching feet hit the pavement of a road that led to a small village. It looked homely, with houses and shops lined up along the road. Lanterns hung from roof to roof, providing light in the heavy snowfall. If I didn't know any better, I'd try to hide there. But I knew he would only tear it apart and kill everyone on sight just to eliminate me.

Then I sensed footsteps behind me. There was no time to think. It was my only option.

I sneaked through the worn paths of the area, trying my best to lay low. It didn't help that I was sporting a mean limp and bleeding all over the place. People saw me and they avoided me. I started to wonder why I thought heading here would help me. I scanned the area for anything, anything that would help. A weapon, a car, a spot that I could take shelter in...

Then, out of nowhere, I bumped into a woman.

"Oh!"

I held onto her arms as I tried to keep us both from falling. The woman was wearing a niqab. Her piercing green eyes looked right at me, distracting me from my original plan for a moment.

"Are you alright?" She asked, gently.

I must have looked horrible. Sweaty and bloody with panicked eyes. I didn't notice that her arms were still locked on mine, keeping me upright.

That's when I felt it, the surge of energy suddenly coursing through me. It was a peculiar sensation, but I welcomed it. Her green eyes widened. I knew she felt it too.

"You're-" she gasped, trying to pull away from me. I held onto her tighter, not wanting to let go just yet.

"Please." I begged. "It won't hurt."

I had to go before he came.

I heard gunshots behind me. I couldn't let him get to me, not when I just found the key to my escape.

"Who are you?" The woman whispered, struggling against me.

"Someone you’ll help escape death." I looked into her eyes, trying to let her see how desperate I was. I didn't want to take anything else from her but this.

Her eyes jumped from mine to behind me, before flickering back to look at me again. "You're like me, aren't you?"

"You don't need to do anything." I assured her. "I just need to leave."

It took a second of hesitation for her, but slowly, she nodded. She opened her mouth to say something, but I never heard what it was. Because that's when the screaming erupted.

I closed my eyes and teleported myself the fuck out of there.

[master-sass-blast]

This Life is Infinite: Chapter One.

OH YEAH. IT'S TIME, BITCHES!!!

Summary: The Infinity War Fic aka I do whatever the fuck I want with the Russo's canon.

Get ready for the most ambitious crossover in CHC history.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin, and Kitty Pryde x Illyana Rasputin.

Rating: M for canon typical violence and death threats.

Word Count: 10k... oops.

Set after "Children of the Gods: Part Three."

Author's Note: Tentatively, I’m back from my hiatus. Things are nowhere near settled with my mental health, but I’m feeling well enough to post again.

I think it mostly goes without saying that updates for this series might be a little irregular going forward; not only do I need to take care of myself, but I also need to find a better balance with posting fanfiction and the rest of my life. As always, I will do my best to be clear with you all about what to expect in terms of updates and wait times.

Thank you again for your compassion and understanding.

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @leo-writer, @emma-frxst, @sadstone-s

It’s not every day that mysterious, leather-clad men appear –quite literally, considering they teleported in—in your kitchen unannounced.

(Okay, perhaps they don’t qualify as “mysterious” when one of them is your dad, one of them is your brother, and the third is your uncle, but there’s a fourth man with them that you don’t recognize, so you like to think that the principle of the expression remains intact.)

You glance between Nate, Wade, your uncle, and the aforementioned unrecognized fourth man, then lift the box of cereal you’d been pouring into a bowl by way of greeting. “Breakfast?”

***

(The fourth man, as it turns out, goes by the code name “Kronos” –which, in terms of super cool code names, ranks at about an eight.)

“There’s a war coming,” Nate explains while the four of you stand around your kitchen counter. “Apocalypse is stirring. He’ll be sending his allies to Earth to initiate the first stage of the war, so that he’ll encounter less resistance when he comes to rule.”

“‘s called ‘The Decimation,’” Wade interjects as he shovels spoonfuls of Lucky Charms into his mouth. He points at his bowl, then jerks his head at the fridge. “D’ y’all have chocolate syrup?”

“Yeah, second shelf on the door.” You take another bite of your cereal, swallow, then ask Nathan, “What… what happens with ‘The Decimation?’”

“One of Apocalypse’s allies, Thanos, will arrive with his armies and generals. He’ll use his own forces to annihilate the heroes of Earth, then he’ll finish assembling the Infinity Stones and gauntlet and use them to wipe out half of all life across the cosmos.”

You purse your lips together and eye your dad warily. “If… if this was anyone other than you saying this, I’d say this all sounds like a hackneyed comic book and-or movie plot.”

“His information checks out,” Kronos says, voice low and gravelly. “Our cross-temporal intel confirms communications between Apocalypse and Thanos. We might have a few weeks to prepare for Thanos’s arrival –and that’s if we’re lucky.”

Wade snorts and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “handwavey bullshit” under his breath.

You look to your uncle. “And you’re here because…”

“Need to talk to Xavier,” your uncle answers, “and then alert the Avengers and anyone else that can help us face Thanos.”

“Right,” you say slowly. “And you stopped here first because…”

“I was hungry,” Wade blurts as he drizzles more chocolate syrup on top of his cereal.

“You have credibility,” Nathan says while shooting Wade an equally annoyed and endeared look. “Xavier and Piotr listen to you, and the rest of the X-Men listen to them. We can’t afford to deal with a bunch of hesitating and infighting right now. We need to get our shit together and defeat Thanos, or the world as we know it is fucked.”

“Question.” Wade lifts his spoon. “Does Donald Trump die in this decimation bullshit?”

“We’ll deal with him later,” your uncle stage-whispers to Wade.

“If you’re all sure…” You wait for all four of them to nod, then sigh and shrug. “Alright. I think most of the X-Men are training right now. Let’s go talk to them.”

***

“This all sounds fucking insane.”

Wade gasps. The eyes on his mask widen as he lifts a gloved hand to where his mouth is under his mask. “James Doohan used a no-no word! My goodness gracious golly!”

Scott Summers scowls, but otherwise ignores Wade. He turns to the Professor, expression incredulous. “Do you believe… any of this?”

Xavier grimaces. “Our sources through Kronos” –he gestures to your uncle’s colleague—“have been confirming the intentions of Apocalypse for several years now. The difficulty was always in determining when Apocalypse would act, and in which timeline –though, now that we have Cable’s intel, we’ve been able to figure those two details out.”

“If Thanos is as powerful as you’re saying,” Ororo pipes up, looking at Nathan, “then how are we supposed to defeat him?”

“Any way we can,” Nathan fires back, expression grim.

“Our intel says that Thanos only has three of the six Infinity Stones, along with the gauntlet,” Kronos adds. “If we can keep the last three stones out of his hands and defeat his armies here on Earth, we’ll have better odds of facing Apocalypse down the road.”

“Right,” Jean says. “And where are the last three stones?”

“The Mind Stone is in the possession of Vision, an android created by Ultron, who now works with the Avengers,” Kronos explains. “The Time Stone is in the possession of Doctor Stephen Strange, who leads an order of sorcerers and magic users in New York. The Soul Stone… has yet to be located.”

“And we’re sure that Thanos is coming here?” Ororo asks, brows raised in skepticism.

“One of the unifying features across the pertinent timelines is a battle that takes place on Earth, specifically in the country of Wakanda,” Kronos answers. “Regardless of the other features in the timeline, there is always a major confrontation between Thanos and the forces of earth there.”

“Great,” Rogue deadpans, expression flat. “Now we just have to convince them to let us in. ‘Excuse me, your Majesty T’Challa, but there’s an evil spaceman that is collecting all powerful rhinestones and he’s going to come here to try and wipe out half of all life on Earth, so we need you to let us into your country with strict visitation policies to we can help you fight him.’ Yeah, that’ll go over real well.”

“We don’t have time to waste on sarcastic bullshit,” Nathan grits out, cybernetic eye flaring as he glares at Rogue. “We’ll handle getting the Avengers and Wakanda on board,” he says, turning to the Professor. “I take it we can trust you to get your team and Magneto collected?”

“I’ll contact Erik,” Xavier promises before looking over at your husband. “Piotr, would you mind calling your family? I believe, given the severity of the coming conflict, having as many hands as possible would be in our best interests.”

Piotr nods. “Konechno –of course.” He looks up at you from where he’s sitting, confusion clear in his sky blue eyes—

“You good to come with us?” Nathan asks, tapping your shoulder lightly to get your attention. “We’ll need help talking to Stark.”

“Huh? Uh –yeah. Sure.” You look back at Piotr; the request to ask for five minutes, just five minutes, to talk to your husband is on the tip of your tongue—

Nate tugs you –gently—a couple inches closer, then says, “Bodyslide by five.”

The room blurs, then disappears from view.

***

You’ve only bodyslid with Nathan a handful of times –and each time you do, you’re always caught off guard by how fucking weird it feels.

Your stomach lurches like you’ve just gone down the steepest drop on a rollercoaster, even though the ground remains steady beneath your feet. In a flash, there’s a brand new room in front of you –sleek, monochromatic cabinets, white marble countertops, stainless steel appliances and fixtures, the works. The space oozes sophistication, function, style –and money. So much money.

Given everything you’ve heard about Tony Stark, it makes sense.

“Deep breaths,” Nathan says. He places a steadying hand on your shoulder while you blink rapidly. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

You do your best to comply –though it’s a bit difficult, given that your brain is shrieking ‘sensory overload’ while trying to adjust to the new lighting, the new sounds, the sensation of having moved without really having moved at all, at least in the sense of walking or riding in a car—

And then alarms start blaring. Red lights flash, klaxons go off, the works.

Wade swears and claps his hands over his ears. “Christ! For a guy who has literal robots that can wipe his ass with dollar bills, you think he’d invest in something a little easier on the ears!”

“Wilson!” The klaxons and red lights cut out, replaced by various whirring noises and the sound of hurried, angry footsteps. “I swear to God, if you’ve hijacked one of my jets again, I’m gonna –who the fuck are all of you?”

Tony Stark looks… nothing like what you see in the papers. Granted, his face and hair look largely the same, but he’s not wearing the crisp, stylish suits that all the magazines, articles, papers, and interviews feature him wearing. He’s got on a worn, holey Metallica shirt, ripped, grease stained jeans, and a pair of scuffed sneakers that look like they might’ve been purchased ten years ago, for all that they’re barely holding together.

The army of security bots hovering and whirring around him, however, do fit his press image.

“Jon Snow!” Wade chirps, waggling his fingers at the harried “genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist.” “Long time, no talk. How’s Daenerys doing?”

“Summers, would you do me a favor and put your psychopath on a leash?” Tony asks, tone less than polite or pleasant as he focuses on Nate. “Preferably a nice short one that’s far away from me?”

“We’re here to talk,” Nathan says –though he does stop Wade from trying to play with the knives in the block on the kitchen counter. “It’s a matter of life and death. The well-being of the entire universe is at stake.”

“Yeah, been there, done that,” Tony says, looking none too impressed.

“One of your colleagues may have mentioned his name,” Kronos interjects, taking a step forward. “Does the word ‘Thanos’ ring any bells?”

Tony’s expression sobers for an instant, but he hides it quickly enough. “This is private property, and you’re all—”

A red being with a green suit and a yellow gem in the center of his forehead emerges from the floor. He places himself between Tony and the rest of you. “Would you like me to escort them out, Mr. Stark?”

“Ah, Casper the Friendly Android with No Concept of Personal Boundaries Despite the Infinite Knowledge!” Wade fires back, waving cheerfully. “How you doing, twenty-twenty?”

Vision sighs, longsuffering. “You have been expressly forbidden from these premises, Mr. Wilson.”

“Unless he’s here under my direct supervision,” Nathan fires back. “Stark, we need to talk about this—”

“Tony?” A tall, elegant woman with red hair wearing a tailored, navy blue dress walks up behind the man in question. She flashes you all a polite smile, but there’s no missing the way her gaze cautiously assesses each one of you. “I’m guessing these aren’t –oh. Wade’s here.”

Wade waves in response. “Hi, Miss Potts! How’s being a CEO?”

“It’s going very well, thank you,” Pepper replies politely –though, this time, she’s scanning the room for missing objects and-or visible damage. When nothing turns up, she looks back at Tony. “Are we escorting them out?”

“They claim to have information about the end of the world,” Tony says, tone flippant –though the grave expression on his face belies his snark. “About Thanos.”

Recognition flashes over Pepper’s face, though her polite mask never fully slips. She nods, then says, “Are we going to listen to them?”

“Probably should,” Tony replies in the same lackadaisical tone. “I’m not turning off the security drones while Wilson’s here, though.”

“Just for that, I’m pissing in your Ficus before I leave,” Wade huffs.

“That seems like it’s for the best,” Pepper tells Tony, smiling going tight at the edges while she stares at Wade. She takes a breath, steeling herself, then steps past Tony and nods at the rest of you in greeting. “Sorry for the confusion. Would you mind coming with us, so we can talk somewhere more comfortable?”

***

“I started connecting the dots after Thor left,” Tony explains, twirling a pencil between his fingers as he paces back and forth. “He mentioned Thanos briefly –but with the destruction and repurposing of Loki’s staff, the straggling records of Dormammu’s attack and the use of the Time Stone by Strange, the roles that the Tesseract and Loki’s staff played in the attack on New York by the Chitauri…” He sighs, pausing to stare out at the window at some unseen object before grimacing and shrugging. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

You’re all gathered in a conference room –which, as with the kitchen, carries the same modern, sleek style. Floor to ceiling windows show off the training grounds and the forest that conceals the base from the rest of the world. A massive plasma TV takes up one of the far walls, while the other walls are taken up by various dormant, holographic and electronic displays (made by Stark himself, no doubt). A black, oblong table sits in the center of the room, with leather, silver studded swivel chairs positioned around it.

“How many are there?” Tony asks, looking first at Kronos, then at Nathan. “How much time do we have?”

“There are six Infinity Stones in total,” Kronos says. “Thanos already has three –the Space stone, which was contained by the Tesseract, the Reality stone and the Power stone. Your colleague, Vision—” he gestures to the android “—is in possession of the Mind Stone already, and Stephen Strange has the Time Stone. Our agents have been unable to confirm the whereabouts of the Soul Stone, but we’re certain that Thanos doesn’t have it.”

“Yet,” Tony adds, tone pessimistic.

“As far as time goes, we have a few days at most,” Nathan says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe a week, if we’re lucky.”

Tony grimaces. “That doesn’t bode well for rebuilding international relations on a dime. Or team morale for that matter.”

“Sort it out,” Nathan gravels out. “We’ve got bigger issues.”

“We won’t have time for issues if we can’t even pull a team together,” Tony snaps.

“If it helps…” Kronos withdraws a flash drive from his jacket pocket and holds it out to Tony. “The evidence of Thanos’s collection of the stones and his plans to come here.”

Tony accepts the flash drive. He turns it over in his fingers a couple times –no doubt mentally comparing the drive to the technology he’s created—then pockets it. “And Xavier’s on board with all this?”

You blink when you realize everyone’s staring at you. “Uh –yes. He’s contacting Erik Lensherr for some additional support, and the rest of the X-Men are ready to take on Thanos as well.”

“Great.” Tony stares down at the table for a moment, expression slightly melancholy but otherwise inscrutable, but then he snaps back to his usual self. “Good meeting. I’ll text you with the details.”

“Ooh, does that mean we’re trading numbers?” Wade gasps, pressing his hands on either side of his face. “I’ll put you on my favorites list.”

“I’ll contact Xavier,” Tony amends, shooting Wade a slightly harried look.

“We’ll be ready,” you assure him, at a loss for what else to say as you hook your arm around Wade’s to keep him from messing with the holographic display system.

“Vision will escort you out,” Pepper says with a polite smile and nod.

“I’ll make you a friendship bracelet, Tony the Tiger!” Wade calls as you and Nathan gently usher him towards the door. “Wait –stop shoving me! I need to get his wrist size!”

“Later, gorgeous,” Nate says with a barely suppressed smile.

Under any other circumstances, you’d laugh, but the stony foreboding weighing down your gut makes it too hard to even muster up a chuckle –especially when you catch Tony slumping down into one of the conference room chairs with a despairing expression on his face. You force yourself to focus on getting Wade out of the Avenger’s headquarters without stealing anything –though that does little to calm your swirling thoughts. How in the hell are we gonna pull this off?

***

“Are you okay?”

You sigh, instinctively wriggling back against Piotr’s chest as he lays down behind you. “Define ‘okay.’”

It’s nearly midnight now. Between contacting other allies for help –Nathan had you all bodysliding around New York for the better part of the day to reach out to the Hell’s Kitchen figures—and learning up about Thanos’s army and what could be expected in a confrontation against him, you didn’t get home until well after dinner.

You’re in bed now, too tired for anything else. You stare out the windows that overlook the balcony, purposefully trying to keep your mind blank so you don’t grow overwhelmed by the chaos buzzing in your brain.

Because this is insane. This is beyond mutant trafficking or petty grievances between groups of mutant rivals or even being gunned down by the mafia. This is beyond abusive parents, groups of hateful bigots, or anti-mutant legislators.

It’s –quite literally—the fate of the entire world. The entire galaxy. Based on Nathan’s reports of the future, half of all life is wiped out. People, animals, plants –all gone, dissolved into piles of ash… and for what? So some egomaniac can have his moment of glory?

Your stomach curdles when you even try to contemplate a life without Piotr.

“Hey.” Piotr draws you in close when you start crying. “Tische, myshka. Everything is okay.”

“But it’s not.” You sniff, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. “Nothing about this is fucking okay, Piotr. Someone’s gonna wipe out half of the damn universe because he wants to jerk off to it later.”

“He has to go through us, first,” Piotr reminds you as he presses soft, sweet kisses against your cheek.

“We don’t have the numbers,” you point out bleakly. “We don’t have the ammunition. We don’t have the time to make a solid plan, or to prepare any extra defenses, or—”

Piotr hugs you tight. He kisses the top of your head. His hand strokes up and down your arm in an attempt to soothe you.

You grip his other hand, holding him close to you. You focus on how warm and solid he is. How wonderful he is and how lovely your life is with him. “I love you, Piotr.”

“And I love you, Y/N.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and cry some more.

***

The call comes in at five thirty in the morning.

“Stark’s brought around the other Avengers and Wakanda,” Nathan says, sounding far more alert than you ever will at this godforsaken hour. “We’re lifting off at seven.”

“Roger that,” you manage while Piotr turns on the bedside lamp and blinks the sleep out of his eyes. “We’ll be ready.” You set down your phone when the call ends, then groan and drop your head into your pillow. Why can’t the end of the world ever happen in the afternoon?

***

The Blackbird jets are loaded to maximum capacity. Aside from carrying the X-Men and the X-Force exclusive members, you’re also ferrying the Hell’s Kitchen vigilantes, Piotr’s family and Allison, your uncle and his team, and the younger children and their parents to Wakanda for safe-keeping (your uncle’s reasoning was that an enemy of the institute might notice the sudden lack of protection and decide to attack the younger, more vulnerable students and their families for vengeance, so it was better to be safe than sorry).

You keep close to Piotr or to the cockpit, but there’s still no avoiding the tense, cramped feeling.

You’re not the only “birds” in the sky, either. It’s practically a whole convoy, flying out to Wakanda in what might’ve been a formation if Wade didn’t occasionally grab the control and try to do a “barrel roll.” Magneto and his forces are flying in their own airship, while the Avengers are leading their pack in Tony’s custom, “cutting edge of technology” jets.

You watch the small fleet of jets that belong to the Avengers, lips pursed into a tight line. Your gaze darts over to the navigation board every few seconds, tracking your miniscule progress across the Atlantic Ocean towards Wakanda.

There’s a heavy sigh behind you, and then an even heavier pair of arms settle around your shoulders. “Myshka. You should rest.”

You “hmm” softly to let Piotr know you heard him, but you don’t step away from the cockpit door.

He kisses the top of head and starts gently rubbing your neck with his thumbs. “Will be several hours before arrival, dorogoy. There is nothing you can do until then.”

“It feels like wasting time,” you murmur back –because, naturally, Piotr’s seen to the heart of the issue already. “We’ve got so much to do.”

“And we can do nothing until we arrive in Wakanda.” Piotr kisses your temple, then gently nudges you away from the cockpit. “Come sit with me, lyublyu. You will need full energy when we land.”

And that, above all else, is the only reason you let Piotr usher you over to the nearest seat.

You crawl into his lap once he sits, curling up in his arms. You lay your head on his shoulder and let his warmth combined with the gentle thrum of the jet’s sonic engines lull you to sleep.

***

Wakanda is simultaneously everything and nothing like what you expected.

There’s a force shield that surrounds the inner part of the country that gives way as the convoy of ships pass through it. It almost seems to shimmer out of view before revealing an elegant, shining palace and curved, glimmering towers that comprise the larger part of the city. Lush jungle and towering, ice-capped mountains border the city, split by a winding river and rushing waterfalls.

It almost looks too beautiful to be real.

The awe-inducing visuals and technology don’t stop as the convoy flies out to a glittering, black glass structure that, on the navigation board, is labeled as the lab of Princess Shuri. The convoy swoops around to a massive hangar at the base of the building, landing just inside on the polished stone and metal floor.

Waiting for all of you in the hangar is King T’Challa Udaku; he’s wearing a black robe embroidered with silver thread and a vibrant kente scarf, and generally looks every bit as poised and unflappable as he did in the UN interviews. He’s flanked by his Dora Milaje soldiers –who are undeniably badass with their armor and spears, and you catch Ellie, Yukio, and Kitty all staring at the women in awe—and his partner, Nakia, and his sister, Princess Shuri.

Tony and Professor Xavier handle the introductions with the King, which lets you stretch and take in the hangar and throngs of superheroes. You recognize a few of them –Captain America aka Steve Rogers, Ant-Man aka Scott Lang and his entourage --including a man with dark hair styled like Elvis that you recall seeing in some sort of news interview a while back and a young woman with curly brown hair and warm eyes that’s holding his hand-- and War Hero ,aka James Rhodes, aka Tony’s best friend and “work wife”—but some of the entourage members are new to you.

You take a moment to stretch out your back –sleeping in Piotr’s lap isn’t the worst quality rest you’ve ever had, but given the configurations of the jet seats it was a little cramped—and admire the glimmering, inlaid lights on the hangar ceiling. Swanky.

“We have space prepared for the upcoming preparations and hosting all of you,” T’Challa says, voice cutting through the din of the crowd with ease. “If you would all follow Princess Shuri, please.”

Shuri smiles, then motions for everyone to follow her out of the hangar.

Half of the Dora Milaje break away from the formation, keeping a protective line between the princess and everyone else.

You fall into stride alongside your husband, well-practiced by now at matching your steps to his long stride.

***

The “prepared space” winds up being three massive rooms, each with smaller rooms sectioned around the main spaces, a kitchen-slash-rec area that joins the three massive rooms in the center, and three large, communal style bathrooms with multiple stalls for toilets and showers. The main rooms have several long, workstation style tables at them, with some beds stationed at the fringes, and the smaller rooms function only as bedrooms, mostly for the families with kids and the handful of couples present.

“This interface,” Princess Shuri says as she taps on a small disk embedded into the wall, “will let you contact security and staff if you have questions or need to speak with someone. There’s one in each room, for easy access. It will begin glowing and beeping if someone’s trying to send a call to you; you answer by pressing the base,” she explains, demonstrating on the disk.

“We’re expecting another group of people,” Tony pipes up. “Strange is collecting some of our allies from the South Eastern Quadrant. They should be here in the next sixteen hours, give or take.”

Shuri nods. “We’ll contact you when they arrive.” She offers the group a magnanimous nod and smile, then strides out the hall you all entered through, flanked by the Dora Milaje soldiers.

For a moment, no one moves. You all stand around, hesitating as you all try to take in the new scenery and space.

Alex moves first. She sighs, then grabs her duffel and strides towards the nearest workroom. “No point in waiting.”

Her initiative seems to jolt everyone else out of their daze. Everyone sections off, largely sticking with the groups of their original affiliation.

You amble alongside Piotr, peering around the workroom as you try to decide where to set your pack. Here goes nothing.

***

We’re staring down the apocalypse, you muse as you watch everyone set up shop, and it’s all coming down to sewing machines.

It’d come as a shock when Alexandra had lugged the sleek, white machine out of its carrying case. She’d set it on one of the tables, then lifted bolts of thick, rugged Kevlar out of one of her duffels next. Thread, scissors, measuring tape, and gridded cutting boards follow the Kevlar—

And then the sewing machine jammed as soon as Alex turned it on.

“Ty meshok der'ma,” Alex mutters under her breath as she fiddles with the internal mechanisms of the sewing machine. She glares at the gears, grumbling and swearing while she prods at them with a pair of tweezers. “Kakogo khrena tvoya problema?”

The situation seems mundane in its inanity.

The end of the damn world, and we’re being thwarted by twenty pounds of plastic and metal.

“Day mne poprobovat'.” Nikolai crouches down next to his wife. He adjusts the reading glasses perched on his nose, then aims a small flashlight at the interior of the machine. He murmurs and tuts in Russian while prodding at the machine –and then he makes a soft noise of exclamation. “Broken needle. Pryamo tam.”

“Sukin syn.” Alex uses her telekinesis to draw out the metal shard, then lets out an exasperated sigh and spreads her arms when the machine finally makes the proper start up noises. “Thank you.”

“Be nice,” Nikolai chides her with a teasing grin. “Is uncomfortable, having metal stuck in organs. You would not want to work either.”

“I’ve had metal in my organs,” Alex grumbles as she gets her sewing machine configured. “I still managed.” She smirks when Nikolai laughs, then kisses her husband’s cheek before motioning for you to approach. “Come here, ptitsa. I want to reinforce your suit; I need your measurements.”

You round the table, shucking off your sweatshirt so Alex can measure your torso. “Is there anything I need to do?”

“Just hold still, malenkiy,” Alex murmurs as she runs her tape measure around your waist.

“I make no promises,” you joke.

Alex snorts, then moves her measuring tape up to your ribcage.

***

The waiting is, somehow, worse now.

At least on the plan there was a promise of a destination. A sense of the temporary, that you’d be up and moving and doing again within a few hours.

Unfortunately, reality is so often different from how you envision it, just as it is now. Because the reality of the situation is that there are only a limited number of people capable of helping. Nate and Tony are working with the Princess to configure weapons to fight Thanos’s forces, Hank and the healers are preparing a makeshift medical bay, Frank, Wade, Mikhail, and Neena are cleaning and checking guns, Alex, Piotr and Nikolai are taking turns working on fabricating armor for those who need it—

Leaving you with nothing to do. Aside from keeping those who are working well fed and hydrated and managing the kids, all you can do is sit and watch while everyone else prepares.

It’s agony. Your chest aches from stress, and your stomach’s churning so much you can barely choke food down at mealtimes. I need to help more. I need to do something, dammit.

It’s like being in line for random execution and having no idea whether you’re going to be shot or not.

You stay close to Piotr. You run food and snacks and drinks for anyone who needs it. You help manage the kids when the need arises –but since most of their parents are here, the incidents are far and few between.

You sit. And you wait.

It’s all you can do.

***

“Absolutely not.”

“You need to be reasonable.”

“I am. It’s perfectly reasonable to keep a fourteen-year-old off a fucking battlefield!”

Alex sighs. She leans back in her seat and raises an eyebrow at her eldest daughter. “Normally I would agree, but I don’t think you’ll have much say in the matter. Your ability to control her is notably lacking.”

Artemis huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “You try reining in a teenager who’s realized there’s no consequences to her actions.”

“I’m not judging, merely observing,” Alex assures her daughter. “But, at any rate, it’s not unreasonable to predict that she’ll join the fray at some point. Body armor is a necessity.”

“It’s an invitation! She’ll take it as permission!”

“Artemis?” Allison sticks her head into the room, then strides over to her mentor-slash-surrogate mother. “Is everything okay? Who’s getting permission to do what?”

“No one is,” Artemis grumbles, even as she holds her arm out so the teen can lean against her side. “Especially not you.”

Allison lets out a disgusted sigh and rolls her eyes. “I already told you—”

“You’re not fighting.”

“I can handle myself!” Allison snaps. She jerks away from Tatianna, scowling. “You’re treating me like a baby!”

“Compared to me, you are a baby,” the older woman points out drily.

“It’s not your burden to bear,” Alex interjects, fixing the testy teen with an even –though not harsh—stare. “Teenagers shouldn’t have to fight for the future of the world. That’s for adults to handle.”

“No one gets to decide,” Allison grits out, “what my burdens are. And this isn’t about ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t.’”

The corner of Alex’s mouth twitches. She looks up at Artemis, brows raised.

Artemis sighs. She tips her head back, staring up at the ceiling, then looks down at Allison. “You need body armor to keep you safe. That does not mean, however, that you’ll be joining us in the fight against Thanos.”

Allison sweeps her tongue along the inside of her cheek. She crosses her arms and cocks her head to the side. “Pretty sure you don’t get to decide that.”

“Pretty sure you should listen to me,” Artemis fires back, “since I have more experience and am telling you that it’s too much for you to handle.” She lets out an exasperated breath when Allison rolls her eyes, then waves her hand dismissively as if to say ‘I tried.’ “Get her set up.”

Alex nods, then waves Allison over. “Alright, malenkiy. Let’s get you sorted.”

***

“Are you asleep?”

“Nyet.” Piotr rolls over, drapes an arm over you, and kisses your forehead. “I would ask you the same, but…”

You manage a small chuckle. “Pretty obvious answer, yeah.”

The two of you are in one of the private rooms –if only because (aside from your status as married) it has a bed big enough to accommodate Piotr. There’s a small window that overlooks a cavern beneath the lab. Dim, blue light seeps through the glass pane, but it’s not enough to properly illuminate the room.

Piotr’s fingers skim over your upper arm. “Why are you not sleeping, myshka?”

“Can’t,” you admit, voice wavering. You take a deep breath through your nose and try to calm yourself. “I just… I can’t handle not doing anything. It gives me too much time to think about what might happen.”

Piotr croons gently, drawing you in closer so he can tuck you against his chest. He cradles your head with one massive head. “Dorogoy. You know such things are not good for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” you grumble, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Doesn’t mean that knowledge stops my brain any.”

“Ya znayu,” Piotr murmurs as he kisses your temple. “But everything is going to be alright, myshka.”

“Except it really might not be,” you argue, voice shaking. You grip the material of his shirt, as though he might be wrenched away from you at any moment and whisked away into the wind. “It really might not, Piotr.”

Your husband doesn’t say anything in response to that. He merely holds you closer still and strokes his fingers through your hair.

You press your forehead against his chest and start weeping quietly.

***

The second day is much like the first –a slow, agonizing crawl punctuated by overwhelming anxiety and exhaustion.

You linger at the table where Nate, Tony, and Ellie are modifying guns, handing the three various tools and materials when they ask for it. You watch their progress numbly, brain devoid of anything other than wordless worry.

At least, you watch until Nate texts Piotr to come get you.

“Davay, myshka,” your husband coaxes as he lifts you off your stool. He grunts slightly as he shifts you into a bridal-style hold, then carries you away from the table and out of the room. “Let’s have lunch.”

“But—”

“Is important to stay fed and hydrated.”

“—I was helping.” You peer past Piotr’s arm –then sigh when Nathan gives you a sympathetic, concerned smile and waves you along. “Baby—”

“Just for little bit.” Piotr sets you down when you ask, but he keeps a hand on your shoulder, just in case. “Is not good to sit and stew in anxiety.”

You drop your gaze to the floor. “You can’t prove anything.”

Piotr lifts his hand from your shoulder and cradles your cheek. He strokes his thumb against your skin, waiting until you look up at him before speaking again. “Come have lunch with me, moya lyubov’,” he says with an adoring smile (which you’re certain is a deliberate, tactical move on his part to make sure you don’t try and argue, and dammit if it isn’t working). “I would enjoy your company.”

You scuff the toe of your sneaker against the floor, but ultimately acquiesce. “Alright. I guess I should take a break.”

***

The snooping starts after lunch, while Alex is chewing Frank out for spray-painting his bullet proof vest.

“What, are you looking to ruin perfectly good Kevlar?” Alex gripes as she tosses Frank’s “Punisher” vest aside. “You want to break down the material? Get shot out like some schmuck because you decided to be an artist?”

“It’s strategic,” Frank argues with a good-natured, crooked grin. “Keeps my enemies’ line of sight trained on where I have the most protection.”

Alex nods and makes a sarcastic noise of assent. “‘Strategic.’ Is that what it is? Ya ne mogu v eto poverit'. V moye vremya my nazyvali strategiyu pobedoy, a ne stavili svoyu grebanuyu vizitnuyu kartochku na kazhdoye sovershennoye nami proklyatoye ubiystvo. Get your ass over here, drama boy.” She scoffs and starts measuring Frank’s chest and shoulders. “‘Strategiya,’” she scoffs. “What a load of horse shit.”

“Akh akh,” Nikolai tuts as he walks into the room with a plate of food and glass of water. “What is happening here?”

“I’m pretty sure I upset the apple cart, sir,” Frank says, unabashed.

Nikolai chuckles while Alexandra brings up to speed, ranting in irritated Russian. He sets the plate and glass on the table next to his wife, kisses her head, then ambles back out to the kitchen—

And that’s when you notice it. Or, rather, her.

Natasha Romanoff, aka the Black Widow. Renowned spy, assassin, weapons and espionage expert, and former member of the Avengers if the debacle surrounding the Sokovia Accords is to be believed.

She’s sitting at the kitchen counter on barstool, tapping away at her phone –which isn’t inherently suspicious, but her line of sight lets her look directly into the room you’re all situated in and—

She’s watching Alex.

At first you think she might be watching Frank (which, fair enough, having a mass murderer, somewhat unstable vigilante around is a reasonable cause for caution). But when Frank gets up and walks out (probably to go find Karen), Natasha doesn’t even move. Her gaze –when she’s not looking at her phone—stays fixed on Alexandra while she works at her sewing machine.

For once, you’re grateful Piotr is as large as he is; he makes a great hiding spot to do countersurveillance from.

Natasha approaches slowly, but deliberately. She talks to someone on her phone –whether she’s faking or not doesn’t matter to you, because she still uses it to get off the barstool and amble around while she’s talking. Then, she has a conversation with Captain Rogers, which she uses to get a few feet closer to the doorway.

At some point, you’re not certain if she realizes you’re watching her, only because she gives up the pretense of trying to hide her snooping entirely. She leans against the doorframe, watching Alex intently while she marks, pins, and cuts out fabric.

It’s Illyana who has enough of the whole thing first. Three minutes into Natasha standing in the door way, the blonde sighs, sets her phone down on the work table, and glares up at the red head. “Kakogo khrena ty khochesh?”

Natasha purses her lips slightly. She acknowledges Illyana with a brief glance, then turns her focus back to Alex. “Alexandra.”

“Natalia,” Alex says by way of greeting, not even bothering to look up from her work. “Are you here to help, or are you here to waste my time?”

She grimaces, but recovers and smiles politely. “It’s been a long time.”

“So, you’re here to waste my time,” Alex surmises as she pins a pattern to a piece of heavy black Kevlar.

Natasha swallows reflexively, then turns on her heel and walks away.

***

Half an hour later, it’s Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes’s turn.

The two supersoldiers are far less covert than Agent Romanoff. They stand in the middle of the rec room, a few feet away from the door, and don’t make any attempt to hide their conversation or the fact that they’re watching Alex (and, to some extent, her children and Nikolai as well).

Illyana says something to her mother a few times, but Alex waves her off –and, in general, seems unbothered. “U nas yest' rabota, snezhinka. U nas yest' rabota.”

“Did you know him?” you ask, later, when the Rasputin kids are out of the room. “The Winter Soldier?”

You’ve heard enough through the grapevine to know about the basics of the man’s story –captured by Hydra, experimentation, brainwashing, being coerced into murdering.

(It all sounds chillingly familiar.)

“We crossed paths,” Alex admits with a shrug. She slides a piece of ceramic armor plating inside a Kevlar pouch, then starts sewing the pouch shut. “Overlap was common back in the day.”

“Do you think he remembers you?” you murmur, glancing out at the kitchen (fortunately, Rogers and Barnes are gone for now).

Alex pauses. She purses her lips, then shrugs and resumes working. “I don’t know. He went through a lot with the forced mind wipes. There’s really no way of knowing.”

“Are you going to be in trouble if he does remember you?”

Alex huffs and favors you with a gentle smile. “I’ve gotten out of worse, ptitsa. Don’t worry so much.”

You say that like it’s easy, you think while the knot in your stomach coils tighter.

***

There’s a brief reprieve around dinner. You even manage to relax a little, smiling and chuckling as Piotr and Mikhail bicker and generally irritate each other as much as humanly possible.

Work starts up once more as soon as everyone’s done eating. You nestle yourself against Piotr’s side, relaxed via the virtue of being too tired to be stressed—

And then Tony Stark walks in.

Or perhaps “walk” isn’t the right term. He moves with an air of grandeur and utter self-assurance –which, even with your limited exposure to Tony Stark, you can tell is a “brand standard” for him. He tosses an apple up and down in one hand as he breezes along, expression blasé to the point of looking disinterested as he strides up to the table where Alexandra works.

If it weren’t for Natasha, Captain Rogers, and Sergeant Barnes scoping out the Rasputin matriarch earlier, you would’ve pegged Stark’s visit as entirely coincidental.

“What’s your deal?” Tony asks, leaning against the table next to where Alex is stationed at her sewing machine.

No pretense. No niceties. No attempt at subtlety.

Alex’s lips quirk into an annoyed grimace. She looks up and over the top of her machine for a moment, staring at Nikolai (likely trying to find any scrap of his infinite patience for herself), then lowers her gaze once more and says, “Usually, it’s not answering vague, pointless questions asked by nosey individuals.”

“You’ve got half my team twisted up just by being here,” Tony continues, unruffled. “I’ve seen Romanoff stare down the Hulk on a rampage without flinching. What about you is so special that you make her nervous?”

“Interesting,” Alex comments, almost to herself. “And here I thought, after the Berlin incident, your ‘team’ was largely disbanded. Something about ‘not agreeing with your leadership.’”

Tony’s face twitches, mouth briefly stretching into a pained grimace before he smooths it back out. “You don’t exist.”

“Everyone’s concept of self is different,” Alex mutters as she rips out a crooked seam on an armor pouch.

“There’s no record of your birth. Or your parents, for that matter. Your marriage license has no given maiden name. No history of education, doctor’s visits, driver’s license –nothing until you turned twenty-four.” He takes a bite of his apple, swallows, then says, “People don’t just ‘poof’ into existence as full grown adults. It doesn’t happen.”

“Perhaps,” Alex retorts as she resews the faulty seam, “you are just not very good at finding things.”

“I can find anything.”

“Except, it would seem, a way to keep from trying my patience.”

Tony watches her for a moment longer –then, when she doesn’t say anything, he turns and starts striding out of the room. “I’m going to figure out what’s up with you. There aren’t any secrets that can hide from my A.I.”

Alex doesn’t dignify his departure with a response –but her eyelid twitches as she continues her sewing.

You look up at Piotr, only to find he’s watching Nikolai. You look over at the Rasputin patriarch, and your heart sinks when you see the worried expression on his face.

Nick sighs, then stands and rounds the table. He ambles up behind his wife, drapes his arms around her shoulders, and kisses the top of her head before he starts murmuring to her in quiet, loving Russian.

You lean against Piotr’s side, giving him a reassuring squeeze even though the only thing you feel is disquieted. You force yourself to take a deep breath and relax your jaw as fear starts crawling up your spine once more. One thing at a time. One thing at a time, that’s all you can do.

Except, it seems, when everything decides to happen at once.

***

Meeting the Norse god of thunder is… intense.

Though, that may have to do with the entourage of people he brings with him.

Around three in the morning, Dr. Strange shows up with the remaining allies –Thor, god of thunder, and his brother Loki, god of magic, Bruce Banner aka the Hulk, a woman by the name of Carol, and a group that calls themselves the “Guardians of the Galaxy” (which happens to include a talking raccoon and a sentient tree).

“Just when you thought, like, it couldn’t get weirder,” Kitty mutters to you as she stares at the newest arrivals.

You nod. Granted, your usual metric for all things weird is Wade, who has basically explored every avenue of zany, bizarre, and disturbing—

But yeah, this is pretty fucking weird.

“Where do we stand in preparations for the arrival of Thanos?” Thor asks Tony.

“We’ve got most of the busywork done,” Tony says, outlining the weapons upgrades and the armor work that’s been done. “We waited for major planning until we had everyone here and better intel.”

Thor nods, then gestures to two women standing with the “Guardians of the Galaxy,” one with green skin and dark hair and the other with blue skin and cybernetic enhancements. “This is Gamora and Nebula, daughters of Thanos. They’ll be able to provide information on the strength and size of his forces.”

“Good,” Steve pipes up from where he’s standing with Sam Wilson and Sergeant Barnes. “The sooner we have a plan, the better.”

“It can wait until we’ve slept,” Alex decides, voice crisp. “We won’t come up with anything good while we’re fried.”

Tony blinks, then scowls. “Thanos could be here as soon as this coming morning.”

“Then we’ll be doubly fucked if we’ve stayed up all night trying to scrape together a plan,” Alex replies, unmoved. She crosses her arms when Tony glares at her. “The younger and less experienced of us need rest if this is going to work.”

“I’m with the lady,” Quill pipes up, brushing past Tony. He gives Stark a smile that, if you had to wager, is supposed to be charming but just comes off as arrogant. “I think you’ll find that we… don’t really roll with plans. It’s not our style.”

Alex stares at Quill for a moment, expression vastly unimpressed. She sighs, blinks slowly, shakes her head, then turns on her heel and strides back to the room she’s been sharing with Nick. “Absolutely not. I’m going back to bed.”

As if waiting for a cue, everyone else disperses, muttering about being tired and “needing an IV drip of espresso.”

You shuffle off with Piotr, hand in hand, shivering slightly from nerves. Please just let this go well.

***

“Both the Chitauri and the Klyntaar forces number into the tens of thousands. The Chitauri have sentient airships capable of carrying infantry forces while wreaking their own havoc, in addition to chariots that can carry up to five marksmen at a time. He also has tanks the size of this building that can demolish anything in their path.”

Everyone is gathered in one of the main work rooms. A majority of the people present hang back at the fringes, content to watch while Tony, Captain Rogers, King T’Challa, Alexandra, your uncle, Thor, Quill, and Natasha hash out a strategy.

“He’s trying to overwhelm us with sheer numbers,” Steve says in response to Gamora’s information.

“It might work,” Natasha murmurs, gaze focused on the worktable in front of her. “We don’t have near enough firepower to chip away at that many grunts.”

“Not if we play our cards right,” Alex says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“There’s also our siblings,” Gamora adds with a pained grimace.

Off to the side, Nebula scoffs. “They’re hardly family.”

“Thanos collected beings throughout the galaxy to serve him,” Gamora explains. “To act as his eyes and ears and eliminate his foes. Aside from Nebula and I, he has four other ‘children.’ They’ll be acting as his generals and commanders in the fight –and helping him track down and capture the final infinity stones.”

Tension ripples through the room.

“What do we know about these Infinity Stones?” Alex asks after a moment of fraught silence.

“The stones were originally created by the Celestials,” Loki pipes up from where he’s leaning against a wall. “Their magical properties are tied to aspects of the universe –time, space, reality, and so on. Only beings of immense power can wield them without severe consequences.”

“Thanos has the gauntlet that accompanies the stones,” Thor adds. “With it, once he assembles all six stones, he’ll be able to use them simultaneously.”

“He wants to wipe out half of all life on Earth,” Gamora says, voice wavering slightly. “That’s been his single goal ever since I’ve known him.”

“All men want to be gods,” your uncle jokes half-heartedly.

“Can the stones be broken?” Alex asks.

Loki chuckles, incredulous. “These are magical tools created by the most powerful beings ever known to the galaxy… and you want to break them?”

She shrugs. “Best not to overlook the simplest solution.”

“I’m taking that as a ‘no,’” Steve interjects. “So, if we can’t destroy them, how do we fight them?”

“The only thing powerful enough to combat the effects of the Infinity Stones are the Infinity Stones,” Loki answers.

“And we only have two,” Natasha surmises, expression drawn and grim.

“Three.”

Everyone looks up and turns when Illyana speaks.

She smirks, tilting her chin up when Natasha meets her gaze. “We have three Infinity Stones.”

“Vision has the mind stone, and Dr. Strange has the time stone,” Kronos argues, shaking his head. “The soul stone is still missing.”

Illyana’s smirk broadens. She lifts her hand, curling it as if she was holding something.

A sword materializes in her hand –and in the center of the sword, small but unmistakable, is a glowing orange gem.

Your uncle’s eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

“Three,” Illyana repeats, looking supremely confident and self-satisfied. “Unless there is elusive seventh stone?”

Loki smiles ruefully, shaking his head. “The Goddess of Limbo pulls through. Well done.”

“Okay, but Vision’s stone is in his head and Strange has his stone in a necklace around his neck,” Tony interjects, gesturing to each person in turn.

“Amulet,” Dr. Strange mutters under his breath.

“Your stone disappears if you’re not holding it,” Tony continues, pointing to the sword as Illyana dematerializes it once more. “What’s stopping Thanos from finding it and taking it?”

“I am only person who can use Soul Sword,” Illyana says, arching her eyebrows. “It is bound to me until the next in my line is ready to take my place.”

“My family has been bound to Limbo’s magicks for generations,” Nikolai clarifies when Tony starts sputtering. “Illyana is the keeper of the sword, which means only she can call upon it. Thanos would need our blood to have access to it.”

Tony grimaces. “Still risky.”

“Better than nothing,” your uncle fires back.

“We have a shot of taking down Thanos with the other three Infinity Stones in our camp,” Steve says, planting his hands against the worktable's surface. “Without them, we’re as good as sunk.”

“Well then,” Alex says, smirking. “Let’s make sure we don’t waste our opportunity.”

***

“For the love of god, stop talking.”

“I’m just saying,” Quill starts, spreading his hands in a defensive gesture.

“You’re not saying shit!” Alex snaps, lifting her head from her hands to glare at him. “You’re just wasting our time!”

Once the planning started, a large portion of the crowd dispersed to help wrap up the last of the weapons modification. The leaders from each faction stayed behind –Tony, T’Challa, Steve, Natasha, Thor, Peter Quill, Xavier, your uncle, Alexandra, and Erik—to plan, along with Gamora, Nebula, and Loki so they could offer up information on Thanos, his forces, and the Infinity Stones.

You’d also hung back, since you didn’t have the skills necessary to do the weapons modification. If all I can do is sit around like a nervous lump, may as well do it where I won’t be in the way.

“This plan just isn’t our style,” Quill argues, either immune or completely ignorant to the exasperated sighs and death glares the others are giving him. “We like to take things looser, add a little pizazz.”

“How many times did your parents drop you as a baby?” your uncle asks, staring Quill down. “No, I’m serious,” he adds when Quill glares back at him and opens his mouth to argue. “I’m genuinely at a loss for how you can be this fucking dense.”

“We’re up against overwhelming numbers and powers no one here has ever seen, let alone fought against,” Natasha adds. “We need to allocate our resources carefully if we want even a chance at victory. The three wave strategy is our best chance.”

“Okay,” Quill says, pressing his hands together. “I think we just all need to relax—”

“You’ll be pretty fucking relaxed when I gut you,” Alex grumbles as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Look, the way I see it, Thanos can’t take us all at once!” Quill reasons. “If we hit him with everything we have—”

“We have to survive his armies, too,” Tony adds, words clipped. “Or there won’t be any of us for Thanos to be hit by.”

“No.” Alex glares at Quill when he keeps trying to argue, startling him into silence. “Look at them.” She points at Gamora and Nebula. “These are your friends, da? Your teammates and companions, da? This is their abuser we’re facing. If we lose, what do you think happens to them? Do you think someone that wants to destroy half of all life will have mercy for them? Hm? If you care about them, you pick the plan that has the best shot of ensuring their safety. Got it?”

Quill swallows reflexively. He stares down at the holographic display of the future battlefield, jaw working. He exhales through his nose, slow and stuttered, then nods. “Alright. We… we do the three wave strategy.”

“So glad we can agree,” Alex says, turning her attention back to the battlefield schematic. “Now, we were discussing where to put our snipers…”

***

“—I need both their arms. Trust me, it’s the only way this is gonna work.”

“Look, I’m normally all for a little dismemberment, but I don’t think forming our own amputee league is gonna net us a win here.”

You shake your head as Wade banters back and forth with the talking racoon –whose name is Rocket, apparently—then look over at Nathan. “How long have they been at this?”

“Going on three hours now,” Nate replies. A soft, endeared smile flits across his face when he looks at Wade, but his expression sobers when he resumes his soldering job. “How’s the final plan looking?”

“Everyone but Quill was leaning towards a three-wave tactic.”

Nathan grunts. “Yeah, he seems like a jackass.”

“Alex threatened to gut him.”

“Hey!” Wade shouts, sounding genuinely wounded. “No disemboweling without me!”

“Quill wanted to do an ‘all for one’ attack directly on Thanos.” You sit down next to your dad, studying his face while he works. “You’ve actually fought against these people before. Do… do you think dividing our forces up will actually work?”

“The issue is the land and air forces,” Nathan says, shaking his head. He attaches a power unit to the base of a rifle, then starts welding the compartment shut. “This time doesn’t have the necessary shielding to repel the Chitauri and Klyntaar forces for that long. We’ll have to fight the grunts; holding some of our people back to make sure we have someone to take on Thanos is our best bet.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean we’ll win, though,” you point out.

He offers you a melancholy half-smile. “That’s war, kid.”

Your heart sinks further. “Do we even have a chance?”

“Statistics says we do,” Nathan says he strips a piece of wire before threading it into the gun.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Nathan sighs. He looks at you for a long moment, then says, “I think we have the best shot possible with what we have right here, right now.”

You gulp, then nod. It’s still not technically an answer to your question –let alone a positive one—but…

You’ve learned that, sometimes, it better not to dig at these sorts of questions at all.

***

“We’re dividing our forces into thirds.”

You’re all crammed into the rec room post dinner. In the center of the room, by the counter, Tony, Steve, Natasha, and Alex are addressing the crowd in turns.

“The first wave will consist of high stamina fighters and snipers,” Steve says. “There’s a shield system that extends several hundred kilometers around the lab’s perimeter. Wakandan soldiers will join the line of snipers who will pick off any of Thanos’s forces that make it through the shields.”

“We’ll also have any fighters with enhanced stamina on standby, in case there’s a larger breach,” Alex adds. “Their job will be to protect the sniper line from being overrun by the enemy forces.”

“The second wave will be air support,” Tony continues. “Myself, Rhodey, Wilson, and any flying mutants will head out when the Chitauri airships come in. Princess Shuri has a fleet of attack drones at the ready, which can be manned from headquarters in the lab. HQ will have a complete look at the battlefield; all intel will be coming from them during the fight.”

“Third wave is everyone else, save for Illyana, Dr. Strange, and Vision,” Natasha says. “We’ll join the fray when the second wave of Thanos’s forces arrive. The final three” –she nods to Illyana, Dr. Strange, and Vision in turn—“will wait in central headquarters until Thanos arrives, to prevent early capture of the remaining Infinity Stones.”

“In the meantime,” Tony says, “we’re going overtime on modifying rifles to be sonic weapons. They’re more effective against the Klyntar forces than regular firearms. All hands on deck. If you can’t solder, you can run supplies back and forth and help perform diagnostic tests at the firing range. Clear?”

Everyone nods, then breaks off to start working on constructing and testing more “awesome guns.”

You slid your fingers between Piotr’s. Your heart’s in your throat, racing a mile a minute. Your mouth feels dry.

If you were the religious type, you’d start praying. As it is, you make a plea with the universe on the off chance it decides to listen to you –for once.

Please. Please just let this work.

***

“So… about the three-wave plan—”

Tony slams down the compartment piece he’d been working on against the table. He glares at Quill, face strained with barely constrained rage and impatience. “What the fuck is your deal?”

“It’s just not sitting well with me,” Quill continues, leaning against the table. “I’m more of a ‘solo moment’ style person. More of a lone wolf.”

You gape at him. “You… you work with a team of five!”

“I just think that there needs to be a more focused confrontation with Thanos. Y’know, for someone to challenge him, man to man—”

“Some get this idiot out of my face,” Tony snaps, looking around for anyone that might be willing to assist –or, at the very least, drag Quill out of the room by his jacket collar.

“You’re not listening to me!”

“You’re wasting my time!”

“Why does every problem come back to you?” Alex stalks into the work room, eyes glowing a dull shade of copper as irritation takes hold in her. She strides over to Quill, looking like a menace in black leather and Kevlar. “How much more of a nuisance can you possibly make yourself?”

“I’m just pointing out some flaws in the strategy!” Quill argues, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m being the devil’s advocate!”

“You’re pointing out dick,” Agent Barton, alias Hawkeye, points out from the side (where he’s modifying some of his arrows to release sonic pulses).

“Look,” Quill presses on, ignoring Clint’s comment. “We need to make sure this thing is airtight—”

“We don’t have time for ‘airtight,’” Nathan growls, cybernetic eye flaring. “The goal is to survive, not to create perfection.”

“I really just think—”

Alex scowls –and then her hand snaps out and closes around Quill’s neck. She slams him against the edge of the table, sneering down at him while he coughs and claws –futilely—against her iron grip. “You’re past the point of being a nuisance. You’re a fucking liability.”

Quill wheezes, face slowly turning red.

“If I was paid every time a man like you told me how to do my job…” Her voice trails off, and she lets out a sardonic chuckle. “Let me make something clear to you, Peter Quill.” Her hand tightens around his neck, which makes some ominous creaking noises as she presses against layers of tissue, cartilage, and bone. “I am not about to have an asshole like you risk the lives of my children, the people who are putting their own lives on the line to protect the world, or the future of the damn universe. If you’re going to keep being a jackass about this…” She smirks. “I’ll kill you. I’ll do it right here, right now. I am not going to have a hazard like you on my team or on that battlefield.” She grins nastily, leaning in closer as Quill’s eyes bug out. “Best thing is, no one really knows you’re here. No tracks to cover, no family to pay off, no authorities to worry about. You’d be an unfortunate casualty in war. No one would fucking miss you.”

A chill runs down your spine. You gulp, stomach twisting as you look from Alex, to Quill, to Alex again. Is anyone going to stop her...

“I really don’t know how to make this any fucking clearer, but since you’ve proven to be thick-headed, I’ll summarize: you stray from the plan in any way, and you’re dead. Got it?”

Quill nods hastily. He gasps when Alex releases him, collapsing to the floor. He hacks and coughs, one hand rubbing at his throat while his skin slowly fades away from an angry magenta color.

“So glad we understand one another.” Alex smirks, then turns on her heel and strides out of the work room like nothing even happened.

You purse your lips, trembling while everyone goes back to work like nothing even happened. You try to focus on sorting pieces into containers for the fabricators to grab from, but with your shaking hands it’s near impossible. You duck your head, gritting your teeth together as your stomach churns angrily. I just want this all to be over.

***

The call comes in a couple hours later.

“We’ve got temporal disturbances outside the shield perimeter,” Kronos shouts while alarms blare overhead. “Thanos’s forces have arrived and are attempting to break through to our location.”

Your stomach drops as everyone starts scrambling. You grab your flight jacket and goggles, throwing them on haphazardly. You start running towards the hangar –then stop and switch directions. “Piotr!”

He pauses when he hears your voice, turning and catching you as you leap into his arms. He kisses you briefly –desperately—then pulls back and cups your face in his hands. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You give him a quick hug, then pull away and start sprinting towards the hanger where the rest of the air support is gathering. Tears sting your eyes, but you wipe them away and force down your fear and preemptive grief. Focus. You have to focus.

It’s time.

[ri-ahhh]

good taste

Grayson puts his money where his mouth is — or maybe the other way around — after their last encounter; pt 2 to good vibes

warnings: smut, pretty much unedited sorry

***

“Are you asking me to eat you out? Because that sounds like a challenge you know I can’t refuse...”

“Maybe when I find out what your mouth can do, I’ll consider you competition for the vibrator. You need to be knocked down a peg or two, Dolan.”

It’s been three weeks since the incident on your couch between you and Grayson. Three weeks of things almost being normal, maybe with some added flairs.

Like the one day when he came over right after you had finished your Pilates workout; instead of throwing the shirt on you had discarded in the first ten minutes of the video to answer the door, you had decided opening it wearing only some tiny Nike pro shorts and a matching sports bra was perfectly acceptable. His eyes lingered knowingly, his signature smirk that oozed confidence — and subsequently made you ooze in your panties — playing at his lips.

Or that one night where all of your friends gathered at the twins’ house to have a good old movie night. You and Grayson somehow ended up together on the loveseat section of the giant cloud couch, and he convinced you to sit on the elongated cushion between his bent knees so he could try and braid your hair. It felt nice, and you didn’t really care your hair was in knots by the time his fingers started scratching up and down your back to lull you even further into bliss. You ended up reclined against his chest, slouched down with a blanket thrown over both of your legs and a giant bowl of popcorn plopped in your lap that he would reach over your shoulder to dig his hand into and playfully shove a handful of kernels into your mouth.

You remember ethan eyeing the two of you peculiarly from the opposite end of the couch, but you ignore him, because he undoubtedly knows what happened between you and his brother. You can admit that the scene of that night was more domestic and comfortable than what one would expect from two close friends who had just hooked up, but you can’t be bothered to care what other people might think about what’s going on between you and Grayson.

And then there was earlier today at the beach, where you both simply couldn’t take your eyes off each other, especially under the inconspicuous camouflage of dark sunglasses. But in a moment where you caught him with said glasses perched on his head, blatantly admiring the tiny black triangle covering you between your legs while you tan, you felt bold and confident enough to call him out on it.

“You know, you’re being a lil pervy.”

“Says the girl who’s been eye fucking me all day.”

You blushed. “Shut up.”

Grayson grinned and crawled from his towel to your own, stretching out next to you with his head propped up on his elbow. His fingers reached over and toyed with one of the ties on your bikini bottom teasingly; you bit your lip and trailed your hand up his tanned arm until you were squeezing that massive bicep appreciatively.

“It’s hard, knowing what’s underneath there now,” he said quietly, fingertips trailing then across the top of your bikini, along your lower belly.

You smiled. “It’s hard or it’s hard?”

Grayson threw his head back with his loud, signature laugh, then groaned and rolled onto his back next to you. “Both, baby. Both.”

Now, later that night, you’re at the boys’ house again, chilling on the couch watching old episodes of Parks and Rec that you’ve seen a million times already. You feel nice and relaxed, your body tired from being in sun and saltwater all day, but your mind content with how good of a day it had been.

Ethan and Kristina have already gone to bed, and Gray is in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner. You should be in there helping him, but you tell yourself you’re too comfy to get up right now.

And maybe you’re still a little on edge — vibrating, if you will — from the unresolved energy of your and Grayson’s moment on the beach.

The light shuts off behind you, and you hear his heavy footsteps make their way towards the living room.

“You look comfy,” he remarks with a grin, plopping down on the couch right next to your feet. He lifts them up and shifts over so they’re resting in his lap.

“I mean, it is a big comfy couch.”

Grayson sighs and drops his head to the back of the couch, pressing his thumb into the sole of your socked foot. “You look really pretty right now, too.”

Your heart stutters a bit, completely caught off guard. It’s a chaste and surprisingly sincere statement given the romanticism between you two so far has been purely sexual.

You should say ‘thank you’ — that’s all you have to say. But you’re an idiot, and your brain short circuits, and your first instinct is to deflect. “I’m pretty sure my nose got burned. And not in a cute way.”

“It is cute.”

You deadpan him. “And I can feel my hair frizzing by the minute because you don’t have conditioner.”

“Adorable.”

“You’re impossible.”

Grayson pretends to be offended, but the facade is broken by the smile he can’t hold back. “I’m just being honest!”

You shake your head, the corners of your lips twitching. “If you were being honest, you’d admit you’re just saying that cuz you wanna see me cum again.”

He shrugs. “Two things can be true at once, sweetheart.” His big hand starts dragging up your bare shin, and your eyes follow his touch. “I can think you’re absolutely stunning with a sunburn and smelling like my shampoo, and want to see you cum.”

He pauses, and you’re silent, until you look up at him with your lower lip caught between your teeth to find him already staring at you. The heat in his gaze makes your pussy flutter, and your eyes almost threaten to shut at the feeling... especially with his next confession.

“I want to make you cum. Me.”

A tinkling, disbelieving giggle escapes you before you can stop it. He’s unreal. “Still think you can outdo my vibrator, huh?”

Grayson winks at you — you hate how much the simple, cocky little action turns you on so much instantly. “I’ll never know until I try.”

He’s right. Desire clouds your rational reasoning, and you’re also justifiably curious. And horny. And maybe your heart is warming to him more than it should.

“Okay.” Grayson looks surprised for a fleeting second, then he’s grinning and starting to crawl over your body, but you stop him by placing the foot he had just released from his hand on his shoulder firmly. “In your room. No interruptions.”

His eyes darken, and he nods in agreement. He doesn’t get up right away, though; he watches your face intently as his hand continues it’s way up your leg, making circles on the sensitive inside of your knee. You don’t know what your expression says, but it must convey your approval, because his fingers go higher until the tips of them light upon your covered center.

The barely-there touch makes you gasp, and before you can stop yourself, your hips are hiking upwards to make the contact more direct.

As expected, Grayson smirks smugly. “You want more?”

You nod, and gasp again when he bypasses your shorts altogether now in favor of slipping his hand into your panties. You both let out tiny little groans when he touches your wet folds, his middle finger trailing up and down your slit to test out the moisture leaking from you.

“There’s one question answered,” he says lowly, grinning when he finds your clit and starts rubbing slow circles into it with the pad of his finger. “I can get you wet no problem.”

“Mmm,” you can’t help but moan, both at his touch and his words, despite the ones you speak yourself. “Stop — stop being such a... such a douchebag.”

Grayson just chuckles lowly, because he somehow knows you love it. You indulge in his touch for a few more seconds, before reach a hand down quickly to grasp his bracelet-clad wrist. “Your room, now.”

He doesn’t need telling twice. Grayson plants his feet on the ground and pulls you to stand with him, leading you by the hand down the hall to his bedroom.

You flop back on the bed and scoot up to rest your head on the pillows as you watch him lock the door before joining you in the cloud of white sheets and blankets.

He crawls to you, stopping on his knees in front of you and batting your hands away from where they’ve just gripped the waistband of your shorts to tug them down.

“I didn’t get to do it last time,” he explains roughly, his demeanor changed some now that he’s so close to getting what he wants. He’s less cool, calm, and collected and more hurried and desperate. “I wanna do it now.”

You can only lift your hips in response, nodding once he’s tossed them to the side and takes hold of your panties now. When those are gone, he groans louder than before and settles on his belly as he pushes your thighs open wider to both get a better look, and to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he exhales harshly, breathing in deeply in the next moment to take in the heady smell of your arousal.

He looks up at you with dark hazel eyes, and you bite your lip nervously as you wait for him to make another move.

You don’t have to wait long at all, because not even a second later he’s sucking two fingertips into his mouth, then placing them directly on your clit to pick up where he left off just a minute ago.

“You have a pretty pussy,” he says, like it’s a normal compliment to give. You flush anyways, unsure of what to say to that.

“Are you implying there are ugly pussies?”

He shrugs. “Some are just nicer to look at. And yours is just... wow.”

You blush harder, moaning when he presses a little firmer into your clit. “Thank you.”

Grayson smiles up at you. He moves away from your clit, exploring the rest of your pussy with a genuine curiosity and hunger on his face that makes you clench with every little touch and glance he gives it.

“Yeah,” he sighs, trailing the fleshy outside lightly. “Smooth.” His fingers part your lips. “Pink.” Hisnother hand squeezes one of your thighs, pushing it back and out a bit so you’re more open, allowing his middle fingertip to brush over your hole. “Fuck. And so wet.”

“Grayson, please,” you whimper, reaching out to brush your hand against his cheek and coax him to your pussy, unable to wait for him to get his mouth on you any longer.

He’s just as impatient, because he’s already halfway there by the time your hand makes contact with his stubble. You’re crying out with his rough moan at the first swipe of his tongue up your slit, your hand instantly sliding up to find purchase in his hair.

“Fuck,” he growls, pulling back to stare hard at your pussy as he spreads around the fresh rush of srousal that had just graced his tongue with his fingers once again. He dives back in, delving his tongue deep inside you before dragging it all the way up to your clit. He circles it, flicks it, suckles it a few times. “Oh fuck.”

There’s no gentleness, no sweetness, no innocent exploration in how Grayson eats your pussy for the first time — very unlike any other guy you’ve been with when they did it initially. There was always some level of hesitance or fear that they were doing something wrong, or trying too hard to figure out what you liked.

Not Grayson. Like most other aspects of his life, he’s fully confident in his abilities, and seems to just be enjoying the experience of eating you out with a voracity you’ve never been on the receiving end of before. It’s infectious, makes you want him that much more, makes you throw a leg over his shoulder and press your heel into his back while you drag him closer by the hair.

Happy to have his face completely buried in you, Grayson moans, really moans, into your center. He sucks on your clit, relishing in the curses and whines it elicits from you. He looks up at you through hooded kids while he sneaks his hands under the oversized hoodie you’re still wearing — he must feel the throb of your clit against his mouth when you simultaneously meet his eyes and he squeezes your breasts firmly, because he grins into your pussy.

“You taste so good,” he hums, more of a whisper than anything else, but with enough vibrations to make you shudder.

You cover one of his hands with your own squeezing harder and grinding into his mouth with steady, insistent thrusts against him. “Please!”

Grayson likes that. He sighs again and pinched your nipples before making sure you keep your hand there as he brings his down to wrap around your thighs. He shakes his head deeper into your folds, dipping down just enough so his lips are exploring every crevice of your pussy and leaving his nose to brush against your clit teasingly every now and then.

The noises of his mouth are almost too much. Loud and sloppy and wet as he quite literally slurps you down with every lick, suck and swallow, spitting back onto your swollen pussy a mixture of your cum and his saliva.

When he suctions his lips around your clit again and starts making those quick flicks of his tongue over it, too, you just about lose it. Your mind is in another dimension, so far gone you barely register you’re giggling because it feels so good.

“Oh my god! Holy shit!”

You’re writhing against him, unsure if you’re trying to escape or get even closer. Grayson looks up and watches your face contort and fall apart because of him, and he can’t stop grinding his own hips into the mattress for some form of relief. He’s always enjoyed this to some extent, but he can’t believe just how close he is to getting off without so much as a touch from either you or his own hand.

He grunts and moves his hands to lay firmly across your tummy, holding you down so he can get you there exactly how he wants.

And he does get you there, the pitch of your moans getting higher and higher until you’re forced into silence by the overwhelming pleasure that explodes inside of you. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, even clenched around his head, your fists gripping wads of the sheets as you gasp out his name like a stream of consciousness.

Grayson pries your legs from around his ears and brings you down with gentle licks and touches to your skin — over your legs, your abdomen, even clutching your hand in his to help anchor you some.

It’s that strange bit of intimacy that helps ground you the most, and you’re barely coherent by the time he sits up and shifts onto his knees. You open your eyes, taking in the huge bulge in his shorts and reaching out to it without even thinking.

He mumbles your name, but you’re on a mission; even in your post-nut haze you reason it’s the least you can do after that... orgasm is too bland of a word. You want him to feel even an ounce of the pleasure he just gave you.

You fish his dick out easily, and it’s definitely not the best handjob you’ve ever given by any means, but he doesn’t seem to need much, anyways. He moves closer to you, taking your hand off him long enough to lubricate it in the slick coating your pussy. He puts you hand back on his dick for you and holds up his shirt while you work him over, until he’s grunting and moaning out, “I’m gonna cum...”

There isn’t a less messy option, but you wouldn’t mind even if there were, so you stick your tongue out and jack him off into your mouth. Grayson grips the back of your mussed hair to keep you there, groaning harshly with each spurt of his cum that lands on your proffered tongue.

You stare up at him as you squeeze out the last of what he has to give, lick your lips to catch any stray drops, then you collapse together back into the pillows. Both of your chests heave, and you stare at the ceiling together as reality starts to set in of what the two of you just did.

Like the last time, it doesn’t feel wrong. But you’re not ready to face the changes it means just yet. For now, you’re happy to snuggle into his side, and pretend things are even a little normal. Whatever that means, anyways.

“So. Was it good?”

You hum and chuckle. Your body is so heavy now, you can’t even move your head to look at him. But there’s the normalcy you wanted — Grayson looking for praise of his obvious talents.

You decide to not even try and tease him. Or bullshit him, because how could you? You think back with a clearer head to how you writhed and moaned for him, blushing at how easily he made you lose control of your inhibitions.

“Yeah, Gray, it was good. Really good.”

“Better than the vibrator?”

You yawn and smack his chest weakly. “All I’ll say is, as long as you’re around to do that, she won’t be seeing the outside of my underwear drawer.”

“Good.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “I will be. Around to do that, I mean. I loved tasting you.”

If you had any capacity to be turned on again, that might have done it, but for now it just makes your chest warm. He’s also making you think too much again.

“Can I sleep here? I can’t move.”

Whether he understands your inability to reply or not, he chuckles and kisses the top of your head. “Of course.”

You sigh gratefully. “Night, Gray.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Heaven in Hiding

Hello everyone, it's @sasageyowrites 's birthday today and this fic in my queue is dedicated to her and only her. This is my gift to you sweetheart, sweet 17 I love you dearly. On another note I used some line breakers here because I wanted to see how they worked don't mind me I might remove them later on

Pairing: Dabi/reader

Summary: Dabi finds himself unable to get out of your shadow and in despairate need to provide for your and your daughter's safety you confront him, forbidding him of ever being able to lay his eyes on you or your baby

Warnings: Stalking I guess, I mean typical Dabi stuff you know..

Dabi wasn’t a stalker. At least that was what he tried to tell himself in any case he’d come to believe that very statement.

The wind was chilling, blowing his hair anywhere on his face, much like the endless amount of tree leaves that swayed everywhere around him. He glanced around, noticing the first specs of snow had already started to fall down following the sudden harsh blow of air. 

He huddled inside the neckline of his black hoodie, his face mask shifting obnoxiously over the metal staples that held the skin of his cheeks together. His black windbreaker jacket did almost nothing to cover him from the excessive cold wind that blew; not that he was any close to freezing -it was more of the opposite- but he’d always feel that tingling sensation of the frozen metal bars on his burned skin. They scorched on his burn even further that he could ever want to admit, but by now he was used to the pain. 

Most of the trees around him were stripped off of their leaves, their thin boles put to display for him and any bystander. The clouds were covering most of the sky, only a few tiny specks of baby blue peaked form underneath them, yet they were quickly vanishing under the mellow snowy clouds. In that moment Dabi knew, the enormous sunglasses he wore to hide his undereyes only made him look more suspsicious.

Not that he didn’t look like a fly in a full glass of milk to begin with.

The glass doors before him opened automatically, the red motion monitor beeping in his eyes as the sound of a bell rang once he entered the convinience store. The medium height stalls laid neatly before him, the colors of the numerous products almost catching his attention. He shook his head as if wanting to come to his senses, his attention span traveling back to his person of interest, the person he followed all the way to this store.

Glancing around the store, his eyes quickly met with the security camera view screen. Teal orbs paced maniacally, traveling back and forth between the numerous small windows until they were met with what they were looking for. His feet marched before he could even think, mechanically even, pacing quickly towards the direction he had instantly memorised, much to his demise.

He had to stop himself from grunting just before his body movements came to an halt. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket he sank his face deeper into his hoodie, standing before the glass covered fridge isle, his eyes seemingly fixated on the multiple cartons of milk that lead before him.

When your hand went for the matte metallic handle of said door Dabi found himself mimicking your action, putting his best effort into trying not to raise any suspision. You didnt seem to pay him any mind; as your hand extended further you hesitantely grabbed onto a powder blue carton, carefully placing it into the wheeled basket that was standing down before you.

You probably didn’t care about anyone around you; Dabi figured out that much while noticing you hadn’t even threw a glance in his direction over all the time the had been watching you. Secretly he restented just how much you minded your own business, it came to the point you were naively ignoring your surroundings completely. He knew exactly what you were thinking about; no one cared to bother with a random bypasser like you, but at least he hoped that after your time with him you’d come to understand the way criminal minds worked.

He chuckled to himself as he thought about giving you the least some credit. This was a nice neighborhood, a very well lit part of the town, accentuated in beautiful cherry blossoms that bloomed in spring, filled with numerous families as well as residents of a few of the top ten heroes. This place seemed to be inaccessible to murderous, bloodlusty villains such as himself.

At first it had seemed unreal that you were alive, free of any mark. He had thought he'd gotten the wrong person, still stuck over the fact that he couldn't do much to save you, one of the few people he had cared about in this world, but he was soon convinced, as he witnessed your meeting with Midnight, that this was in fact you, alive and well.

Yet, here he was. Following you around for God knows how many days now, obsessed with the fact that it was you that lived a careless life before his very eyes. For the most part he had tried to deny it, to convince himself that he had gotten completely insane and delusional. And he had wanted for that assumption to be correct. Because he had, or rather, he had thought he had, watched you die a horrible death, engulfed in acid, screaming in agony as it burned through your skin and bones.

And as if that wasn't an earth shattering shocker, it had to be that you were always seeming to be carrying a child with you.

Dabi wasn't dense and he wasn't lucky either. The child was around a year or so, he had figured, adorned with a set of tealy baby blues and (h/c) hair, save for her front bangs and the hair above her ears and nape. As much as he'd like them to be any other color -because, truly, such fact could actually justify the disgusting and full of jealousy throbbing in his heart every time he laid his eyes on the two of you- they shone a bright fiery red.

(H/c) bangs curtained your face as you bowed your head down, giggling as you brought your forehead to bump into a smaller one. Dabi watched as your eyes creased and squinted as a big beam was plastered on your face, your nose coming to bump on the baby’s button one. He almost smiled, sincerely even, at the interaction, though a pinch inside his chest prevented him from doing so. He couldn’t help but stop and stare, unsure of whether he looked dumpfounded or not.

“We got your milk Saku, yay!” you cheered, receiving a small squeal in response from the infant.

His fingers idled with the carton that fell under his hand, a small pink and brown carton, marked with the enormous words of any irrelevant label. His eyes fixated on it, quivering as ever, his thoughts mocking him as to whether he could try and dare to take another glance in your direction. His gut though churned, burning his insides in what seemed like an endless torturous bloodlust. Taken aback, his gut chirped, his throat seemingly forming a loop, preventing him from being able to take another breath. And.if he were to be honest, in the moment he needed one.

The anxiety rushing through his veins worked its wonders on him, raging dangerously towards his face, burning everything in its way. That disgusting antic was back, the obnoxious nervous smile he couldn’t rid himself off formed on his face under his mask. He wanted to slap himself it, yet it was hard to do so before you, it could potentially blow his cover and cause a scene that he didn’t want to in the store. As much as he loved causing mayhem, this wasn’t the time for it.

As the baby chirped, fidgeting her small open fists through your hair, he came to officially convince himself on his involvement with her. Blue springles emitted from the tips of her fingers and immediatelly the discomforting odor of burnt hair filled the air. And damn, did Dabi hate that smell.

“Baby, don’t burn mommy’s hair.” you smiled, stealing a glance in Dabi’s direction as you spoke, taking him aback by the sudden action.

Why was his heart speeding up in such demonic pace though? You probably didn’t even do so on purpose. Thinking that you were actually aware of his presence around you shouldn't be as unsettling as it seemed in the moment, in the end you were bound to notice the black clothed figure following you everywhere like a second shadow, weren’t you? Did he really think you were that stupid?

Sighing to himself he turned on his feet, proceeding to walk in the opposite direction of the one which you walked towards. He couldn’t stand being in this store anymore, his blood boiled at the thought of what he was actually doing. It was safe to say that he really did despised what he had turned into, but there was no going back. Picking up his feet, he exited the store, the chocolate milk still in his hand, burried in the inside of his sleeve.

Damn, he needed to smoke a cigarette or ten.

Dabi didn't know how many hours he had spent in the park across your apartment building; frankly he had lost all track of time and albeit having witnessed the sun set, he was unable to pinpoint how long ago the phenomenon had take place.

Snow fell down in big white blotches, littering his black windbreaker before it melted down into the fabric, only to pushed back out of its surface in the form of steam. His body was churning, the burnt skin that was held by the staples in certain areas practically oozed in tiny specs of blue cremating fire, the fleece fabric of his hoodie protesting as it ceased to exist. At this point he knew he was going to burn his clothes down if he kept staring at your windows and this wasn't his fireproof villainous attire, nonetheless he didn't feel as if his legs could move according to what his brain commanded. Nor did he feel as if he could control his own self.

When he'd think about pushing a leg forward in order to take leaping step, you'd come to the window he had a good view on and stroll around the room, always accompanied by the silhouette of the infant in your embrace and all Dabi was left with consisted of his ability to hide inside his hood or rather, his inability to get himself out of the situation. He secretly liked the way you hadn't pulled the curtain all the way across the window, whether it was intentionally or not -he didn't care to know of- he just enjoyed that he could get that tiny glimpse of you and Saku -or at least, that was the only thing he'd ever hear you call her.

Dabi wished that it wasn't so quiet, he wished he hadn't been able to hear it, but now that he had, he couldn't help but feel a little swirling bulb of bitter jealousy forming in his lower stomach. Yet was what assuring for a second was terrifying in the next; he'd never seen him around your house, or rather, he'd never seen you and him interact in any way. The only thing he knew was that you probably had many gives and takes with the heroes, a thing that put his mind to work harder than it ever should have been.

For a fragment of a second teal eyes meet with obsidian ones, forrowed straight brows met taller thinner ones. Dabi felt belittled as he stared at the male across the street who seemingly stared right back at him but he held himself back from letting out a surprised whimper as a reaction to recognising the man.

Aizawa Shouta, Eraser Head, was standing underneath the main door of your apartment complex, his fingers lingering with what Dabi had memorized to be your doorbell. The ravenette watched as you perked up, your silhouette passing by the familiar window as you paced and only a few moments later the familiar buzz of your intercom rang through the air.

He was confused. Confused beyond a sane point. Maybe that's why he had decided to stick around. Maybe, as he told himself so, you were just a mystery he wanted to solve.

"Thanks for coming." You smiled as soon as you opened the door, your batting eyes falling into the ravenette's stoic ones.

"Don't bother thanking me," Aizawa raised his palm, closing his eyes as he softly signed you to stop "I saw him, you know."

"He hasn't left that spot in the park for hours actually." You confirmed.

A deep sigh left your chest, your brows furrowing as your face fell in a despairate and miserable expression. The corner of your lip twitched and your jaw quivered as your soft pieces of flesh pressed together, a series of actions that Aizawa didnt fail to notice, yet he idled in his spot, his feet bowing slightly as he proceeded to take his shoes off. Once done, his feet mechanically marched towards you, his hands hesitantly coming to cup the tops of your shoulders.

The anxiety in your stomach leaped, throwing hellish boulders in the walls of your intestines, trying to hurt you enough so that you could come to your senses. But your mind protested on what you had decided on, fighting back with every breath you took. Your heart throbbed inside your chest, begging to spill through your ribs in mushy gashes, your throat was dry was you stared at Aizawa with wide eyes.

"Don't worry. I'm here." He spoke, sternly and before you managed to utter a words, making you squint your eyes shut.

Your hands came to hug around your form, the intense cold from outside finally finding its way inside your apartment and setting you as a target. It was now or never, you thought. The last few months ahead taken an enormous toll on you, Dabi's presence always being in your shadow was driving you insanse, filling you with rage and remorse.

He had no right to come after you and intrude on your personal life, yet you didn't know if you could try and not do the same were you in his place. But perhaps that was just an excuse you were making because you resented yourself for ever being involved in the ways you had with him.

You looked up at Aizawa, the inches that separated you, giving you a good lower view of his face. His heavy eyebags resembled his in a way you couldn't explain, his obsidian eyes that stared into yours with assurance -that was the look of a hero who had come to your rescue- yet you couldn't help but compare it to Dabi's ominus, cold glare, damn even the long messy onyx hair screamed Dabi to you and you hated it.

You hated that you could see him anywhere. Whether it was your imagination, dreams or real life, Dabi was always there, hiding in the shadow in the most prominent, ironic way, mocking you for your past choices, staring at your daughter maniacally with eyes so wide that were raged with manic.

Every night you felt like pulling your hair off your scalp, you felt like clawing your face until you ripped your skin or screaming to the walls until they fell down and came apart; you could feel Dabi's eyes on you on whatever actively you were set to do, even sleeping and in occasional fear of being cremated on your sleep.

This was the time to take action and if anyone could help you not get burnt into ashed that was Aizawa Shouta.

"He probably won't try anything funny with you here Shouta. Sakura is asleep but you can have her relax in your arms if you fear that I'll take long." You said rushing to get your combat boots out of the shelf you had them stored.

"Out of all people, did you really have to have a child with Dabi, (y/n)?" Aizawa playfully remarked, yet you furrowed your eyebrows as his expression failed to match with his tone.

You simply sighed back to him, closing your eyes in embarrassing defeat, your chest was run by a sudden chill, causing your body to absurdly perk up and Aizawa huffed through his nose in determination.

"Maybe you should wear a coat." He suggested.

"It's fine," you spoke back playfully "I actually like being cold.

Your breath formed into fog as you exhaled and you watched it annihilate into thin freezing air, your eyes glimmering under the cold lights of the street lamps, your orbs quivering from the freezing cold. You unwrapped your hands from your form as you felt the cold take over you. It was absurdly refreshing, you thought, and immediately your brain protested over your irrational way of thinking, yet your gut was scorching and at least the snow falling on your hair and nose was providing you with some newfound comfort.

You wanted to pick up your pace, but your frozen legs ignored you, deciding to prolong your misery further, your toes going numb with each step you took closer to Dabi's direction. He didn't even flinch. Not even once. You wondered if you shall take another step towards him, the terror that run through you raged over the theory that Dabi was only trying to catch you off guard before he fried you alive.

Still, you focused your gaze on the small streak of smoke that bled out of his hoodie. Soon the smell of tobacco filled your almost too numb nostrils as the sound of Dabi's snarky breath filled your ears. It was criminally quiet tonight, though this street wasn't normally filled with people, many school kids would chose the park across your apartment to hang out after school or during the late hours of night, but seeing how bad the weather was tonight you could blame anyone for not chosing to freeze themselves to death.

Of course, Dabi and you were two of a kind.

"Care to share a cig with me?" You spoke with determination, managing to let out a small hint of teasing in your voice to mask your fear.

"You actually practiced that line or something?"

Dabi chuckled in your direction although you could listen to the dryness in his tone. His hood covered head didn't turn in your direction just yet but his hand reached for one of his pockets, then leaping into another, taking short anxious movements, perhaps, you though, to throw you off. You were though sure Dabi could practically smell fear and if that was true whatever he was doing, he was doing it to mess with you, you knew how he much loved corruption or how he enjoyed the reek of fear from a few of his victims.

"Don't twitch like that, I'm just looking for my pack."

There it was. Yeah. Of course he was messing with you. Great, he was going to kill you weren't he now?

Dabi shift uncomfortably in his eat on the snow drenched bench, his hip bones clashing with the hard wood beneath him but he pushed through the discomfort he was feeling because now he was facing you.

Your jaws were clashing furiously, the hoodie you were wearing was probably doing nothing to keep you warm and for a moment he seriously thought about removing his windbreaker and tossing it over your shoulders, but he knew you wouldn't accept it, so he set on saving himself from the embarrassment.

Picking a hand out of one pocket he presented you with the small carton that held a couple of cigarettes and you didn't miss a chance on grabbing one, not even giving it a second thought. Looking around, you realised there was no lighter in sight and you sighed as Dabi offered his pointer finger, the digit adorned with a sheer blue coowling crown and naively you bowed down, taking a drag as the fire touched the edge of the cigarette.

You didn't bother thanking him as a constipated expression masked your face, your hands coming to rest under your bust just in case you'd ever get tired of holding your cigarette with your lips.

"Care to sit down?" Dabi remarked and you absurdly turned your head in the opposite direction, taking a drag through the filter, the stinky taste of nicotine filling your tingling on your taste buds.

"No, Dabi. You know why I'm here. I can't deal this anymore."

"You can't deal living without me little mouse?" He snarled, his hands quickly working on replacing the smoked cigarette that hung from his lips with a fresh one.

"Dabi I'm serious." You said, squinting your eyes "This is driving me insane. Did you really think I wouldn't notice you?"

Despite your tone suggesting that your question wasn't rhetorical, Dabi made no effort to even part his mouth to reply.

"Care to tell me what you want from me?"

Silence. Dabi looked at you as if you were speaking in a language he couldn't recognise, as if your words fell deaf to his ears.

"Dabi, I'm not going to beg for my life if that's what you want, and I don't appreciate that you're trying to entertain your psychopathic kinks." You said, voice below your normal pitch, indicating the small hints of fear that came with your intuition.

"Is she mine?"

The question hit you like a truck. Shaking, you couldn't help but feel like a deer blinded by the headlights, your blood running cold in your veins. Could you truthfully answer that without setting yourself and your daughter in danger? Stealing a glimpse of your window you vaguely made out Aizawa's silhouette and your heart warmed at the soothing reassurance that came with the action.

"Would it matter for you to know? What would it change?"

"Wouldn't you want to know if you had a little bastard marching astray?" Dabi monotonously remarked, making your stomach growl with rage.

"Sakura isn't a dirty stray dog, you're in no place to talk about her like that, not when you don't know what I went through for her." You raged, your eyes glowing with anger as you burned holes in Dabi's teal orbs.

So that was the name you had given her- Sakura- a plain overused name with a beautiful meaning, Dabi could atone for the fact that he liked it. Nevertheless, he stared at you, his lips puckered together in a determined manner, his cigarette never leaving the right corner of his mouth.

"Hit a nerve, little mouse?"

"Stop calling me that Dabi." Upon snarling you stomped your foot to the ground.

"How should I call you? I don't think I caught your actual name."

Dabi was bitter and he had every right to be, or so he told himself, he felt enraged to look in your direction, yet so speak to you and to top it all his stupid, idiotic feet were shaking and he didn't feel like he could get up, he could only stand there and stare at you, but this was unlike any other time. This time you were staring right back at him (e/c) orbs burning holes into the back of his brain.

But he wasn't going to give in, despite whatever he felt, he wouldn't give in to how soft he viewed you as, he wasn't going to give in to how your familiar smell filled his nostrils or how his heart set at an orbit of its own due to your eyes in his. Anxiously, he took another drag of his cigarette before taking a look towards your window, making out Eraser Head's silhouette in the dim light.

"I won't try to kill you, by the way, you didn't have to bring your friend over."

Your expression hardened as Dabi mentioned Aizawa, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes immediately fell in his direction once again.

"You don't have to obsess over Shouta as well."

"Ah, already on first name basis? With a man that much older than you and here you are calling me Dabi?" He whined playfully, but still his feet wouldn't move.

"What I do in my life is none of your business, you don't have any right on me because you knocked me up-"

"So she is mine."

If you could, you'd wipe that smug look that was immediately plastered on his face, but you knew better and you hated that you did. You knew that he smiled like that when he was in discomfort, you knew that he couldn't move from the spot he was seated on, you could still see through him and it killed you, it killed you because on one hand you were utterly afraid of what he could do to you and on another you wanted to bring a palm to his face and call him by his name.

"Look Dabi," you sighed in defeat "to answer any of your questions, Sakura is your daughter and I brought Shouta here because I'm afraid you're here to kill us. How am I supposed to know you're not playing dumb with me because you want to kill me?"

Dabi quirked a brow at you, bringing his hand to the top of his hood and pulling it down, his hair tousling in the air. "Can't I just be amazed that you're living a careless life when you're supposed to be dead?"

You averted your eyes from his in shame, your body shivering slightly for a brief moment. "I was supposed to take down small nameless criminals Dabi. I fake my death so I could get out of there with my ass saved."

"I should kill you, you know, I've entrusted you with very significant information about me." Dabi growled, his fingers starting to springle in the tiniest specs of cobalt.

Despite watching them dance before you, your gut felt numb and you could thank the freezing cold for that, but you didn't feel the growling eruption of fearful anxiety grow inside you anymore.

"Well it was your fault that you trusted me enough to tell me your name and purpose, but I won't spill the beans on you. Unless..." You prompted, finally taking a seat next to Dabi, your thigh merely brushing against his own.

"Unless?" He inquired, intrigued as ever.

"Unless you leave us alone, Touya." You whispered the name below the sound of a breath, making sure no one around you could hear, yet Dabi quivered by the sound, his eyes glued on your lips. "The truth is, I don't want you associated with Sakura. How will the world treat her if they find out she's the daughter of a serial killer?"

"I... I just." He hesitated.

"You what? If your villain friends know about her they're going to come after us, being a single mother is fucking me up already, give a girl a fucking break Dabi."

You were dumbfounded by how bold you were getting and you only had yourself to blame, cornering the villain felt dangerous and endearing at the same time, his otherwise dominant behavior had crumbled in only a few tiny seconds and between them you had managed to call the shots and push all the right buttons, corrupting your way into the point you wanted to make.

It was true, during your time working undercover to take down small criminals you had indeed picked up on the way criminal minds worked. And in moments like these you used it to your advantage.

"Can I just see her once?"

His tone took you aback, sending your eyes to spread wide as a surprised expression masked your face. His voice was pleading and small, soft and intruding poking you to spare him with any pity you had in you. Shaking your head, you came to your senses, finally aware of the fact that your thigh was pushed against his.

With a shagged breath you made a move to get up but you were forced into the cold bench once again by Dabi's hand, the sound on shifting filling the air as you growled on your spot.

"You don't get to tell me what to do little mouse." He barked, his digits digging into the skin of your thigh almost painfully. "I want to see my daughter. How come that hobo of a man can see her when I can't."

"Dabi, I just explained why I don't want you around her."

"I have every right don't I?" He asked.

"Actually, you have no right, you're a serial killer Dabi, you shouldn't have any right, the only reason as to why I can't arrest you right now is because all I have are this stupid healing quirk and that I have no license to do anything to you. Now if you go in to my house, Shouta isn't going to go soft on you."

Dabi growled in his seat, his hand leaving your thigh as he maniacally went to light another cigarette, this time the small spec of fire dancing on his quivering finger.

"This is a warning, stop stalking us." You sighed and brought your palms over your knees with a slap before straightening them to stand up.

"Wait-" Dabi said as he watched you take a few steps away from him, his head extending to your direction. "If- if you heal me, will I be able to see her then?"

You didn't dare turn around to face him, instead you hugged your chest, taking in a deep breath as you lowered your head to stare at your shoes. The voice inside your head was hot and sweet and it bowed to your natural instinct as a healer, somewhere deep inside your chest you felt as if that in a way it could work. But even if you took away what made Touya Dabi then would he really ever atone for all his sins? You knew you wouldn't be able to sleep with both eyes closed if he were to be by your side, his ideals weren't just something he could give up just because he would leave his appearance behind.

"Look, Touya, I really like Shouta, please don't ruin this for me." you whispered, your voice raspy but you never managed to turn to him. Whether your statement was a lie or not was up to Dabi to decide.

"No wait."

You didn't respond to his call out. You simply hugged your chest tighter, pressing your breasts with your cubits as you took fast steps towards your apartment complex.

You chose to ignore the fittings that you heard behind you, the commotion he was causing coming second to the way your heartbeat annoyingly pulsed in your ears. When Dabi's palm hazed over you you heaped, your breath cutting short and consequentially being trapped inside your weary lungs.

"I'd never hurt a mother and a child." Dabi gulped, his fingers being moments away from brushing over your clothed skin.

But you didn't care, you simply lowered your shoulder, throwing your collarbone forward in an attempt to escape the upcoming contact of his body with yours. You set your feet to work, rapidly and uncarefuly sliding through the snow as you tried to get away.

And once again all Dabi could do was stop and stare. You didn't care about the churning in his gut, you didn't give a damn about the ashes of his heart either, there was no heaven in hiding for him, just this bitterweet taste of tobacco in the buds of his tongue, and the unbearable stinging in his eyes. All he was left with was his wish to see you and Sakura again.

And maybe he could do that. He just needed to become a silent shadow.

[kuuderekweenfics]

Dabi is Not a Liar

Hello everyone,

This is it. I’ve fallen off the precipice of...what exactly? Sanity? Or, perhaps, lack of shame? Who knows. But this was a fun little piece I wrote about a month ago. I put it up on AO3, but I thought I’d create a Tumblr for future fics since this is a bit more social.

Please keep in mind that I am shaking the dust off my writing and so it may not be the most polished piece of work. Go easy on me. But I hope you enjoy it regardless!

Explicit Warning: non consent or extremely dubious consent.

Fingernails carve into the the filthy brick of the abandoned building nestled by the sea. The pier moaned, it’s cold breath wrapping around your body and reeking sourly of fish and decay. 

Your head hangs low between your hollow arms. How you got yourself into this position is due to several reasons, of course. One, your brain is swollen twofold in your skull, pounding with the weight of lead. Two, shame caresses every part of your body far more thoroughly than the man who currently has you trapped between him and the wall. Three, and most likely the most crucial reason, Dabi, ‘the Cremator’ as he was so often called, has been railing you senseless for the past hour.

You cried yourself dry after about ten minutes. He came quickly the first time, unabashedly getting off on your whimpers and pleas. Where he dug up the stamina to keep his cock hard for another three rounds was a dull ache for your mind, and pussy, to ponder over. 

The strength in your knees escaped long ago. His fingers gripping your bare ass as he currently pounds himself into you, deeper and deeper each time, is the only support you have against gravity. 

He attempts some foreplay occasionally, killing the space between the two of you as he whispers into your ear threats of what is to come and reaches under you to thrash at your clit rough and carelessly. This is, you figured out, more to his benefit than yours; he had to get you more motivated to continue the little game he set for the both of you somehow. You mewl softly when he does, cursing your needy body for betraying your wants.

Because this isn’t what you want. No, no, no. Not even if his thick, veiny cock fills you to the brim and sometimes hits a spot in your core that makes you see stars and silently beg, much to your humiliation, for more.

What you want is to go pro. You just started working for a small agency start up only a week ago. You’ve dedicated to becoming a top ten hero, even if your quirk isn’t the most convenient. But if a guy who’s power was to do laundry could make it to the top, so can you and your absurdly comical gacha quirk. You are able to generate capsules from your hands, ranging anywhere between the size of a tennis ball to a beach ball, but the contents inside are always random. This little inconvenience made your quirk almost entirely useless. Despite it all, you trained hard and got a once in a lifetime opportunity at this agency. Your task today was to survey the pier for any suspicious activity called in by a concerned citizen. You were strictly told not to engage and call for back up as soon as you surveyed something worthwhile. But you immediately ran in, all too confident in your ability at hand-to-hand combat, as if you had something to prove. You crouched behind stacked crates and fumbled through your creations: a teddy bear, a toaster, a tennis racket. Before you could generate another capsule, you heard his whistle behind you. He was crouched, hands lazily in his pockets and looking over your shoulder with a deadpan expression that plainly said you were in over your head. 

But you knew you were quick. The tennis racket sped toward its target only to be crumbled to ash as his hand stopped it an inch from the side of his head. He smiled at you then, not quite reaching his eyes but eerie and menacing all the same. And before you could even fathom throwing the toaster, he pinned your neck to the wall. Your feet kicked helplessly against the brick, unable to find purchase on the floor a inches below. One of your hands pried at his arm while the other reached for his face or his neck or anything you could grab hold of that could cause enough pain to lot weaken his grip. Your breaths came up short, your lungs screamed for a sip of air. 

“It looks like a little mousy lost her way,” he chuckled. “Now whatever am I going to do with you?”

Drool leaked from your mouth as you fought against your restraint and blurred vision. Your mind clawed for consciousness, your body begged for survival. You had come to terms that one day you could potentially meet your end at the hands of a villain, as does any hero in this field of work, but you hadn’t expected it to be so soon. 

You felt the obstruction in your mouth before you saw it. The thumb of his free hand pressed on your dancing tongue, drool pooling where he held it down firm. If the look in his eyes scared you before, now they were wild and carnal and more terrifying. 

He first has his way with you with his hand still around your throat. He let up on his grip and was so gracious enough to let you wrap your legs around him while he impales you without a second thought. 

He grunts. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You are no longer a virgin, but you’re sure you never experienced cock of this size, all the while without some form of foreplay. Granted, he used your drool to lubricate himself before sheathing himself deep in your gummy walls, the friction elicits a gasp of pain while from you as he moans and nips at your neck. Not long after he begins to thrust do you start sobbing, and soon after that he shoots inside of you, his cock twitching to unload what feels like everything he had. You hope it is over then. He would either kill you or leave you there broken physically and mentally. You find out soon enough it is neither.

“I’m gonna fuck you until your voice is gone from screaming my name, little mousy,” He gasps into your shoulder as the twitching finally ebbs and his release oozes down your thigh. “I’m gonna fill you with my cum until I am sure that when I leave you in this shithole, you will have a little part of me with you for the rest of your miserable life.”

And if there is one thing you can call Dabi, among the million curses and names you can conjure, you aren’t sure if you can call him a liar. For true to his word, albeit only partially, he comes into you, hard and relentless, two more times before starting once more. You are absolutely positive this goes against all modern male biology. But you guess, in a world with bizarre quirks, anything is possible.

Halfway through round four, you feels his fingers weave into your hair and, for a moment, you think Dabi just may capable of being passionate. Or, at the very minimum, maybe he thinks more of you than just a bucket for him to shoot his load in. This moment, you find, is fleeting as he yanks your head back and pulls you up until your back lies flat against his chest. He slowly pulls the zipper of your shirt down and grabs your breast callously, pinching your nipple hard until you cry out. 

You can only imagine that he’s grown bored of your silence and complacency because his other hand reaches around until his fingers find your clit, exposed and hungry for some well-deserved stimulation. His fingers rub small circles against it, and you feel nauseated as you let out a moan, your pussy clenching desperately around him in newly kindled desire.

He hisses at your reaction, an obvious stamp of approval and continues flicking your bundle of nerves as he pumps in and out of you. “Say my name.”

Your mind, which, up until this point, had been lost in a sea of fog, finally breaks the surface. And it is pleading with you to not give in. He speeds up, each thrust hitting the right spot and oh no, oh no, it feels so fucking good.

“Say my name, little mouse.”

Your core coils tight with stimulation, the spring on the precipice of release with the pressure of his calloused fingers. The ache you had felt up until then is replaced with an immense pleasure that you haven’t felt in, let’s face it, ever. You stand on your toes to give him a better angle. Your hands searched for something to anchor onto. One mindlessly reaches above to grab onto his hair as he licks you, hot breath warming your already flush neck, the other latches onto your ignored breast.

“Say it.”

You bucked against him, almost there, almost there, so very close....

Until he becomes utterly and completely still. 

“No, no. Please, Dabi! I need it. Fuck me, please Dabi!” You sob. 

And with that, you feel a smirk form against your neck. He pulls out of you and before you can so much as whimper, he shoves you back onto a large crate. He grabs one leg and forces it up and over his shoulder as he penetrates you, holding your waist to keep you steady as he pumps in fast and hard. His hip bumps into your overstimulated clit with each thrusts and it nearly obliterates you. In this new position, his cock kisses your cervix and, if you ever had any semblance of control since being pounded into, it has all but disappeared.

“Dabi! I’m going to...Ah, shit, I’m gonna...”

As you begin convulsing, you hear his name, loud, hot and heavy, escape from your lips. Your release sends him over the edge, and he ruts into you. 

Just as quickly, he slides out of you, places himself back into his pants and walks out with his hands in his pockets without a word before the cum can so much as leak out of you. You lay still and let the world refocus before you get up and go home. You come to realize that he didn’t so much as care if you came or not, and that the fact that you had was a happy coincidence on your part. What he was really aiming for was you to scream his name, just as he said you would. How little regard villains had felt about others left you in awe. Can you really go head to head against him or any other villain again? 

You submit your resignation the next day.

And two months later, as you stand wide-eyed and frozen over the test exposing itself to you on the bathroom sink, you can finally confirm that Dabi is, in no way shape or form, a liar.

[overlyimmersed]

Nightmares and Daydreams

A Gravity Falls AU.

Hi @verysorrytobother​ Stanticore anon, revealing my true identity to share this with you! I wasn’t sure how a post this long would go over as an ask, so I decided to do it this way. I hope this is ok.

I’ve been working on this for a while and I hope it goes over well enough. The artwork took me the most time.

As a car crash victim is slowly dying, her mental self panics in the mindscape. She's offered a deal to save her life. Let the game begin.

(Content warnings: Blood. Descriptions of serious injuries.)

"What..." she whispered to herself, staring at the other in disbelief.

"Yep!" he confirms, in a high-pitched, grating, inappropriately upbeat tone, "Dead as a doornail, kid!- Well technically you still have a few more seconds till you brain totally ceases to function. Better make up your mind while you still have one!"

She's still staring dumbly at him. How can he be this nonchalant about it?! A half second ago she was sitting in the front seat of the family truck, a totally routine trip to the store- she never liked trucks but her dad's a carpenter so they need the hauling space. At least it's a pretty shade of blue- and the next she's here, laying face down in a black void with this prick this- this...All Seeing Eye? He's like the Illuminati symbol, but with arms and legs and a top hat. Caution sign yellow and talking to her- or at her. Bill. Freaking. Cipher. Every time he 'speaks' he flashes with light- no mouth so does it really count as speaking? More like his voice is being projected right into her mind- ... And he's telling her that she freakin died! Can't he see how messed up this is?! Can't he sympathize at all!? Then again, it's Bill. She ought to know better.

She ought to know better. She's seen this show a hundred times, she knows nothing good comes from dealing with Cipher. But she doesn't have time to be careful, she doesn't have the luxury of weighing options.

"Tick-tock, Car Wreck!" The obnoxious voice insists again, forcing her out of her stupor, his outstretched hand now alight with blue fire.

Her face scrunches up in a loud cringe, eyes screwed shut and teeth bared, and she swings her hand till it lands solidly in his. Crazed cackling resounds as the deal is struck, but it falls to simple soundtrack as her senses try to sort out what's going on.

She'd expected the blue fire to burn, or at least feel like something, but it didn't. Instead her entire being is flung into a...whirl? Free fall? Something that makes her stomach jump into her throat, and gives her vertigo.

The sensation stops suddenly, only to be replaced by a cacophony of new perceptions. She isn't sure which strikes her first, the sounds or the smell. Shrieks of agony and terror make up the next track of this bizarre playlist, punctuated by the reek of burnt hair. When her eyes fly open to try and make sense of it all, they have no luck. The sight that meets her is a sky of surreal, swirling, bastardized ribbons of every hue, like being inside a filthy bubble. Floating strewn about the space are pockmarked asteroids, and little else.

"So what'd ya think?" The grating voice rejoins the discord, drawing her shell-shocked gaze. "Home-sweet-home, huh? Well don't worry, you won't be here for very long. A deal's a deal, Car Wreck." With that que, and a snap of his fingers, she's falling again. This time untethered and unaccompanied. It takes her a moment to realize the scream ripping though the void is coming from her own throat. Once it hits her, so does something else, and the world goes black.

She wakes some time later, maybe moments maybe days. She has no way of knowing. She pushes herself onto her hands and knees, groggy and disoriented. It takes her a moment to notice the texture under her hands and focus her vision on it. It's grass. She sits up and looks around. "oh..." she says to herself, taking in the scenery. It's lovely, a grassy, sun soaked field. The sky made of churning colors like the last place she'd been, but they're pastel and much prettier. A warm breeze brushes past her face and she takes a deep breath of it, it smells sweet and warm, heavy with the scent of growing things, and for the first time since this started she finds some peace. Peace which is quickly shattered by a familiar, grating voice.

She jumps and whirls around so quick she falls onto her butt. There, floating just inches from where her head had been, is Bill. Laughing at her of course.

"Whoops! Didn't mean to scare you there, Car Wreck!" he claims, moving through the air to look around, then turning back around to look at her. "So how do you like the new digs?"

There's a beat of silence where she just stares at him again, but quickly she shakes off the shock and tries to respond. "Uh...It's nice." She lets her eyes roam around for a second, before returning to Bill, "Where are we?"

"This is the Realm of Daydreams! Your new HQ!" he answers, floating around behind her and making a grand gesture with his arms.

She turns her head to follow him, "Daydreams? HQ?"

"Yep! This is where you'll hang out when you're not puppeting your little pawns." He turns around to look at the scenery more himself. "Kinda dull if you ask me. Maybe you can do something about that!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh you know, some pillars of anguish, an alter of unholy fire, maybe a blood fountain or a couple of-" he gestures with each suggestion, like a landscaper creating a vision, until she cuts him off.

"No I mean," she finally pushes herself to a stand, teetering a little till she finds her balance. "Pawns?"

He turns back to her, "Oh yeah, which ones do you want anyway?" he waits a beat for an answer, but she just stares back at him, clearly not following. "Ugh, our deal?"

He hadn't really told her what the deal was, just mentioned a game and a second chance. "Uhh, I don't think you-"

"Oh right, you flesh bags need everything explained to you." he groans, rolling his eye, "Alright, here's the deal. We're gonna play a little game," he holds out his hand and a little hologram like projection appears showing an aerial view of a town. "and the people of this hick town are gonna be the pieces." ten little blue stick figures appear in the center of town, each with a little symbol above it's head. "If you win, you rejoin the land of the living!" a little magenta stick figure pops into existence next to the others and they all do a little happy dance. "If I win..." suddenly the whole projection goes up in flames, and she jerks her head back instinctively, "You burn with rest of those worthless mortals!" He bursts into a fit of maniacal laughter, which actually gives her some times to recover.

After a second of shocked staring, she blinks a few times then puts on as neutral an expression as she can. "Ok. So what are the rules?"

"Simple!" he answers, cutting off his laughter "We can't directly manipulate each other's pawns, and we can't interfere with the other's powers."

"That's it?"

"Yep. Everything else is fair game"

"Ok...What are my powers?"

"Same as mine! Except you don't have to wait till someone falls asleep to get in their head."

"I see..." her eyes wander to the ground as she contemplates the information, and her hand reaches for the longest of her three necklaces to idly play with the spiked pendant. "So you can talk to them in dreams, and I can talk to them in daydreams."

"Bingo!"

She scrunches her nose a little, thinking of a few ways that could end up being annoying. "Alright, anything else I need to know?"

"Hmm, nope! That just about covers it. All that's left is to pick our pawns, I'll even let you go first!" And with that ten, glowing, blue symbols appear between them. She looks them over carefully, she knows who each symbol corresponds to- supposing the cartoon from her world is accurate. She considers the six-fingered hand, if she takes him out of Bill's control from the start that derails his whole plan as she knows it. But, then she'll have no clue what's up to at all, at least by letting Bill have the pawns she's familiar with she has a chance at guessing his moves. She reaches forward and touches the shooting star, it turns magenta and floats to hover closer to her.

"Interesting." Bill comments, though his tone doesn't sound very interested, as he makes a simple motion with his eye and the six-fingered hand settles beside him. She chooses the fish looking symbol next, and Bill's second choice in the pine tree. They go back and forth till they have five symbols each, Bill having the the six-fingered hand, the pine tree, the llama, the stitched heart, and the pentagram. While she has the shooting star, the fish, the bag of ice, the spectacles, and the question mark.

"Welp, that settles that. Nice picks you made there, lets hope they work out for ya, Car Wreck"

"Could you not call me that?" though it hardly sounds like a request.

"And what else should I call you?" Bill asks, collecting his symbols into one hand and placing the other on his...hip?

"How about my name? It's Maranwe."

"But Car Wreck fits you so much better! Just take a look!" he quips, snapping a full-length mirror into existence. Maranwe turns to look and gasps in horror. Bill breaks out into more cackling, "Well my work here is done! I'll let you get cleaned up, see ya around Car Wreck!" And with that he fades from existence.

Maranwe just stares, even as Bill disappears from 'her' realm, she can only stare at her destroyed refection. Her hair is messy- and she almost laughs that that's what her brain zeros in on first-, It's also dirty, some of the mess is actual dirt but several spots are matted with half-dry blood. Her face is in a similar condition, smeared with dirt and blood but she can see the wounds there. Scrapes and still oozing cuts, bruises forming on one cheek bone and under her eyes. Her nose isn't quite right...broken probably. Her vision skims over her whole body for a second, making note of similar injuries where tears in her clothes reveal them. It's not as bad as she would expect a car crash victim to look- "except for that" Her mind screams suddenly while all her mouth can do is gasp, as her attention lands dizzyingly on her neck. It's...purple, but also red? There's no spilled blood but it still looks ugly, and the worst part is the...bump. It's not hard to figure out that it's a misaligned bone. Without the pain to tell her she never would have noticed, her neck is broken. Very broken. How is she holding her head up right... Probably because this isn't actually a physical body. She wonders if this is what killed her, or if there's something inside, something she can't see, that did the trick.

Whatever it is, she can't be seen like this. And she really really doesn't want to look like this for her own sake. Bill said she could 'clean herself up'? How exactly... She thinks about how Bill's powers tend to work and tries to concentrate on a cleaner, less beat up mental image of herself. She lifts her hand to her cheek and grazes her finger tips across it, a trail of sparkles follow the touch and the skin underneath returns to normal. She relaxes a little, watching the disaster wipe off her face like cheap make-up. She keeps the image in her mind and closes her eyes, cupping her hands in front of herself and imagining the sparkles pooling in them. Then she splashes the sparkles over he face, like a girl in a face wash commercial, and imagines the glittering dust washing over her entire body, cleaning away the mess and injuries. And when she opens her eyes, that's exactly what's happened. Her reflection shows her whole and unwounded, even her clothes are fixed.

The next thing she does is smooth her hair down, mostly an instinct since it's still messy, and the sparkles trail after her hands, tidying the strands as if she'd just brushed them. She watches her reflection's mouth quirk up a little in a small smirk. So she can just change what she looks like by imagining it? That figures, this is a place of daydreams that's kind of how they work. She knows exactly what to do with this, she's known since she was a kid what she's change if she could. She places the backs of her hands next to her ears and flicks up, sparkles spray up with the motion and her normal human ears, turn to wolf ears the fur the same chocolate brown as her hair. Her smirk blooms into a full blown smile, and she tilts her head to get a better look at them, watching them move as she tests them. It's like they're real! Next is the tail of course, it's mostly brown, with some silver down the top and a black tip. Then she looks down, and taps the toe of each of her shoes against the ground in turn, as she does they become the compressed paws of her own design.

"That's insane..." she laughs to herself. She's actually turning herself into something else, her own made up alien species. And she just can! With the big changes out of the way she works out the details; pupil shape, fang length, and straightens out a few asymmetries and insecurities she's always had about her body- after all why not? When she's done, she can't help admiring herself a little, turning this way and that in front of the mirror, her perfect image of herself. Well- almost perfect. She snaps her fingers and in the same dusting of glitter, her shirt changes. What was before a loose grey t-shirt with the word "nope" written across it in cursive, as been replaced by a cropped sweater, banded in 3 colors; white at the top, then light blue, then dark blue. She lifts it to look at the crop top under neither, it's just plain white. She decides she doesn't like it that way, so it changes to a cropped version of the t-shirt she'd had before. With that taken care of she lifts her arm so the over-sized sleeve falls down and she can see her forearm, which is covered by a light blue arm warmer with white lace around the edges. Perfect. At least for now. She can change later if she decides she doesn't like the arm warmers.

She giggles to herself, invigorated by the makeover and the sense of control she has now. She turns from the mirror and skips a few feet across the grass, the symbols she'd chosen follow her, floating loosely like beads suspended in gel. She laughs a little as she watches them, and idly reaches for her necklace again, but this time her hand just meets the soft knit of her sweater. She'd forgotten to add them into this new look, so she just wills them into place; three different necklaces of three different lengths. Her hand finds the middle length first, the pendant is designed to spin so she plays with it while her mind starts to wander. She starts thinking of plans for winning this game, what she might say to each other 'pawns' and who to use where and how, even letter her thoughts wonder about the new life she'll have. Cipher's hologram suggested she'll stay in Gravity Falls, which would be cool but what about-

The sound of screeching tires and twisting metal cuts her thoughts off clean and she whips around to find the source of the noise, but her fear turns to confusion when she sees...nothing. She stands stock still, her mind running over only vague impressions of thoughts relating to what she just heard, until another loud sound whips her back around. This time she actually sees something, like a huge firework in the pastel oil-slick sky, accompanied by Bill's obnoxious voice echoing through the space.

"Let the game begin!"

[littlemoondarlingarts]

Unfortunately it happened

A short story about two of my ocs that I've been writing for a while, please read the trigger warnings carefully before proceeding to the story.

Genre: magical realism with hints of psychological horror.

Word count: 4293 words.

Tw: Abuse, domestic abuse, past abuse, ptsd, hallucinations, claustrophobic scenes, blood, glass shards, mild sexual scene, possible sexual assault, disrespecting the boundaries of an autistic child, abandonment issues.

If there are any more possible trigger warnings that I didn't write, please let me know.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The thick warm blood irregularly dripped onto the rotting floor as Theodore tried to wrestle out the large glass shard that was lodged deep in his skull. He knew that pulling it out would only cause him to bleed more, but he had no other choice, his body just wouldn't heal around it. It's not like he could even go to a hospital. They ask questions there. Too many questions. He hissed in pain, fingers slipping over the smooth, wet surface, making the job ten times harder than what it already was.

Fear and pain overwhelmed his senses to the point where he couldn't even hear the squeaks of the wooden planks that normally annoyed him to no end. He only noticed that someone was in the small room with him when a pair of tiny pale feet stopped right infront of him.

"Stay back baby, there's glass on the floor." He let his hand fall down, the stubborn shard finally dislodged from his forehead, "Go back to your room, I'm okay." The obvious lie slipped through his blooded lips like smooth butter, if there was something Theodore excelled exceptionally at, it was lying with confidence so great that you would believe him over your very own eyes.

"Why don't you stop him?" Fran asked meekly, shoulders tense and lips pouty, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his favourite shirt violently enough to tear the delicate embroidery his dad had spend countless hours on.

Theodore lifted his head, his tired eyes taking in the heart wrenching sight of the boy he grew to call his son. Fran's whole body was trembling, his small fingers red and bruised from unconsciously fighting with the thread, his nose was swollen, the skin around his eyes was puffy. It was clear as day that the little boy had been crying for a while now.... probably since the fight started.

"Franny," Theo started softly, "I'm alright now. It's over, okay? Just go to your room, I'll follow you in a bit. Promise."

But the little vampire didn't budge, his cold feet planted firmly on the floor, lips forming a thin line accompanied by a deep frown barely hidden by loose white curls. Theodore sighed, he wanted so badly to hold his son's hands and carry him back to his room like he did every night before, but he was scared if he'd moved even an inch more he'd tear his shirt even further, revealing more bruises and cuts, subsequently traumatizing the boy more. So he stayed put.

"Why don't you stop him?" Fran repeated.

"Baby you know I-"

"WHY DON'T YOU STOP HIM?!"

The abrupt outburst took Theodore by surprise, making him flinch back on the bed. His wide blue eyes were chaotic as they searched the smaller one's face for any ounce of sympathy. It was silly, really, to be looking for such emotions in a clearly overwhelmed and traumatized kid, but Theo couldn't help himself, couldn't help the fear that was eating away at him, one angry word at a time.

"I know you can, Teddy. You used to stand up to daddy! And he was a VAMPIRE!" Fran said with a bit of pride in his voice, "You know what? I think we should go back to living with him! Maybe Elliot is waiting for us there! And the-"

"Elliot left. He isn't waiting for us anywhere, he doesn't want us anymore." Theodore shrunk back to himself when he noticed the amount of venom in his voice, "Besides Franny, you know I'll never let him hurt you. I'll never let anyone hurt you." He tried giving the most reassuring smile he could muster with the dull ache in his bruised cheeks.

Fran was silent for a long, dreadful second before hot tears raced down his face, "You can't even protect yourself..."

That sentence was like a punch to the gut. He never thought about the consequences that their constant fighting had on his son. He thought, no, he made himself believe that as long as Fran was in no immediate physical danger, everything was okay. It almost frightened him just how much he was willing to ignore and sweep under the rug just to let himself feel like a good father.

"I don't feel safe here... I'm scared." Fran sniffled, "I'm scared that one day I'll wake up and-and find you dead!" It was getting harder for the little vampire to speak as the tears kept flowing, "Or.. or  that you would... would just leave me here like Elliot did... or.. or yo-" violent sobs wrecked his body, forbidding him from finishing his sentence.

Theodore was lost. He promised Rouge and Elliot.. fuck those two, he promised himself that he would give Fran the best life possible, and yet here he is... shaking and wailing helplessly... He needed to do something, and he needed to do it fast. But what? What could he do?

What would dad have done? Dad wouldn't let himself be in this fucking situation. But if he was ... what would he have done?? Theodore's hands were now shaking uncontrollably as he tried to think of an answer. He would've pulled me close. Held me tight in his arms and told me that he'll keep me safe no matter what. That everything will be okay. Yes. Yes... that's what he would've done.

And so he reached forward, taking the now bloodied tiny hands in his and pulling Fran into his arms, holding the sobbing boy as tight as he could.

But the truth is. What his father would've done is vastly different that what Theodore should've done. Because in that moment of pure loss and desperation, he forgot one crucial detail... Fran can't handle being touched. Especially not being hugged.

Fran yanked himself backwards with powers unnatural to him, his body was sent flying until he hit the floor with a loud thud that almost made Theodore's heart stop, but to the boy, anything was better then being held like that.

"Franny... I'm so sorry... I forgo-" Before he could finish his sentence, the vampire was on his feet and running out the room. His loud footsteps quickly fading into nothingness before the deafening slam of a door shook the old house to it's core.

Theodore let himself fall back on the bed, sending small dust particles flying all over him and irritating his allergies. He quickly placed a hand over his nose to stop himself from inhaling any of that dust, he can't afford having his brains ooze out his wounds if he sneezed.

His eyes closed before he could decide otherwise. It's okay... it will be okay.. he'd probably gone to bed now, I should do that too. Tomorrow will be different, it will be better, I'll make some scrambled eggs and bacon.. wait no, Fran is a vegetarian you idiot, he doesn't eat that shit!... fuck. I can make uh... grilled cheese sandwiches.. yeah he'll surely like that....

But deep down Theodore knew that he isn't a kid that can go to bed when he is tired or in pain anymore, he is an adult now, with a kid of his own and all the responsibilities that come with it..

The obnoxious sound of the sports channel blaring from the living room and the rhythmic pouring of rain on the window along with phantom barking of a distant dog were like a hammer smashing into Theodore's head over and over again. Every little sound was cranked up to a hundred, even his own heartbeating was agonizing.

He forced his body to sit back up, becoming face to face with the long mirror nailed to the wall which seemed to be closing in on him. Theodore instinctively pushed himself backwards until his back hit the cold wall as the room began fold in on itself until the mirror was nearly touching his feet. He wrapped his arms around his body in an attempt to ground himself as his claustrophobia kicked in and his breathing quickened to a painful degree.

He forced his eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the walls that were now touching every inch of him. And his thoughts drifted back to the only place they could... Is it possible Franny is scared like this now? He feels unsafe.. he said that himself.. I can't just leave him alone in his room until the next sunset... that's not what dad would've done.. that's..that's what mom did... leave me alone and ignore me when I needed her most then pretend nothing happened the next day... that's what I was going to do...

The thought made his eyes shoot open only to be faced with her image in the mirror, blue eyes staring down at him with familiar disappointment. His blood boiled. He is becoming her! Repeating the cycle of neglectful abuse and torment until noone survives. In a moment of blind rage he balled his fist and swiftly moved to shatter the mirror and all the pain it was causing, but he found himself slammed to the floor, bloody knuckles causing a dent in it... it seems as tho the wall was still as far away as it always had been.

He stayed there for a moment, tears pouring down unapologetically as he tried to compose himself. He soon found enough willpower to stand up, but before he could take a step forward, sharp pain shot up straight to his head, forcing him to grab onto the nearest wall for balance.

Once the pain dulled down enough for him to be able to open his eyes, he looked down at the apparent source, only to see that his right ankle had doubled in size, blue and swollen as if there was a tennis ball underneath the skin. He rested the back of his head on the window, feeling the cold droplets of rain leaking through and falling on his cheeks.

He sighed, he would heal, he always did. But it would take time, and unlike Silas, this fucker never cared for him after beating him up. Theodore chuckled to himself, never in a million years did he think he would use Silas as a positive example for anything, goes to show just how low his life had sunk.

Nevertheless, he needs to persist, not for himself but for the little vampire that depended on him.

He thought about taking a quick shower to wash off all the blood, but something told him not to, to just check on Fran as soon as possible, and Theodore's gut feeling had never failed him before, so he always followed it, even if he knew that his son was safe in his bed, wrapped in a fluffy blanket that Theo had spent all his money on. He smiled, remembering how Franny's eyes twinkled when he first saw the bee pattern on it. Oh how he wishes he would see him this happy every second of every day.

Still smiling, he managed to take off the ripped shirt without aggravating his injuries too much. He held the black tee in his hands, staring at the bright neon pink "Angel♡" written on it in a metal font with the white signature of the singer along the neck.

He got this shirt 2 years back when he went to the live performance, Angel wasn't even the main performer back then, they were merely the opening act. Given how small they were, they didn't have a signing booth, it was actually pure luck that Theodore managed to meet them outside while they were waiting for a taxi.

And he thought that Rouge was tall! Angel was at least eight feet, to the point where he felt like a little cat after cranking his neck up so high just to be able to see their face, and what a truly terrifying face it was! Almost nightmarish with their black bug eyes and their long pointy teeth! But they were nice, maybe a bit blunt and lacking a social filter, but after being with Fran for a while, Theodore got used to unwanted comments... wait.. Fran... now THAT is what he was here to do!

He immediately put his favourite shirt down on a nearby wooden chair, promising to fix the rip the moment he can carry something as delicate as a needle without his hands shaking and dropping it, he threw on an oversized sweater that used to belong to Elliot, a pair of ghost patterned pyjama pants and made his way to the corridor.

Theodore was still grabbing onto the walls as he limbed his way to the door covered in stickers, it was slightly ajar which was strange considering that Fran had slammed it, but with how rusted the hinges are, anything is possible. He slowly pushed the door open, peering into the dark room, noticing how the moonlight softly illuminated the blanket-covered lump on the bed.

He should be happy? Maybe relieved? But instead, all he could feel is the bile rising to his throat, and he just couldn't tell why, perhaps he was just anxious about the impending talk. Yes. It must be that.

Theodore slowly stepped toward the small bed, feeling the mattress sink under his weight as he sat on it. "Hey Franny..." no answer, "It's me Teddy," again, nothing. He sighed, rubbing his hand over his aching neck, "listen I came here to apologise, and I... are you asleep??" He pulled down the blanket only to see that it was only a group of plushies in the vague shape of a kid.

Adrenaline shot through his body making him forget all about his pain and injuries as he quickly opened the closet, looked under the bed, tore the covers from the bed. Yet.... Fran is nowhere to be seen.

"FRAN!" Theodore yelled at the top of his lungs, "FRAAAANN!" He stood aimlessly in the little room filled with the missing boy's trinkets and drawings, his breath so fast he could hear it as he impatiently waited for an answer, "Baby where are you?!"

He could feel the little plushies staring at him, knowing where his baby is but not telling him, they don't want Fran to go back to being with such a horrible father. Theodore grabbed his son's favourite one, a large fluffy bee he had won for him during a passing carnival. He forcefully held it, his fingers smearing the blood all over the bright yellow as he shook it back and forth in the air.

"Where is he goddamn it! Where is he?" He screamed over and over again at the defenseless bee.

To anyone passing by, this seems like complete and utter madness, a father interrogating a stuffed animal instead of searching the whole house for his missing son? But to Theodore in the moment, it made sense. These plushies were the closest to the little vampire, they know his secrets and feelings more than Theo ever apparently did. So it must be obvious that they would be the ones knowing where his precious baby would be.

"I know you know! So just tell me!" His voice broke as a pained sob took over him, making him hold onto the door handle as his knees seemed to buckle under him. "I'll make it better... I swear.."

"He went out you crazy bitch!" The familiar gruff voice came from the living room, it was naturally loud enough to drown out everything else, even the news channel. Or perhaps that was just Theodore's mind only focusing on what matters to him, whichever case it was, he heard it loud and clear.

"What?" He whispered, soft and almost silent; like a deer caught in headlights, he couldn't move a single muscle in his body. He was painfully aware of this, too; the fact that he is just. Sitting. There. Like a useless piece of shit. His brain screamed at him to 'MOVE IT YOU FUCKER! MOVE!' But his body was almost paralyzed, unable to do anything, not even blink.

It may have taken mere seconds to get up and be in the living room, but it felt like years. Years of him being useless and worthless.

He ran down the short corridor.

He ran.

And ran.

And ran.

And with every step, the corridor seemed to stretch further and further, the end feeling more like a mirage as countless doors strung on the walls. Screams were erupting from behind them, defeaning and terrifying. A minute of thinking would've made him recognize the voice as Fran's, and this was one of the many instances where he regretted ever doing that. Theodore shut his eyes, covering his ears with his hands and just ran forward like a fish in the deep dark ocean where the sun can't reach.

"What do you mean?" His voice was erratic when he finally made it to the living room, gripping the worn down sofa that his "boyfriend" was sitting calmly on, as if a kid isn't out in the dark and rain all on his own.

"He's just breathing some air after all that shit you caused!" The man turned to look at him, "You think I didn't hear all that? Well news flash baby, I have ears."

His absolute nonchalance about the whole thing was irritating Theodore to no end, and Theodore wore his emotions on his sleeves. His eyes darkened dangerously as he almost felt himself growl, but he had to control himself as that would definitely get him another beer bottle to the head.

The man chuckled softly, putting his large hand on top of Theodore's much tinier one, "You're too worried about him, Francis is-"

"Fran." He corrected in a low, deep voice.

"Whatever, same thing. Point is, he is a little man now! If he wants to go out and calm his nerves after you wrecked them, then let him!" He smiled, trying to pull the shorter man towards him, but he didn't budge. "Listen baby, you need to give him some time to work out his emotions, stop getting in his business you little helicopter!"

The man pulled again, this time successfully getting the half dissociated Theodore around the sofa and onto his lap. When he said it like that.... it almost made sense. Fran isn't eight and he really was hurt by all that Theo had done tonight and most nights before that, he does need some time to process all that. Or maybe that was just his way of feeling less guilty, believing that this is just a natural reaction rather than face the fact that his son's terrible immune system won't handle the cold and rain.

"That's right baby," the man held Theodore close, and like a moth to flame he leaned into it, craving any sort of affection and sympathy, "calm down now," his rough hands gently petted Theo's curls which were now matted with a mixture of blood, bear and sweat, "it's all okay," He moved his hand down, moving over Theodore's back in slow and rhythmic circles. "Daddy's here," testing his luck, the man moved his hand further down and gripped Theodore's buttocks firmly.

This sent reality crushing down on the poor man, this isn't okay. Nothing about a frail and sickly eleven year old kid being alone outside in the raining night in a place surrounded with dangerous wildlife is okay. No matter how hard he wants to shake the guilt off. How hard he wants to lean into this rare moment of gentleness. He can't. Not when his son is all alone. Not in a million years.

Theodore placed his hands on his boyfriend's large chest and pushed himself off his lap, getting to his feet as quickly as he can without losing his balance and running to the door as if he is a prisoner that just found the keys.

"Well fuck you too slut! I never wanted your trashy ass anyway! Go get eaten by wolves! You and your annoying ass kid!"

But Theodore had already made it outside and started the long process of running around aimlessly and yelling Fran's name at the top of his lungs. After thoroughly running through the front yard, he took a deep freezing breath and made his way into the surrounding woods where the fading moonlight didn't reach.

He quickly lit up the lighter, the rain putting out the flame before he could do anything, so he bent down, wrapping his body around it like a deer would to her fawn, and tried lighting it up again. The small flame persisted long enough for it to turn blue and be transferred onto Theodore's palm.

He extended the demonic flame infront of his face, making his eyes twinkle with otherworldly lights, he was hoping that animals would find it's strange color intimidating rather than inviting, and that Fran would recognize it as his and find him. Clearly too much faith in a silly little flame, even if it is magical in nature.

Theodore's feet got sliced and bruised by the rocks and thorns on the ground, but nevertheless he persisted, his dark fingers gripping the ancient trunks for dear life, not caring about the skin being scratched and peeled off if them.

He opened his mouth to yell for his boy, "Fraaan.." he coughed, hoping that his voice would come back, "Fra.... fuck me." His voice was gone, almost completely after the endless screaming and yelling he did this night, both while searching for Fran and the big fuckin fight that had happened before.

With no voice to speak of, Theodore felt... weak. He couldn't yell for Fran and the hope that the boy would see the flame on his own and follow it is... statistically very low. He was defeated. He failed himself, his father, Fran... everyone that can be failed.

He made his way out of the forest, he had already searched the surrounding area on foot. He had the small tiny twinkle of hope that Fran had made his way back home alone, that he really was just breathing some air. That he is now safe and cuddled underneath the blanket. Safe. And sound.

Theodore stood infront of the closed door. Body shaking from the cold rain and pain, he stood there for a while, just letting the tears silently fall down, not daring to go inside and face the truth.

"Teddy?" A small familiar voice echoed in his head, making him smile a little. He had been first given that nickname by his mom, but now that Franny used to call him that, it no longer feels... humiliating. It feels warm and comfortable, it feels like a purpose and having someone that depends on you and trusts you.

"Teddy!" The small voice came again, this time angrier, like a tiny kitten's hiss.

Is it possible that this.. isn't in Theodore's head? That Fran was actually yelling for him?

He tore his eyes away from the door and looked around, and sure enough, he easily spotted the head of white fluffy hair struggling to get out of under his boyfriend's car.

Theodore rushed to help his son get out without being scratched or injured, he held the boy's tiny hands and pulled slowly, stopping to fluff down his shirt to make the sliding easier. Once his bottom was out, his short legs were an easy task.

"Thank gawd! I thought I was gonna be stuck under there forever! Or that that bastard was gonna drive tomorrow and I'll become tomato paste!" The little boy was flailing his arms around as he spoke, finally settling for a dramatic break as while saying "tomato paste!"

He tried keeping himself composed, he really did, slowly stroked his son's curls, but quickly enough Theodore crumbled. Exhaustion, pain and all that worry that he was barely holding, finally broke him. He hid his face behind his hands as he cried uncontrollably. His drenched shoulders shaking with each painful sob.

"Teddy?" Fran asked worriedly, his soft voice kept quiet as if Theodore was a rabbit that he didn't want to scare off. "Why are you crying?"

It might seem like a stupid question given the circumstances, and if it was anyone else, Theodore would've given them the deathglare. But he knew that Franny genuinely couldn't understand the consequences of actions, wether they were his own or others. So he simply sniffled and smiled as bright as he could, resuming to fluff up his baby's hair.

Fran's face scrunched up as if he had tasted a lemon, his soft features all grouping in the middle of his face. But he didn't mind this, not really, he just found it fun to do this face because he doesn't get to often. And Theodore knows this, they spoke about this before... before this..  him.

"I wanna sleeeeeeeeeeep." Fran whined while pouting, earning him an honest chuckle from his dad.

Theodore opened his arms as his son jumped up, landing perfectly on his waiting shoulder. Fran swung his feet, accidentally hitting his father's chest a few times, not too many times tho as he was doing his absolute best to avoid it. But that swinging was making it harder for Theo to safely stand up, but he made do and made his way back indoors carrying his son like a sack of potatoes, which is the only way Franny likes to be held.

Deep in his mind, Theodore knew that this won't be the end of this abusive relationship, he was too dependent, too afraid of being abandoned and left alone to leave. But the cracks were only becoming more and more prominent, and hell was knocking on their door.