#sitting loosely in that big old wooden chest

[imperatoralicia]

I get a lot of entertainment thinking about how containers are used in video games sometimes.

[yeyinde]

kinda enamoured with the thought of our poor mc going to a dud of party but meeting Kyle and Johnny there (both looking as out of place as you feel) but instead of taking you home, they bring you back to Price and Ghost. a sweet little treat for them all to share.

and they're charming, of course. too charming. but alcohol numbs most of your inhibitions about how touchy they are. how physical. folding themselves into your space, leaning down to whisper in your ear when you can hear them just fine. hands on the small on your back. around your wrist. your waist. knuckles against your cheek—

god, you're such a pretty little thing, aren't you?

warm skin. breath that smells of thick, sweet cream and oaky black tea. hands curling under the hem of your shirt—shush, shush, doe, ahm jus' helpin' ye; yer hot, ain't ye? lemme help ye out o'yer jumper—thick, sunkissed fingers dancing over your skin.

you feel funny, you slur into his—Kyle, he huffs, grinning wide; wolfish: call me Kyle, sweet thing—neck, chasing the scent of spiced vanilla and wild, ripened plums. everything is spinning. spinning—

"god, he's gonna just love you—"

but they'll take you somewhere. home. you nod, nose tucked tight against his warm, steady pulse. "wanna go home—" you mumble into salt-tinged skin, and they laugh.

"oh, don't worry, beautiful. we'll get you right where you need to be."

you trust them, of course. let them usher you into their car, curled up against a broad, warm chest. lulled under a blanket of security wrapped tight in strong, firm arms. and if his hand wanders, fingers tickling the insides of your thighs. well—

you can't deny they're attractive. maybe you can get their number after and call them in the morning.

but that doesn't happen.

you wake to the sound of voices. hands sliding under your knees, around your shoulder. carried into a house that isn't your own—some strange cabin deep in the forest. the glow of the wood stove in the only light on inside, and you struggle to adjust to the thick orange haze.

"what's going on?" you ask, blinking at the sight that greets your liquid eyes.

Kyle places you down on a rug, holding your hips tight when you fumble. laughing, just a little, under his breath when you gasp.

sitting in an old, wooden chair is a man you've never seen before. big, broad. intimidating. his thick legs spread lazily—one kicked out against the rug, the other bent at the knee. and elbow rests on it. in his hand, a lit cigar. the other dangles, loose and lax, off the armrest. fingers curling, unfurling, into spasmic fists.

his eyes burn caeruleum in the flickering gold.

you fight back a shiver, but feel it slide like hot oil down your spine.

"what—?"

"my boys didn't explain it to you?" he asks, voice a rough, abrasive scratch in your head. gritty. porous. you feel it against your skin. fingers digging into your nape. bad girl. there's something about him that commands attention, and you give it easily as he tuts, pale lips pulling into a condescending sneer beneath the thick of his beard. "or maybe you just weren't payin' attention, sweetheart."

"attention to what—" sir almost trembles out. his lips twitch like he heard all the same. "i just want to go home—"

the hand dangling over the ledge flares to life. he flicks it careless around the room with a hum. "you are home."

"my real home—"

and then you see it.

he moves like liquid through the shadows. folds himself into the dark like its where he belongs. and you thought—and still very much do—the man sitting on his throne was large, intimidating, but it pales at the absurd height of this thing that slinks out of the corner with a heavy, laden gaze. powdered charcoal. endlessly black. flat, though. amused.

when he speaks, it's all brass. "what's this? Johnny brought 'ome a stray?"

"nah," you hear Kyle's grin. feel the phantom shift of sharp teeth against your neck. breathless laugher. warm hands. baby, you feel so good. "we found 'er in a club. lost little lamb."

"and you dragged her back to the wolf's den, mm?"

"you complainin', cap?"

it takes all of your willpower to tear your eyes off the man, but you manage. ripping them away until you find him—Price—again. he stares back with a lidded, heavy gaze. unflinching. hungry.

"not in the slightest."

Kyle purrs. "Johnny couldn't keep his hands off her, sir. might have some competition for who goes first."

cold air on your nape. dread bubbles up in your belly. "no—"

they continue like you hadn't spoken. like you don't exist. the man in the corner folds his thick arms over his broad chest, shaking his head a chainsaw-like grunt. laughter, you think.

but Price doesn't seem to find it nearly as funny. his teeth sink into the butt of the cigar with a growl. "gonna fight me for first, Sargeant?"

Johnny snorts, and rubs his finger under his nose.

"she's sweet," he murmurs, all wide-eyed and feverish. cheeks pinked under the warm spill of orange. "cannae blame a man fer wantin' such a pretty little thing—"

"back of the line," Kyle prods. and you wish his touch made your stomach churn, but that thread of intrigue, alcohol spooled want, still thrums in your veins.

"i just—" you stammer, eyes widening as real, tangible fear sets in. skewers into your belly. heart in your throat. the erratic echoes pounding in your ears. "i just want to go home."

"you are home, birdie—" he speaks and it feels like the walls shake. "didn't get a bright, did you, Johnny?"

"tha's mean, Lt—" his hands snake around your waist, pulling you into his hard chest. "didnae anyone teach ye 'ow tae chirp at birds?" the shorn sides of his Mohawk scratch against your cheek when he nuzzles, kittenish, against your face. "don't listen tae 'im, doe. yer th' sweetest, brightest lit'le thing—"

"mm, and such a bright little girl would know how to behave, wouldn't she?"

even with the alcohol dulling your senses—thoughts scattered and thin as two pairs of hands start pulling at your clothes, stripping you down to nothing—you can still see his words for what it is:

a threat.

as if to reinforce this idea, the man—Ghost, Johnny whines into your burning, stinging cheek, skin chafing from the graze of his buzzed sides: gotta 'ave a taste, Lt—moves, his body spilling out in a dizzying tumble of thick limbs. he stands by the door—the only one—and folds his arms over his chest once more, head cocking to the side as he stares down at you.

"don't worry, Johnny," he rumbles, lids slipping to half cresences over the ink black of his eyes. "i intend to."

the air stills when Price hums. your attention is pulled back to him instantly, but a part of you���all animal—halves it down the middle, keeping Ghost in your sights at all times. turning your back on him feels—

stupid.

you shiver.

Price shifts in the chair, reaching up for the cigar still pinched between his teeth. the look in his eyes is a startling, heavy thing. doom tastes like ash between your teeth.

"an' you're a bright girl, aren't you?"

it's not really a question. you nod anyway, feeling the fight in your body dissolve like wisps of smoke in the dense, thickened air. excitement, desire, hums—an electrical current—in the air, bubbling up between them. they move around you in a way that's dizzingly coordinated—a living, thrumming dance. stigmergy. as your clothes fall, as their hands grab your flesh, pinching and caressing, moaning in your ear about how soft you are, how sweet, one, horrifying thought thickens in the back of your head:

you know, then, that you're not going home.

"oh, sweetheart," Price drawls like he knows what you're thinking. a mocking little coo as he tucks his knuckles under your chin, lifting your head up to meet his burning gaze. there's something in there, you think. something awful. something hungry.

"you already are."

[strawberrynull]

──⯎ ˙🔥 ̟ burn it down

엔하이픈 | Enhypen | Nishimura Riki

──Pairing: riki x afab!reader

──Genre: fluff

──Synopsis: After a busy week, Riki decides its time for the two of you to hang out and have fun rather than working

──Warnings: cursing, starting fires, mentions of burning (things, not people), kissing, established relationship

──A/N: I've actually thought of this so many times and finally got the motivation to write it lol

masterlist

The car came to a stop, parking in front of an abandoned building. It was an old warehouse but was now used for people to just drop off their junk. It almost looked like a horror movie scene.

"Ki, where the fuck are we?" You asked, gripping onto your seat belt strap. You turned to look at Riki, hoping he was joking about going there.

"Get out. I'll show you." You looked at him like he was fucking insane. Then he grabbed your hand gently and laughed. "Just trust me." His sweet smile was enough to make you give in.

The two of you hadn't been hanging out very often as of recently. Riki had practice almost every day and you were always busy with work and studying. So it had taken you by surprise when Riki snatched the notebook from your desk, claiming that he was taking you somewhere fun today.

You stepped out of the car, following your boyfriend as he approached the building. With a good bit of force, Riki manages to open up the big rusted doors to the abandoned warehouse. He disappears into the darkness of the building. All you can see are the silhouettes of large piles of trashed furniture. Riki returns, hauling a ton of junk like old car parts and barrels. He continues to disappear into the piles of garbage and reappear carrying trash and throwing it into one big pile. Once he's brought out enough shit, he tosses you a lighter. You roll the small black lighter in between your fingers before looking up at your boyfriend with a puzzled expression.

"Go on. Burn it down." He says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"What? You really want me to burn this stuff? Out in the open?" You question, eyes wide with shock. He nods. "Isn't that considered arson?" Riki chuckles at your concern. Your heart does flips in your chest hearing his deep laugh.

"Trust me. It's fun." He reassures you, pulling his hands out of his pockets and reaching for your hair. He ties it back gently, pulling any loose strands into the messy ponytail.

You flick the lighter open and hold the flame to a stick you found on the ground. Once it's lit, you toss it into the pile of trash. Riki finds himself a broken off car chair and sits on it, leaning back to watch you. You observe the beautiful flames as they dance around. While the flames rose, occupying your attention, Riki could only focus his gaze on you. His heart pounded as he watched you happily play around, lighting different items on fire.

"Woah, holy shit. That's a lot of fire, Ki."

"I'll put it out before we leave. Just go have fun." He waves his hand, telling you not to worry about it.

You skipped around the lot, deciding to add more trash to what you now called the "arson pile," making the flame grow stronger. You gaped in awe as the fire crackled and rose higher, sending smoke into the air.

You found yourself a wooden bat lying around the junkyard so naturally you took the handle and gave it a test swing. Once satisfied, you walked over to some old appliances and began beating the shit out of them. Then a loud crack was heard, making Riki shoot out of his chair. He craned his neck to find you standing with a broken bat and wide eyes. You had snapped the poor bat in half.

With a huff of defeat, you trudged back to your boyfriend who just laughed at you. He manspread so you could sit comfortably between his legs on the old leather chair. Riki wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you so your back was flush against his chest. He dipped his head down to the crook of your neck. The boy placed a few light kisses on your shoulder making you giggle.

"Sorry, you're just so pretty. I can't hide my love for you anymore." He says, half jokingly. He was being silly of course but he wasn't joking whenever he called you pretty. You were practically the light of his life.

You quickly turned around to hit his chest. "Ah you're so corny and annoying." You complained with a pout.

"Just admit that you're madly in love with me."

You glared at him with squinted eyes and a scrunched nose.

"Nope. You're the one who's obsessed with me." You sighed, turning back around and crossing your arms.

Riki just rested his chin on your shoulder. "You're right. You're a bad bitch. I can't help being in love with you."

© strawberrynull, 2024. Do not copy my work. Please DM for permission before translating or reuploading. Thank You

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

hello seth! i don’t think my tumblr works with anon so i’ll just send it like this! i’m a huge fan of your writing and i absolutely adore it. whenever i am in the need for a good story and writing inspiration i go to your blog. so i was hoping if you could write a sally face fic! i haven’t seen too many on here and willing to write for m reader or ftm.

i like the thought of being with sally and just having time with him, soft domestic type stuff. then he starts asking you how you really feel about his face and you smile and take off his mask with permission and kiss him saying he’s beautiful and to not worry. you kiss him and hold him. he then sits up but keeps your lips locked and you begin to explore each other sexually but in a such intimate way you both are crying almost. if you want could be m reader but i would love a ftm reader! can we also have reader be bottom but still be guiding sally and affirming him. i know this is a big ask and you’re always working so hard so please take liberty with this ask! take what you want from it and remove what you don’t like. i just love you’re writing. take your time as well! writing can be draining sometimes and you really need to find that inspiration so i want to make sure you feel no pressure!

have a good day/night/evening!!<3

❝ I'll show you how we're supposed to feel (when we meet at Orion's belt) ❞

SalFisher x ftm!reader | fluffy, NSFW | reader has had top-surgery & bottom growth | sub. bot. reader | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 5.4 k

warnings: mentions of facial dysphoria, self-deprecating thoughts (Sal), unprotected sex, praise (a lot of it), minor hair pulling, creampies, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like cunt and boypussy are used)

masterlist ;

authors note: thank you so much for your kind words! hearing that you use my writing as writing inspiration made me feel so warm and fuzzy on the inside oh lord 😭 you're too kind! This request was the softest one I've ever worked on, thank you so much for gracing me with the opportunity to write this~

*song on repeat: Orion's Belt by Sabrina Claudio / Baby Girl by SMNM

"Cold, cold, cold," Sal lifts his head from the couch. The sight of you rushing down the wooden stairs in nothing but a towel makes him lift himself to sit. "Fuck! Sal, you should put carpet in here!" Grinning, he leans forward and folds himself in half to stare at you furiously lifting the towel up to wrap around your shoulders instead.

"You hate carpet. B'sides, it'll get that weird moldy smell in here. I told you to get those fuzzy slippers," Gizmo meows in agreement from his corner of the couch. "Traitor!" you exclaim and he simply meows once again, lifting a leg to lick his stomach and Sal reaches over to give his head a good scratch.

"See? Even Gizmo agrees."

"Gizmo has in-built fuzzy socks. He has no say in this," your huffing and puffing simply makes Sal roll his eye, lifting Gizmo up to place the large cat right on his stomach while he props his head onto the armrest of the couch. Gizmo stretches out onto his torso, unbothered by the change in position while he presses his nose into Sal's chest and twists until he's nearly full on his back; the action makes Sal secure the old cat on him. His olive-toned arm loosely wrapped across Gizmo's purring body.

You're still rambling but it's all background noise to Sal. The sight of your bare legs and backside calls for his attention and despite how guilty he feels, he can't help but drag his sight all the way up to your — now — bare shoulders. The towel is now limply draped over the towel rack, and your muscles and bones are moving seamlessly underneath the fabric of your skin.

Everything about you can make him feel like he's going to explode. In a good way, if you can believe it. He sure as hell didn't. Sal remembers the first time he saw you, thinking you looked cool and that it was nice your interests lined with his. Somehow you managed to become more than that.

More always scared Sal. It was greedy and selfish. He wasn't religious but there was a sense of anxiety that came from wanting and needing more than you were given. Some sort of divine guilt was planted within him through passing by churches and reading the signs of worship plastered on billboards. Needing more is frightening, especially from other people.

More time spent with you two. More hours of listening to you speaking. More days spent with you in his home, bare skin and bare soul all for him and only him.

It frightened him!

Because, as self-centered as it sounds, he'd have to give you more. Don't take this the wrong way, he wants to — God, he wants to — but...but...

What if you don't like all that he has?

The fabric of his skin is spoiled. Marred. One of his eyes is artificial, his jaw asymmetrical, bone blown to bits, nose cut off and skin grafts stitched together and spliced.

His heart hammers in his chest, and his breathing is shaky as he squeezes Gizmo. The patch-furred critter mews, twisting once again and crawling up. His weight on Sal's chest is comforting. The pressure across it squeezed down on him, reminding his body that it was real and he was safe.

"In conclusion, I propose we buy a heater! That way we can — "

You're dressed in Sal's pajama pants, hands in the middle of pulling down the oversized band shirt when you notice Sal squeezing his eyes shut.

"Sal? Baby? What's wrong?" You sit by his legs, placing a hand on his knee and pressing your hands on it to ease him back down. "You're okay, baby. You're okay." It's not often Sal gets like this. You've known him ever since he came to Nockfell County; you know he's the type of person to withdraw within himself when his anxieties get the best of him. He's certainly gotten better with time and as your friendship — and eventual relationship — got stronger, the both of you worked on ways to lean on each other when things get tough.

Sal inhales deeply, Gizmo raising with the motion, and exhales. You don't pry more, giving him room to find the words and tether back to you. Gizmo's purrs muffle the silence.

"Sorry, just, the sight of your ass gave me a heart attack, Jesus," the joke is met with a loose grin but Sal knows you better than that. Still. He's grateful you snort at his jesting. Gizmo stands ��� Sal grimaces as he puts all his weight on his sternum — then walks over to your lap instead. The sight makes him calm down.

The faded grey of the once-black band shirt and his pajama pants do too. It's silly but the sight of you in everything that's his comforts a part of him. You're here. You're in love with him. Your gaze holds nothing but patience and adoration and a tinge of worry.

But you're here, in his clothes, in his room, his cat in your lap, and your hands on his body.

"You feeling better, Sal?" He nods, pushing to sit. "Do you wanna talk about it, baby?" Gizmo gives your chin one more bump before he jumps on the floor and meanders his way to his food bowl. Taking the chance, you inch closer to Sal and he's grateful for it.

You're not scared of the cold prosthetic on his face. The iron bolts that secure the straps to his face and head, the glass eye that shines humourlessly in any situation.

"Do you ever want...more from this? From me?" That line of questioning made your brows furrow and mouth frown. "What do you mean?" You reach for him and Sal reciprocates by holding your hand in his lap.

"I was joking about seducing Mr Smith from the electronics store for a heater," he scoffs at your lame joke but continues. "I don't mean that, I'll get us a heater. Just..."

"You've never seen...all of me." His grip loosens but you don't let it. "So?" he looks at you, his face angled low and the shape of his prosthesis mimics his brow bone. Sal is pinching his face, confused at your indignant tone.

"So?" He whispers. You lift his hand up, inching in closer and placing his knuckles over your clavicle.

"So?"

"Doesn't it freak you out? We've been together for so long and you've never seen my face," he murmurs. Since you're so close, speaking above a whisper would ruin this moment. Sal's heart is racing again though this time the anxiety is laced with his love for yours. It's a confusing emotion but he relishes the way you press your forehead to his, nose bumping with the bump on his prosthesis.

"Do you want me to see your face?" He inhales sharply, glancing away.

"...I do. But..."

"Mm?" you spread his fingers out, guiding them to your neck and the calloused pads of Sal's fingers make gooseflesh spread. The hairs on the back of your neck standing in applause; because that's what he does to you.

He makes your pupils expand, makes your heart race, makes your brain produce dopamine; your body lights up like a goddamn firework when he so much as looks your way. You can be yourself with him without fear because you know you do the same to him.

"...I've only ever let you kiss me when it's dark. The first time we had sex, I couldn't even take off the mask...I just...I'm..."

Your frown deepens when Sal sighs, his shoulders dropping.

"Be honest. Does it bother you?"

He's glad you don't reply immediately. A part of him always worries your love for him overtakes everything else. That, if something ever happens between the two of you and it tears you apart, you'll feel regret once the love is gone. You brush his hair behind his ear, cupping his jaw as you shake your head.

"No. It doesn't. Because it's you, Sal. I love you. Even the parts you aren't ready for me to see." He exhales and his breath escapes through the slits of his mouth. You feel it on your thumb and it makes you grin.

There's a twitch in his eye and your grin falters for a moment before it reappears when he locks eyes with you.

"...Do you want me to see your face, baby?"

His jaw is set. His tongue is made of lead. So Sal simply closes his eyes and gives you a minuscule nod. If it weren't for your hand on his jaw, you probably would've mistaken it for a twitch.

"Can I take off your prosthetic?"

Another nod.

"Are you sure, baby? I won't do it if you're not — "

"I'm sure." He says in one breath. "I'm sure."

A moment of silence was shared and you leaned forward to press your lips in the molding of his. The cool material does not pulse or pump with life but it's your Sal's and you cherish it deeply; he exhales shakily and you grin as your fingers dance through the locks of blue to find the straps that hold the prosthetic in place.

It's secure, it's meant to be, and you can feel the wear and tear of the years in the material. The scratches and indents weaved into every fiber. You unbuckle the lower end first and Sal tightens his hold on you, so you pause and press another kiss to his porcelain cheek.

When he nods, you continue, cupping the mask in one hand to steady it while you undo the upper buckle.

Sal would be statue-like if it weren't for the nervous tremors in his fingers. The mask loosens and its weight drops into your hand. His breath does not come through the slits anymore and you can feel it breeze through the fine hairs on your fingers.

He says nothing and neither do you. Still, you place one more kiss on the forehead of his prosthetic and lower it from view.

Sal has his eyes cast away, but he faces you. There's a large scar across the right side of his mouth, splitting his lips and exposing his teeth. There's a dent on the right side of his lower jaw that leaves his bone structure slightly unbalanced, and the cartilage of his nose is completely missing. The skin has healed, stretching his eye and tugging on the rest. It's pinkish still, never quite settling into the rest of his olive-toned skin, and Sal understands why it's jarring.

It's like peeling back the layers of what makes humans...humans.

The skin. The sight of his face makes people unnerved. Teeth and gums and muscles and the lack of a nose. One side of his face was a plain canvas and the other was a goddamn Jackson Pollock painting of horror.

Your touch on his bare skin shocks him. The pads of your fingers drag across his cheekbones. "Does it hurt?" You ask with your eyes lidded.

"No, no, it...it doesn't." You smile and your thumb rests just under his eyes, sweeping fondly while your palm holds his face preciously within your hand. There's a flush to his skin — it's not unusual with how the prosthetic held over his face nearly 24/7.

There's a feeling of nakedness that comes without the even pressure across his visage but your hands are an amazing substitute.

"You don't have to be nice," he says. "It takes a lot to get used to — "

"I know I can't completely convince you to not think of yourself as 'something to get used to' but you're not. Not to me." Sal's eye water and he wills himself to finally look at you.

There's a pinch to your brows, it makes your eyebrows cast this shadow across your eyes and highlight the colours of your eyes. You're frowning at his self-deprecation, though beyond that he can see you mean well.

"I would gladly sit on your face, Sal."

He scoffs, groaning as he slips away from your hand to toss his head back and flop right onto the couch again. "You're fuckin' impossible, (Y/N)," he mumbled as his hands covered his face. You place the prosthetic down on the makeshift coffee table near the couch and chuckle as you swing one leg over his hips and rest your crotch over his.

"What? I'm being honest here!" Bracing your weight on your elbows, Sal finds the comfort of your body across his similar to Gizmo's. "You're fucking beautiful," he squirms at that and you huff, nuzzling your face into his neck while he peeks from over his fingers.

"You don't have to say that," you huff once again. "I'm not saying that because I have to, I'm saying it because I want to. You're fucking beautiful, me being your boyfriend is just a coincidence."

He feels you shifting and instinctively, his hands rest on your hips and there he is again. You know you shouldn't stare, so you don't, but the shy glances at his face are less than secretive. His eyes are blue, cobalt almost, and his eyebrows are a darker shade of his hair. The shape of his eyes is rounded, with a deep crease and heavy eyelids just like his father's. Lifting your head, you gaze down at him and your hands are once again gingerly ghosting on his skin. This time, they're tracing his collarbones, feeling up the protruding muscle of his neck and halting at his jaw.

"Can I kiss you, baby?" He has a quirk. A lip twitch that he does when he's excited; you've been dating him for years and you're still finding out new things about your boyfriend. It makes your heart race and it only triples in speed when he nods. Hovering, the peak of your lips ghost his. He had always envied how you kiss his prosthetic. It was an extension of himself but he hated how badly he wanted to feel you on him.

They press to his and Sal slips his eyes closed. It's nothing more than a peck. Innocent, chaste. But then he's tightening his grip and pulling you in; tilting his head like he's always seen other people do and you're grinning into it. He knows because he can feel it.

He can feel it.

How your lips spread, the hint of teeth that slide over his bottom ones, and the crinkling of your nose that's brushing over his cheek.

"You taste so good, pretty boy," your words make his ears red. "I'm sure anything is better than kissing porcelain," he replies with a breathless tone, leaning forward again as if unwilling to part from you even if just to talk.

"No, don't disrespect yourself like that. What did we say about making those jokes." "Hah, I'll stop when you do."

Giggling, you're leaning in again. Sal wonders if kissing you is the only reason he's not completely in tears. The first time he'd accidentally showed Larry his face, he'd cried because Larry didn't look away from him. You taste tears on your lips and Sal curses softly as he tucks himself under your jaw, groaning. You shush him comfortingly, threading your fingers through his hair as he takes a few deep inhales.

"I love you." Those words are followed by more tears and you squeeze him again. "I love you, Sal," he nods against your �� his — shirt. He can feel the grin you have from the crown of his head.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

Because you did. Sal was the man you wanted to be with until the Earth decided to throw in the towel; it didn't matter how buried your love for each other would be, because when your bones are dug up, or his guitar, or the treasure trove of things you've called yours; in the future, when you whisper to those archeologists: "Do you know?" they'd nod and reply, "We know you loved him."

Sal has never felt love like this. One that felt overwhelming at first, the same way entering a body would be for the first time in your life, but once he embraced the feeling? It was so...fulfilling.

How lucky was he?

Sal pulls away to cup your face and he leans in. You meet him halfway.

The feeling of your breath, your heart thudding against his own chest, the pulse beating under his thumb as he holds your neck — Sal isn't sure if he'd ever get into heaven but he doubts it ever compares to you.

His jaw moves and your lips part as you press closer. Fuck, kissing him felt like drinking in sunlight. There's a freedom that follows it, leaves you floaty and blissful.

"I love you," he replies between the friction, teeth biting down on your lower lip if only to hear if you'd gasp. You do.

"I love you so fuckin' much, (Y/N)." There's a feverish desperation in his words. But it makes your heart swell. There's no doubt in his eye, nothing but the truth and the truth is he'd worship you.

You're kissing again. Eager to show him the explosions he sets off within you. Between desperate lip locking and messy tangles of tongues, his hands move down and up your — his —shirt.

Squeezing your sides as he drags his digits across your skin. It spreads fire across your planes, has your already uneven breath shuddering as he memorizes the shape of your body again.

There's a growing hardness between his legs. You can feel it — twitching below your crotch as he tilts his head and tastes the lust that perspires from your neck.

He's greedy with his mouth. How could he not be? Sal has been wanting to taste you the second he realised how badly he wished you were his.

"Fuck, Sal." You groan, chewing on your lower lip as he experiments with this unmarked territory. His tongue is warm, his teeth brushes over pumping arteries with an air of amusement; when he finds the sweet spot? The spot where your breath hitched as he kissed it?

Sal makes your blood vessels explode. It isn't enough that the hairs on your neck stand in attention because of him, or how your blood rushes to your head when he so much as looks your way. He's determined to show you he can worship you in more ways than one.

You're gripping onto his shirt and your hips grind down. The moan he lets out makes your cunt wetter than before.

"I need you," you tell him as he sinks his teeth in. Just to test it out, to see if you'd like it. You do. His back feels cold as you lift his shirt but he grips at your wrist, panting as he moves his head away so you can see him.

"Can I...Can I keep it on?" He already felt a touch too exposed. You nod, reassuring him with a chaste peck.

"I'm gonna take of my shirt. You've made me all warm," he smiles a bit too smugly. He's handsome that way. When he gets a bit cocky — it's a sure fire way to make your head dizzy with desire.

"My shirt," he mumbles.

But when your bare torso is revealed the sass is pushed away. Sal presses kisses on your chest, teasing your perk buds with his too-warm hands and relishing in the way you toss your head back when he takes one in his mouth.

"Sal, holy fuck." He kneads at your ass, making your hips move back and forth. Rocking your clothed cunt over his boner as he leaves hickeys and bitemarks.

Here is where I plant my love, he thinks as he feels your heart pound against your ribcage, here is proof that he's mine.

Your pants are pulled below your waist and Sal moves back, making you yelp at the loss of balance. One second you're over him and the next, you're both tumbling over the couch.

His hand cradles the back of your head, curling over you as much as he could when you crash. Thankfully, none of you knocked into the coffee table but the adrenaline of the short fall makes the both of you wide-eyed.

"Holy fuck!" You laugh breathlessly. He scans you for any injury but soon follows suit. "You okay?" His hair curtains your face from view as he descends to claim your lips again.

"I'm peachy, baby." Sal grunts as you tug at the waist band of his pants. "Don't stop..." and how could he say no to you when you look up at him like that?

Your hands invade underneath his shirt and Sal moans as you press your fingers lightly into his back, kneading at the tense muscles. "M'not gonna take it off. Just wanna feel you," you assure as you reach his shoulder blades. God, the feeling of your hands on his body made him feel so Holy.

Ironic in the grand scheme of things but it's not like Sal gave a damn.

It's your turn to mark him up. He often already is. But this time your lips latch onto the obvious places. Lifting yourself to sit, Sal is suddenly at your mercy as you lovingly bruise him up with your mouth.

Sal lifts himself off your crotch a bit, panting and moaning at your ministrations, and slips his hand down your pants. Your breath stutters as your boyfriend touches your core.

"Sal," you plead. "I know, baby. I know," Sal frowns when you whine. "What? What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"You're just..." You're breathing heavily as you stare up at him, nails lightly digging into his skin as your dick twitches against his palm.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Sal."

That catches him completely off-guard. He hates how tears immediately burn at his waterline but regret doesn't come when they travel down his cheek. You're kissing him and the self-depriciation doesn't once rise. That snivelling, hissing, voice of doubt remains mute as you hold him.

"So fucking pretty," he slips his finger in as if attempting to distract you with pleasure. It makes you keen but you continue to sing praises for him as he pumps his digits in and out of you.

It's hard to move when you curl your arms over his back, hands peeking from the stretched out collar of his shirt. Forehead once again pressed to his.

"I can't — "

"You're all mine. My pretty boy is all mine." Blood should not rush so quickly to one's head. His chest is dusted in red, his shoulders, his ear, the apples of his cheek —

"You feel so good, Sal."

You allow him to push you back, splaying out onto the floor with your eyes lidded in want as he looked at you.

"...Shit, you're making my brain go all stupid," he grumbles — it sounds more like a whine. You lift your hips as he tugs your pants down and off. Sal gets between your legs and for a moment you think he's about to just slide in — which causes you a bit of concern considering how much meat he's packing between his legs — but then he lays on his stomach and your cock peeks straight up.

"I've watched a few pornos," he says with a grimace, "but — "

"I can guide you, Sal." He's looking up at you with those doe eyes and you chuckle as you brush some of his hair back. "You made me cum from grinding on your goddamn leg before. You've got this, Sex Grandmaster Sal."

"Really don't think mentioning Larry's marijuana induced rambling is setting the mood, babe," your giggle smooths out the furrowed brows he had. "Sorry, sorry."

Your cunt is making his mouth water. Sal presses his thumb on your cock and the sigh you let out eases his worries. His tongue on your dick has you inhaling deeply, slowly, back arching off the floor as he looks up at you.

He's overzealous but fuck does it make you wetter than you've ever been. Licking and sucking on your cock while he teases the opening of your cunt with his fingers. The hints of teeth makes your hips twist but he holds your hips down with muffled groans.

"Fuck, yes. You're doing so good, Sal. S'fuckin' good — holy shit, babe," the way your voice gets all pitchy makes him grin. Your slick on his tongue is making him want more, so he spreads your lips apart and sinks his tongue inside, it makes your grip onto his head, and Sal moans into you at the pinpricks of pain that follow.

Fingers accompanies his tongue and you're clamping your thighs around his head. It forces Sal's face into your cunt and the whole thing has him chuckling against you.

Pinning your thighs apart, Sal licks and swipes at the slick around his mouth and chin, catching his breath as he curses.

"Fucking Christ, does it feel that good?" You whine in retaliation. "You're the one going down on me of course I'm going fuckin' crazy. You get all whiny when I go down on you too — "

He curls a finger inside of you and you cut yourself off with a particularly loud moan. The floorboards above you creak and like a deer lifting its head as a branch snaps in the distance, another follows as whoever was in the living room heard the echoing cries of pleasure.

Sal slips another finger in and you cover your mouth, glaring at his handsome face petulantly. It falters as he stretches you out, thrusting in and out with a steady rhythm that he occasionally breaks to curl his fingers up.

You're groaning and curling your toes, eyelids fluttering and squeezing shut as he jerks you off with his other hand. Loosening his jaw, Sal uses his spit to lube you up further. He had a thing for sloppy sex. You once joked he enjoyed the slick-and-slide of it all and he didn't deny it then and probably won't ever.

"Nuh - no, don't wanna cum yet, I wanna cum with you, baby," he slows his rhythm, staring at you as you lift yourself onto your hands and taste yourself on his lips.

"Want you inside me. Please, Sal, I'm beggin'"

"You don't have to. I've got you." He nods when you hold onto the waist of his pants. Pulling it down to his knees and let his cock spring out into the air. Fuck, it's a pretty dick.

It's fat and heavy. Thicker than longer, the girth always makes your toes curl. It's a darker colour compared to the rest of his skin tone, the mushroom tip a warmer shade that burns when you tease him too much. You motion for the couch and he leans against it, whispering your name as you hover over his cock.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he says as you pump his dick with your fist while you line it up to your cunt. "You're pretty fucking hot yourself, big dick," he struggles not to laugh in your face, shaking his head in 'disapproval' that's short-lived.

You sink down on the tip of his cock and Sal moans out your name, squeezing your hips. You shiver for a moment, willing your insides not to clench so excitedly when you've still got some ways to go.

"Shit, (Y/N). You're so fuckin' tight." You could not agree more. The more you go down on him, the more you're tempted to just squeeze him like a vice. Sal brings your face down to kiss him, very quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of it. It's no wonder teenagers made out in the hallways all the damn time.

Gravity helps you the rest of the way. When he's all the way inside of you, you part your lips, the way your eyebrows slope being felt on Sal's forehead as you clench around him.

"Fuuuuck, Sal" you're whimpering his name, arms wrapped around his neck as you look at him. "You feel so fuckin' good, baby."

He swallows thickly, reaching to push your hair away from your face as he gazes up.

"I love you, so fuckin' much. I love you, Sal," you're determined to make him turn into nothing but mush. He's certain of it. His insides felt like a field of flowers, all blooming at once, even if it didn't sense at all. There's an airy moan that escapes him as you squeeze your inner thighs, your hips move forward and Sal grips you like he's afraid you're just a figment of his imagination.

"I know, baby," he whispers back. "I love you, more than you can imagine."

A dopey grin appears on your face. "You think you can show me how much you love me, handsome?" He smiles and your heart feels like it's going to stop.

"I can do more than show you, pretty boy."

He turns you over on your side, not once pulling out. You hastily grab some couch pillows for the both of you before your descent onto the floor. It's cold but that's all the more reason to hold onto each other.

Once your head is on a pillow and you're on your back again, he drapes over you.

Another kiss. Another mischievous nibble. A sly dance of tongues.

Sal is pulling out, the drag of his dick makes you whimper, and thrusts back home. The action has your nails leaving welts on his back but it just reinvigorates him.

He's splitting you open and filling you up. Every thrust makes you see stars. You're unwilling to let him go if the legs wrapped around his waist are saying anything.

But Sal is growing flustered the more praises you tell him.

"That's it, baby. Fuck this pussy, this pussy's just for you."

"Fuck, you look so good, baby. On top of me, fucking me, shit — !"

"Oh, God, your cock is — yeah, right there! — you're in so deep, Sal -Ah!"

You're so fucking filthy.

He wants to hide his face in your neck but he doesn't wanna take his eyes off you. Eyes trailing where his lips and teeth had been, eyeing the sheen of sweat on you and your messed up hair.

The shower you just took had been in vain, huh?

"Fuh - fuck, I'm close," he warns, bracing himself on his elbows as he hovers above you.

"Yeah? Me — mff! — too. Cum inside, baby. Need to feel you — fuuuuck — dripping outta' me," he chuckles breathlessly at your words.

His hips are stuttering and he can see the way your brows are furrowing, angelic moan after angelic moan being knocked out of you. He gives your cock a rub and the way your back arches off the floor makes him hold his own orgasm back just so he can see you like this as clearly as he can take it in.

"Sal, oh fuck, baby!"

"I've got you, (Y/N)."

He chokes out a groan as he feels you clamping down on him, your cunt gripping onto him like it never wants him to let go. You gasp as he snatches your breath, messily making out with him as the aftershocks of your orgasm are barrelled through thanks to Sal's deep thrusts.

"Shit, shit, shit," you smile as he begins to lose his rhythm. Ignoring how sensitive your boypussy feels as he chases his end. "C'mon, baby, fill me up. Yeah, that's it."

He cums with one final thrust. The warmth of it floods your insides, earning pleasant shivers from you as you moan out his name. He's riding his orgasm out, pushing in and out of you shallowly as he catches his breath above you.

"Jesus, fuck..." You giggle at his words, chest rising and falling in rapid motions as your heart tries to calm down.

"That was, Christ, that was — " "Fucking amazing?"

He nods, falling on top of you as carefully as he can. You embrace him, humming as he kisses your neck while you rub his back. The both of you catch your breath, satisfied expressions etched on your faces.

When Sal moves, your eyes are already closed. He pulls out and you whimper at the loss, ignoring the way he stares at his own jizz dripping out of your cunt in favor of gazing at his face.

"We gotta take a shower all over again," he says, helping you sit up and accepting the hug you give him when you're righted.

"...Wanna do it all over again in the shower?" Your question earns a throaty chuckle. "Thought it was implied in my statement."

Another beat of comfortable silence is shared. Sal sighs, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"Thank you, (Y/N)."

"I've got you, Sal."

[simpstantruther]

Hungry Heart ch. 1 | (Mullet) Stanley Pines x Reader

(Sorry, should have posted it this way the first time. First time posting fanfiction to tumblr).

Summary: Stan needs to go to Oregon. You need to get to California. Stan has a car. You have a cunt. (Can I make it any more obvious~)

Tags: 80s Americana Roadtrip Partners-in-Crime Stan x Reader fic. Smut. You can fix him, but you're worse.

TW: Alcohol Use

Preview:

His voice gets surprisingly soft. “Can I take you home?”

“You kiddin’ me?” You spit out the ruined lime slice. ”I thought you were a bum. What home you gonna take me to? Lovely spot under a bridge?"

“I got a motel room.” He adds defensively. “It’s somethin’.”

Read on AO3.

Your arms stick to the bar top. It’s sticky enough on its own. It smells like fruit cocktail and jaeger and all the other sickly sweet mixings that bar tops get coated in, with a lovely note of pissy beer over it all.

But it’s sweltering, even with the door kicked out and the flies starting to buzz inside. There’s a sheen of sweat over all your bare skin, sticking your thighs uncomfortably to your wooden stool. Your jean shorts are too short, and the high waist is digging into your ribs. 

You hate Dallas.

Stupid bartender cut you off two songs ago.

You hate this stupid bar, too.

You weren’t drunk. Not really. Just buzzed enough to tell him to shove a broken bottle up his ass when he snapped your bra strap from across the bar.

But he let you sit at the bar anyways. He was sweet like that. You feel pitiable, alone like this. Maybe he can tell. Maybe he hopes that if he lets you stay and no one else picks up the slack, you’ll let him take you home.

You’re not drunk enough for that. And you can afford to be choosey. Daddy always said you were a pretty girl. He told you to kill yourself before you weren't, but that was besides the point. 

You look at the stained mirror backing the bar. Dark circles under your eyes. Your hair is a mess. Your eyeliner is from three days ago, a dark stain under your bottom eyelashes. You're young, but you don't want to guess how much longer you'll have left by dear old dad's measure. Not the way you're living.  

You're not drunk, you're just reminiscing. 

“Got a wife and kids in Baltimore jack—“

You snap over to the juke box, playing the same fucking song again for the fifth time. Some mulleted asshole with sweat and beer stains over his white t-shirt croons along poorly, drunkenly leaning against the wall beside it.

“I go for a drive and never come back—“

“Not a-fucking-gain.” You groan, head in your hands. 

“What? Who’s got a problem with Springsteen?” He barks. The mellow rock continues without him.

You don’t turn. You’re not drunk, just a little on edge from the heat. You slide off your stool painfully and stumble. And okay, you’re drunker than you realize.

You point an accusing finger at the blurry man who stomps toward you. 

“If I wanted to hear someone butcher Bruce Springsteen songs, I’d toss quarters at the poor bastard with the chipped cup outside. At least he knows the god damn lyrics—“ 

You blink as he comes into focus. 

Dammit. 

He was cute, in a bring-me-home-and-disappoint-your-parents kind of way. Or if Kurt Russel had like, a really bad year. Square jaw. Scruffy chin. Bulbous nose, broken at least a few times. Baby beer gut. Big, broad shoulders. Narrow hips. God. Was he wearing fucking football gear or something? 

His lips stay parted like the mouth-breather he is. He looks you over too. Your loose tank top has a fallen strap, the hem hangs low over your chest. With your arms crossed, your tits look better than they are. His eyes fall to the bit of lace on your bra peeking out. It’s fine. That’s what it’s there for. 

You swallow thickly, feeling sweat crawl down your neck. 

“You played the same song five times in a row. Don’t you know the fuckin’ lyrics by now?” You mutter quietly, just enough to make him lean in and listen.

You feel his hot breath against your ear, trying to talk over the music. It smells like tequila and cheap cigarettes.

“You wanna teach it to me, Sweetheart?” 

You huff with amusement. A jersey dirtbag just like you, so far from home? What are the odds. 

He stands over you.

You imagine your thighs around his big dopey ears for a second, but the idea of his stubble tearing up your already irritated inner thighs feels unappetizing.

“Nah. Learn it yourself.” You turn. His meaty hand grabs your arm. 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t know.” You tilt your head. “Can you?” It’s a genuine question. You both glance at the bartender who curls his lip.

“Hermano! One for the lady, por favor!”

Surprisingly, the bartender nods. You both cling to the bar, like the railing of a ship tipping over.

“He’s Italian.” You mutter under your breath, watching the bartender mix you another vodka-soda.

“Huh?” He leans his elbow on the bar beside you, his other hand coming around your other side. He’s like a furnace. You are sweating out his beer through osmosis. 

You nod to the flag hung behind the bartender and fan yourself with a damp coaster.

“It’s an Italian flag. The Mexican one has an eagle.”

“I know. I did time in Mexico.” He says it like he’s proud. Like you should care. Stupid cute smug grin. 

“Small world!” You turn towards him.

“Gettin’ smaller.” He looks amused and he coils a strand of your hair around his finger, now leaning his arm on your shoulder. “You serious? You got locked up there?”

“No.” You say, deadpanned. He laughs. You feel it, tucked against his chest.

“You’re funny.” 

“And you’re just an asshole.” You say as you sip your drink, faster than you should. 

He shrugs one shoulder dismissively. “So, you from Jersey?” He asks, knocking back a shot of tequila with only a grimace. “You sound like my Ma.”

“Born and raised. You?”

“Born and raised. Small world. Why’d you ever leave Jersey?”

“To leave Jersey. ”

He sucks his teeth. “Ain’t you got a family or somethin’?” 

“What, are you gonna kidnap me?” He laughs again. His laugh is stupid, loud, makes you wanna laugh with him. Maybe just at him. You shrug. “Followin’ my old man out west.”

“New family?”

“New everything.”

“Lucky guy. It’s harder than it sounds, starting a new life.” He sighs bitterly, nodding as the bartender refills his shooter. “Some fuckers have all the luck.” 

You hold your glass out to him. You long since drained it of alcohol, but the ice remains. You suck on one melting cube in your cheek and crunch it between your teeth. “To the unlucky bastards, then.” 

He tuts his tongue and takes the empty glass from your hand, replacing it with another shooter.

“That’s better. To the unlucky bastards.” 

You hate tequila. 

But you love free liquor.

“Salud.” You wince as it burns down your throat, shutting your eyes tightly for a moment before you open to see him watch you with his elbow on the bar top.

“Love seein’ a beautiful chick knockin’ back tequila like a champ.” He smirks.

“Love it from a distance. You’re in the splash zone.” You groan, setting back down the glass and snagging a lime from behind the bar to suck against your teeth. 

“I don’t scare easy.” 

You narrow your eyes. “You want me to yak on you?”

“If you would do me the honors.” He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t lose his easy smile.

You smirk briefly. “Freak.” 

“I get that a lot.” The smile loosens. Just a bit. He swallows and you watch his adam’s apple bob. His voice gets surprisingly soft.

“Can I take you home?”

“You kiddin’ me?” You spit out the ruined lime slice. ”I thought you were a bum. What home you gonna take me to? Lovely spot under a bridge?"

“I got a motel room.” He adds defensively. “It’s somethin’.”

“Livin’ large.” You draw out the vowels condescendingly. As if you’re any better. “You ain’t worried I’ll rob you blind in the night, big shot?”

“Don’t got much. And if you can sneak it past me, I figure you deserve it.”

You look over him again.

You consider it, you really do. He could have been worse. You’ve had worse. Half the nights you spent on your way west were spent banging for room and board. Or at least picking guys drunk and rich enough to pay for the taxi home and pass out before they remembered to touch you. 

You should be dead. A dozen times, you wished you were. Easily, you could have been. And no one would go looking for you.

You have a feeling he understands what that’s like. Poor bastard.

But tonight, you paid for a room. And for the love of God, clean(ish) beds to yourself were in short supply. The T.V. in your room was busted and the liquor store was closed. You came here for the lovely conversation.

“Sorry. Not tonight, buddy.” You avert your eyes. “But thanks for the drinks.”

He frowns and nods, not happy with the rejection clearly but respectful enough to accept it anyways.

“Well, I’m in town a couple more days. If you need somethin’, give me a call, okay sweetheart?”

He fishes out a business card from his front jean pocket. It’s wrinkled and damp with sweat. 

The Loveshack the card says.

You pick up the card and turn it on both sides. 

“Cute.”

“I’m in room eight.” He eyes the card nervously. “Or ask for Lee.”

“Lee.” You repeat. “Thanks, Lee.” You hold your hand out to shake and give him a fake name. He holds your hand and your eyes. 

“I mean it. Give me a call.” He pleads.

You huff with mirth, sticking the card in your pocket. You haven’t heard a boy beg for a call like that since highschool.

“Alright, alright.” You slide off your barstool again, slightly more graceful than the first time. 

“Goodnight, Lee.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“Stupid.” You smirk at eachother as you step back towards the exit. You know he’s waiting for you to turn so he can stare at your ass.

Bruce Springsteen croons you out as you leave the bar. You hear Lee belting along. 

“Everybody’s got a hungry heart. Everybody’s got a hungry heart.”

[melodyatlas]

If you're interested, from the one bed prompt list- 15 and Jaytim??? 👀👀

Tim wakes slowly, the deepset aches in his bones only notable in the fact that they don't have the sharp sting he was expecting after the ringer he put his body through the night before.

It doesn't take him long to take in his surroundings, without even opening his eyes. The lumpy mattress beneath him, the contrast of that with the soft sheets pulled up over his otherwise bare chest. He is wearing boxers, thank god, he didn't think he was /that/ out of it the night before, waking up totally naked would have set off alarm bells.

But his surroundings don't ring a bell until he places the smell of the pillow his nose if halfway pressed into.

Jason.

Right. He's at Jason's safehouse.

Last night Red Hood had jumped into the fray right when Red Robin had realized he'd gotten in a biiiiit over his head. He'd taken a slash to the thigh that meant he was going to have to up his antibiotics again, and Jason had insisted on stitching up the wound himself when they were done at the warehouse because Tim "is a hazard to his own health and Jason was /not/ going to deal with speeches regarding the little bird's safety from both Alfred and Dick. /Again/."

He must have slipped him a sedative at some point, too, because there is no way Tim slept that well in an unfamiliar safehouse without one. Plus, the aformentioned lack of stinging pain meant Jason for sure gave him the good pain pills.

Speaking of Jason...

"I can feel you staring at me." Tim still doesn't bother opening his eyes, even as he calls Jason out. Their training means he clocked Jason standing a few feet away as he mentally took stock of the room, being able to hear the minute creak of the shitty floorboards as Jason shifted his weight.

It helps that he's so attuned to Jason already- the older ex-Robin having been a threat-turned-ally means Tim's /more/ attuned to him than practically anyone else. Perhaps barring Bruce, just due to how long their partnership had lasted.

"I need to change your bandage- you've been asleep for twelve hours."

Tim /does/ open his eyes at that- "Twelve hours?"

Jason hums in agreement, "Twelve hours and fourty minutes actually."

Tim sits up quickly then, his shifting finally putting strain on the cut and sending a shooting pain up his leg. Still, he's had worse, it barely warrants the little grunt he lets loose at the feeling.

"Twelve hours and fourty minutes and instead of waking me up you saw fit to just stand around and watch me sleep?"

Jason just shrugs, finally moving closer to the bed- if you could call the old mattress just sitting on a couple of old wooden palettes a bed at all. "Figured turnabouts fair play, you little stalker."

He doesn't ask for permission when he plops down next to Tim, pulling the sheet down to get to Tim's injured thigh and grabbing the first aid kit that was still sitting nearby from the treatment last night.

Tim wants to complain- he opens his mouth to complain- but Jason's hands are warm on his bare skin, carefully but surely cutting the blood-stained wrap off before inspecting his stitches. So Tim shuts his mouth and watches Jason.

He watches the careful way he handles Tim and his injury, watches him deem the stitches fine still before gently rubbing more antibacterial gel around the wound, watches as he lifts Tim's leg up into a better position to re-wrap it, big hands winding the gauze around and around.

He loves watching Jason. Especially when Jason is so focused on something. So yeah, maybe turnabout is fairplay. He'll let Jason watching him sleep slide. This time.

Prompt List

[sansaorgana]

— MAKE IT RIGHT THIS TIME

PAIRING — Erik Lehnsherr x fem!Mutant!Reader

SUMMARY — You’re a teacher at Charles’ school where you live with your daughter but the life you’re living is far from what you want it to be. After a disagreement with Charles about your role in his institution, you pay your husband a visit. Maybe there’s still a chance to make the things right.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I wanted to write it for MONTHS ??? and I finally did in one sitting and I’m so proud of myself! I know that not many people are into X–Men fics anymore (???) but honestly, I just had to write it and get it out of my system 💗 It’s based very very loosely on the plot of the movies and takes place more less when Dark Phoenix’s plot is. Reader’s mutation is NOT specified.

WORD COUNT — 3,150

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

MAKE IT RIGHT THIS TIME

Raven was pissed. You knew her long enough to see it in her eyes and the way her fingers twitched nervously now and then. Everyone focused on Jane after the weird incident in outer space but from the corner of your eye, you could see Raven’s anger. And you were observing her because you were pissed, too. You knew she would be on the same page with you.

Risking your life for Charles was supposed to be over now. You didn’t sign up for any of that – tight, pathetic superhero’s suit and journalists taking pictures of you leaving the ship, asking you questions; all the sensation and headlines. You never wanted to be a hero. You just wanted to be with your people – with other mutants – safe and happy. You wanted peace.

Charles mostly cared about his school’s PR in front of the humans and it was exhausting. It was nothing like you had been imagining your life to be. Especially now, when you had so much to lose.

Raven went to Charles’ office to argue with him but you didn’t join her. You had your disagreements in the past but you knew she was tough enough to do it without your backup and you were needed somewhere else anyway.

You passed a bunch of kids – your students – congratulating you on the staircase.

“That was so cool, Mrs. Lehnsherr!” some boy’s cheeks blushed as he gasped like he was choking on air. You faked a kind smile at him.

You didn’t want him to think that risking your life for Charles was something admirable. You didn’t want to raise these kids to be superheroes. You just wanted them to be mutants capable of controlling their forces; future adults feeling comfortable in their own skin.

“Thank you, darling,” you whispered before opening the wooden door and disappearing inside the room. You took a deep breath out of relief when all the outside noise became muffled behind the door.

“Mum!” a young girl’s voice whined and you smiled at the girl laying on the bed. She took her headphones off and pouted at you, “You haven’t knocked!” she scolded you.

Edie was eight years old now – big enough to want her privacy and you hated that. Not because you didn’t want her to have her own space but because you hated to see her so grown up. You wished her to stay little forever like she was when she was two or three, giggling in her father’s arms when he was throwing her in the air in the kitchen.

You smiled sadly at the memory.

“I’m sorry, Edie. I had to hide from them as fast as I could,” you sighed and sat on the edge of her bed. She turned off her walkman and put the headphones away. “Why weren’t you waiting for me downstairs? I couldn’t wait to see your face.”

“You know why, mum,” she sniffled and you furrowed your brows before looking at her face. Then you spotted the dried out tears on her cheeks.

“Oh, Edie,” you gasped before pulling her closer and hugging her tight. She pressed her face to your chest and you hid your face in her hair before kissing the top of her head. “Mummy will always come back to you, little Edie.”

Edie hated you going on missions. She was terrified that you wouldn’t come back to her. She often refused to watch anything related to them on TV (which was difficult) and she would just sit in her room and block out the noise with her headphones.

“I’m back, I’m fine,” you caressed her back.

“I know that you all almost died today. I was nervous and I changed the radio station to news,” she admitted and sobbed as her small body trembled in your arms. Your heart broke.

“I promise I won’t ever go again,” you bit on your lower lip as your eyes filled with tears, too.

“You always say that and then uncle Charles asks you for one last favour.”

You didn’t answer her. She was right.

“I miss dad,” she added and you froze at that.

“I miss him, too,” you only admitted, almost inaudibly.

“Why can’t we be with him?” Edie looked up to meet your gaze. You caressed her wet cheeks and sighed.

“You know why, Edie. It’s not the kind of life I’d want for us.”

“And this is?” she asked innocently but once again there was no answer from you.

You just didn’t know what to say.

“You can visit your dad tomorrow. How about that?” you proposed to make her feel better and she nodded eagerly while giving you a wide smile.

“You’re driving too fast, mum,” Edie giggled and her voice brought you back to reality. You slowed down immediately after realising that she had been right.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I’m angry.”

“Because we’re going to see daddy?”

“No. I had a fight with uncle Charles this morning,” you admitted.

“About yesterday?”

“Yes,” you nodded but refused to share the details. Edie was too young to be burdened with things like that.

“Do you think dad’s gonna like my new trick?” she grinned at you, playing with the metal balls inside her hand. She had recently learnt how to make them float in all sorts of ways and even change their shape. Sometimes it was funny and sometimes it was visually beautiful.

“I think he’s gonna love it,” you assured her and parked the car on the roadside near the trailer park where Erik and his followers lived.

Of course he refused to call them followers. These days, they were just comrades or whatever. But you weren’t a fool. You’d known him for years. He always had followers.

Edie was practising her tricks while walking alongside you all the way to the trailer park and you were smiling at her and pretending to listen to her rambling but, in fact, you were far away with your thoughts.

You were looking around and caught yourself wondering… Would it really be that bad to live there? Of course the standard was way worse than Charles’ huge mansion and you had your responsibilities back at school – all your kids to teach. On the other hand, they weren’t really your kids and there were other teachers, while Erik’s trailer park just felt more free and you knew that it would make Edie happy to live there.

Of course only if Erik wanted you there as well, which wasn’t so obvious.

The forest path ended and you found yourselves inside the trailer park. Edie ran off ahead and you tried to stop her but it was pointless. She felt comfortable there and seemed not to notice all the curious and suspicious eyes. People living with Erik knew who you were but they always stared at you like you were actually sent there with a military squadron supposed to arrest or kill them. After all, your kind – mutants living with Charles – was known for working with humans for the sake of the friendship between the species.

“Hey, little one!” a female voice greeted Edie and you turned around to see a young woman patting your daughter’s head. You had seen her before while taking Edie to Erik or picking her up. That woman’s name was Monica and she seemed to be close with your husband.

Husband by name only. For some reason you had never divorced. There was never any occasion to do so.

“Hi, Monica!” Edie smiled at her and you squinted your eyes at them. Edie had never told you much about Monica. Only that she had been nice.

You had your reasons to believe that Monica was actually Erik’s girlfriend and Edie just chose to cover up for them.

But there was nothing to cover up. It was Erik’s right to live his life without you. It was your choice not to live with him. It was your decision to split up for Edie’s good. Without Edie, you’d go to the end of the world with Erik back in the day. You’d burn the whole world alongside him. You almost did once anyway.

Edie changed everything. You didn’t regret her, though, not even for a moment.

“Hi, Monica,” you stood behind Edie and put your hand on your daughter’s shoulder. Monica looked at you with a smirk. “Is Erik around?” you asked.

“Yeah, let me get him,” she answered before turning around and disappearing inside one of the small houses.

He went outside a short moment after.

It had been years now since he changed so much but every time you saw him after a long while of not seeing him, you felt weird because he looked so different than at the beginning of your relationship. You didn’t mean his face getting older but he used to be such an elegant man in his turtlenecks, jackets, sunglasses and haircut. Nowadays, he was just wearing T-shirts and didn’t shave for days when he didn’t feel like it. Edie would often complain about his stubble scratching her face when they were hugging.

“Hi,” you greeted him awkwardly.

“Hi,” he looked a bit surprised and opened his arms for Edie. She ran into them and jumped on her dad. He picked her up and kissed her cheeks. “I didn’t expect you.”

“Edie wanted to see you,” you approached them and rubbed her back. “I’m sorry. Should have called… But you don’t really use your phone, do you?”

“I don’t know where it is,” Erik admitted.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“But you haven’t been here with her in such a long time. I thought I’d never see her again,” he said and you felt guilty.

“Don’t be stupid, Erik. It’s just… I was very busy,” you looked down.

“Mum saved the world yesterday,” Edie giggled as her dad put her down on the ground. Erik furrowed his brows at you.

“I didn’t. Jane did, actually. Kinda…” you chuckled nervously.

“They almost died, daddy,” Edie lowered her voice and swallowed thickly. You took a deep breath in.

“I know. I’ve listened on the radio,” he confessed and you looked up, surprised. “Edie, can I talk to your mum for a while?”

“But daddy, I wanted to show you a trick!”

“You can show me later, okay?” He caressed her hair.

“Show me first!” Suddenly, Monica appeared next to you. You almost jumped at that. Apparently, superhuman speed was her mutation.

“Okay!” Edie followed Monica to one of the houses and you watched them with terror in your eyes.

“She’s safe. I trust Monica,” Erik assured you. “I trust everyone here. Believe me,” he insisted and you nodded your head before walking away with him to go inside his place.

You sat on the couch and looked around since you hadn’t been inside much before. The place was quite messy and you spotted that there were some pictures on the wall and most of them were of Edie. On one of them it was all three of you when your daughter was a few months old. You stood up again and approached that picture to caress it gently with your fingertips through the glass of a frame.

“We were so young, huh?” you cracked a smile.

“You still are,” Erik stood behind you.

A long silence occurred between you two.

“What did you want to talk about?” you asked in a whisper after swallowing thickly.

“You shouldn’t risk your life anymore for Charles. I mean, I have never wanted you to but now we have Edie.”

“You have never wanted me to risk my life for Charles,” you turned around to face him, “but you have never minded me risking my life for you, Erik.”

“All I did was to protect you and you know that,” he furrowed his brow.

“That’s the excuse that lets you sleep at night?” you snorted at that.

“(Y/N), come on,” Erik grabbed your wrist but he wasn’t squeezing it so you didn’t fight him on that, “don’t pretend to be better than me. Don’t play pretend to be a bigger person. We both know you are not. You joined me because you made a choice. I didn’t force you to join the Brotherhood.”

“I joined you because I loved you,” you gritted your teeth and he clenched his jaw at your words, “and I hated every moment of it. There’s blood on my hands but it was all for love. That’s the excuse that lets me sleep at night.”

“I don’t want you to die for Charles’ ego, do you hear me? Edie needs a mother,” Erik changed the subject and pushed your wrist away. You knew it was a sensitive matter to him. He didn’t want Edie to lose her mother like he had lost his.

“She still has you. You’re going to take care of her if something happens to me, right?”

“Of course I will but I didn’t know you wanted me to. I thought you’d want her to stay at school if anything happens,” Erik sat down on the couch and you took a deep breath in.

“I don’t. I mean, what for? So she grows up to be another X–Man? So they put her in a tight suit and make her risk her life to save humans?” you rolled your eyes. “Fuck that, Erik. And you have the same mutation. You’re every teacher she’d ever need.”

“What do you mean by that?” he looked up and you bit on your lower lip nervously.

“I had an argument with Charles this morning. I know what you think but I don’t want to do the missions for him anymore and it’s been like that for a long time now. I agreed to join his school, to be a teacher, to secure Edie’s future… But I never agreed to that, all that saving humans shit. He always sweet talks me into doing that. He tells me that he needs me. That there aren’t many original X–Men around anymore… Me, Raven, Hank… And I’m too fucking sentimental to say no to him. But it’s over now. I told him this morning I’m not doing it anymore and he… He brought back the past. He told me I probably still have hatred towards humans in my heart, from the times when I was in the Brotherhood. That was too much, Erik. I split up my family for this man… I ruined what was between you and I to join him and that’s how he repays me?” you sniffed your tears back and looked away. “I don’t want to be there anymore. He’s not a better life for me and my girl. I thought he would be but I was wrong.”

Erik examined your face for a while and he was visibly confused after hearing your little monologue. You quietly hoped he’d offer you a place to stay but he remained silent.

“I was thinking… Maybe we could move in… Edie and I… I know you miss her and she misses you, too. Not here, of course,” you looked around his house. “I’d get us our own place. I mean, my place… She could stay here for a while and then for a while with me. Whatever, we’d live close anyway. It wouldn’t matter to her anyway. But I mean… When you’d want some time with Monica for yourselves, no problem…”

“Wha– Wait, wait, wait,” Erik stood up and shushed you before walking up to you. “What are you talking about? Some time with Monica? What?”

“I know you two are like… together,” you shrugged your arms, pretending that it didn’t bother you.

“Have you lost your mind… Who’s told you that? Edie?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I’m observant.”

“No, you’re not observant, (Y/N). You’re jealous,” he laughed and you made an angry face at that. “You’ve always been. Should I remind you about Raven, Emma…”

“You actually fucking kissed Raven,” you interrupted him.

“Because you were giving me mixed signals.”

“That’s no excuse!” you protested and then he shut you up with a kiss.

You gasped at first, still trying to process what had just happened. And then you gave in, you cupped his face and kissed him back so hard that your teeth clashed, like there was no tomorrow. God, you missed him.

Erik’s hands rested on your hips as he pulled you even closer. After a while, you lost your breath and had to break the kiss.

“Of course you can move in, just let me clean up a little,” he smiled with his face still only inches away from yours. You giggled at that.

“Yeah, you should,” you nodded. “Edie and I are taking the bedroom. You can sleep here,” you took a step back and fixed his hair gently, “for now,” you added. “I think we need some time. We can’t just… Suddenly pretend that the past few years haven't happened. We lost many years,” you explained and he nodded his head.

“But it’s nothing compared to all the years we still have ahead,” Erik raised your chin with his finger. “And this time, I promise, I’ll make it right.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t survive you going to jail again,” you laughed and pushed him playfully.

“Ekhem,” someone’s voice made you both turn around and you saw Monica with a huge smirk on her face leaning on the doorframe. “Your kid is becoming very impatient to show you the trick,” she announced and winked at you.

“How long have you been standing there?” Erik asked her.

“Depends on how long the kiss actually was. I’d say… somewhere the middle of it but perhaps it was the ending. Didn’t want to ekhem at you earlier, it felt off, you know?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. There’s no privacy here, is it?” you sighed.

“Better get used to it,” Monica shrugged her arms, “and you, good luck at getting your old back used to sleeping on that shitty piece of couch,” she looked at Erik. “Come ‘ere, Edie,” she called your daughter from the outside.

“What took you so long?” Edie whined after walking inside with her metal balls floating behind her like dogs taken out on a walk.

“Your parents were…” Monica started and Erik gave her a deadly look. “...talking,” she finished.

“About your new room,” Erik added. “What would you like in your new room?”

“Mum, what does dad mean?” Edie’s eyes widened at you.

“We’re moving in,” you announced nervously. “I mean… Only if you want to.”

“Are you kidding me?” she gasped and all the metal balls fell to the floor dramatically. “That’s the best day ever!” she ran into her father’s arms happily. “Daddy, it’s my favourite day I think! Is it yours, too?”

“No,” Erik shook his head and rubbed his nose with hers, “my favourite day was the one when you were born.”

MASTERLIST

[headphonegrl]

“Here you go.” It’s late in the morning on a Sunday, and the sun is pouring through the window, casting honey-coloured light all over the living room. Jude’s half-asleep with his cheek squished against the cushion his mum bought him for a housewarming present, and the sudden sound of your voice startles him into full consciousness; all he’s heard for the last hour is the lull of characters speaking on the show he’s watching and that cheesy laugh track played on all nineties sitcoms alike. 

“What?” His words are half verbal and half a content hum through his nose. One of his eyes is closed and the other is squinting, trying to make out where you’re sitting in front of his coffee table with your legs tucked under yourself.  

“Put your arm out.” You shuffle towards him, your fuzzy socks gliding against the wooden floor. Months have passed of you trying to convince him to buy a rug, but still the space remains bare and shiny due to his indecisiveness. 

Jude pokes his arm out from between the blankets he’s had bunched up by his chin. Despite the sky outside being a stretch of clear baby blue, he’s dramatically complained all morning about his risk of getting hypothermia. There’s a mug of tea on the floor next to the foot of the sofa which you had made him earlier, and it sits there lukewarm because he’s afraid that once he moves all the heat will escape in one go. “It’s cold.”

“Here.” You stretch a bracelet over the back of his hand and onto his wrist; tiny blue and green beads placed perfectly in patterns of three, with a little yellow heart that you fiddle with so it sits flat against his skin. Goosebumps appear on his forearm and you try and rub them away with your palms, which are still warm from the little hot water bottle you’ve had sitting in your lap, the one Jude’s grandma had bought you for Christmas.

“You made it?” His voice is still hoarse from rest and he tries to clear his throat with a little cough, and then another when that one fails. Part of him is mad at himself now, he’s had his eyes shut all this time and missed the image of you adorably poking your tongue out in concentration. 

“It’s stupid.” You scrunch your nose up, murmuring something about how you made some over cocktails with your friends one night and bought a kit for yourself because you thought it was fun. A little patch of golden light is illuminating one side of your face and if his phone wasn’t sitting in the other room on his bedside table, Jude would be a very annoying boyfriend and insist on taking a photo. 

“No way.” The idea of you being paired with the word ‘stupid’ seems completely morally wrong, like two things that shouldn't exist in the same universe. It’s a firm belief of his that you should only be associated with all things sweet and kind, like old fifties love songs with trumpets in the back or those little flowers that appear at the beginning of spring after an awful winter.

“You don’t have to wear it.” You twiddle the beads around on the stretchy elastic, before moving your fingertips to trace the lines on his palms; the same thing you do when you’re sitting next to each other at dinner or on the train. “You can take it off later.”

“I’m not taking it off!” Jude snatches his hand away from where you’ve been holding it, and you let out a wheeze of laughter that sends a fuzzy rush of love to his heart. A feeling that he wishes he could catch mid-air and bottle up for when he’s far away and misses you so much that his chest aches like he’s pulled a muscle. 

“Okay.” You smile down at where you’re picking at a loose thread on the blanket, curling it around your finger over and over again. “If you’re sure.”

“Are you kidding?” To him, you must be. It’s already been decided: He’ll wear it to sleep and in the shower. He’ll tuck it under his sleeve so he doesn’t have to take it off during training. It’ll hang on his hook in the changing rooms during a big game like a little good luck charm. If it slides above his wrist, he’ll search frantically under the hem of his sleeves in fear he’s lost it. He’ll wear it even when all the colour rubs off the beads and they’re left white. He’ll keep it until it inevitably snaps and you have to make a new one, exactly the same. “It’s my most prized possession.”

[mrs-bluemarine]

Warm on a Cold Night

YHE UKCING GUY OF ALL TIME

Draw me like one of your German girls. Divider credit goes to @!cafekitsune!

Pairing: Vasily x Franziska

WC: 3k

Notes: Fluff :3 wound kissing, my favorite, and Franziska nearly freezes to death y'know the usual

The moment she and her group took one step out of Russia, it seemed that all hell broke loose.

Winds were howling, snow was getting picked up and thrown in everyone's faces. It was hard to see three feet ahead of you in a storm like this, however they pushed on. Everybody tried to stick together, tried to yell through the wind to communicate, but for someone like the German woman, who never had the luck of finding herself in a growing blizzard, she was falling behind.

Ice stung her eyes, her vision becoming blurry. It felt like any longer out there and her tears would freeze in her eyes. The wind only pushed her backwards despite all she tried. Inside of her hazy vision, black figures became mere specks, disappearing into the storm, and her heart dropped. Where did the rest go?

The blonde looked left and right. She couldn’t hear a damn thing over the howling wind, it stole her voice when she tried to call out. Sugimoto, Asirpa, Siraishi… She even called out for the hooded man, but there wasn’t anyone to be found.

The blonde stopped in her tracks. Was she lost?

No… If she kept moving forward, she’d find something, wouldn’t she? Everyone has to just be up ahead, but with every step forward she took it felt like the wind pushed her back six. She tried her best to keep a positive face as she carried on, but something kept whispering in her ear. This wasn’t the end for her, was it?

Something captured her frozen hand, something big and warm. A mitten-wrapped palm. Her eyes traveled up the arm to find it attached to a familiar body, finding familiar eyes.

The Russian man pulled her close to his chest as he wordlessly began guiding her to the left. Within the pure whiteness surrounding them, something came into focus. A wall of darkness overcame her vision as the sniper continued guiding her closer.

A cave! He’s seriously found a cave in this mess?

The hole in the wall of rock was rather shallow, but big, and it did its job by protecting them from the icy wind. Seeing some dead foliage and tree branches gave her the idea for a fire. Instincts kicked in. Never before had she found herself in a blizzard, but she knew damn well how to make a fire. She immediately got to work collecting all the leaves and dry twigs she could find in a small pile in the middle of the cave. The Russian sniper watched silently.

Trembling hands rummaged through her pockets, finding a wooden matchbox with a measly amount of match sticks left to bounce around in their case.

Soon, a soft orange glow illuminated her face. Warmth spilled into her hands, warming her reddened cheeks and her frozen bones, and the blonde sighed in relief. The sniper came over to sit on the opposite side of the fire. A soft sigh of his own rumbled from underneath his hood as his eyes closed in quiet contentment. A moment passed where neither did anything except soak in the heat.

“Thank you.” His blue eyes looked away from the fire.

The woman opposite to him began caressing her match box, her thumb following the grooves carved into the old wood absentmindedly as fire sparked inside of her dark eyes. They reminded the Russian of the sea at night. He thought they were beautiful.

“I would have probably ended up dead had you not found me… so, thank you.”

He raised his hand to stop her, deflecting her praise, and she laughed softly.

His eyes watched her thumb move. The creature on the wooden box wasn’t like anything he’d seen before. He was sure it was an animal, curling around itself in a confusing way, unsure of where it began and where it ended. The German noticed his intrigued stare, and she offered him the match box. “Want a look?” He took it carefully from her, listening intently as she told him about the trinket. “It belonged to my father. The creature on the box is a dragon.”

She took a pause, “Um, dra-gon. It breathes fire.”

He nodded along, suddenly getting an idea. He gave the box back, quickly finding his bag to take out something; pencil and paper. The redhead scribbled something down, then turned the paper around and pointed at a Russian word he wrote with his pencil. “Ah, let me see… zmeya..? Snake? Well, it is pretty snake-like!”

The man tried doodling the creature underneath its name, failing miserably, still not understanding what was a tail or what was a wing or face. It came out as a jumble of rings and circles, which amused the German woman. He began drawing again, moving away to hide it from her. Then he proudly showed off his monstrous creation; a creature with claws and ferocious teeth with batty wings, multiple heads twisting around each other with scary faces. “That’s certainly one hell of a dragon!” He seemed to take pride in how his drawing affected her. He began writing something else.

“Oye, I’m not too good at reading Russian! I can try my best, but…”

It was another single word. “Let me think… This would make a ‘V’ sound. Vas…. Vasily?” She looked up at him. Since when did they get so close? “Is that your name?”

Pleased, he nodded, and she grinned. “There we go! Vasily…” She repeated it again, and the sniper was terribly afraid that he enjoyed how she said it.

The blonde lightly took his pencil, beginning to write on her own next to his name. “I'm not quite sure how to write in Russian…” She said quietly. His writing was neat and tidy. Her's was smaller, with elegant swirls in her letters that made it look like art, and reminded Vasily of the dragon on her match box.

She finished with curt “a”, giving back his pencil. “...You've probably heard the others calling me ‘Franz’. I guess it is easier for them to say. My full name is Franziska.”

Franziska.

Vasily wanted to repeat it, give it the same affectionate treatment she gave his own name. How unfortunate for him to be stuck in this state.

Suddenly finding the short distance between them uncomfortable, Franz sat back, looking away shyly. Vasily didn't seem to mind, or realize just how close he was. He placed the piece of paper with his doodle and their names on it aside, and began drawing something else. She gave him more space, allowing him to create more art in peace. She watched, this time from the opposite side of the fire.

Evening turned to night, and the storm raged on with no signs of stopping any time soon. The moon illuminated the ice and snow with blue light, giving the cold forest an otherworldly feeling to it. Inside their solitude, paper began to litter the ground. Piece by piece filled with whatever it was the sniper was drawing. Franz couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t curious, but she knew better than to sneak a peek, even if her curiosity wanted her to.

A comfortable silence overcame them as she watched him create. There was a soft furrow in his brow, his eyes staring intensely at his paper. Seeing him so focused… It was charming. For someone so masterful with such an intimidating weapon, she never expected him to be interested in something as delicate as art. He was a skillful hand at that. From far away, she could see one of his sketches. A bird, what species it was, Franz couldn’t say for certain. The realism in his lines was impressive, however… She couldn’t help but notice that it was the only paper facing up. Yes, the rest were placed kissing the ground, so she couldn’t see what it was he was making. It made her curiosity even worse, but she forced it down.

By chance, their eyes meet again. The ocean met the sky. And almost embarrassed, Vasily immediately looked back down, and Franziksa was taken by surprise. His pencil moved even more furiously, pretending as if nothing happened, when an idea dawned in Franz’ mind; was he drawing her?

The idea flustered her. Being the centerpiece of a work of art… Oh, how childish she was, indulging in such fantasies!

She wordlessly began taking off her coat, finding it suddenly too warm to wear it. Vasily paused to watch her body stretch and twist until she neatly placed the article of clothing to the side. Franziska huffed out a sigh of relief once her body was free of the tight wear. Really, that tall collar nearly felt suffocating. Her eyes opened as she brushed back some strands of hair loose from her ponytail. She realized he was staring, and she smiled.

Well… Would it hurt to at least… tease the idea? On second thought, it may.

“Drawing me?”

Vasily stiffened. The woman chuckled softly, watching him shuffle in place and look away.

She rested both of her hands on the ground, leaning backwards slightly. With a light lift in her tone she asked sincerely; “Would you like a new angle?”

Her words caught his attention. Reluctantly, he looked back, eyes widening at the sight. The look in her eye was teasing, but inviting, and Vasily felt his hand moving on its own. The first piece of paper joined the rest, and his pencil touched down. Seeing him begin to draw again, Franziska turned her nose, putting on a placid face for his picture.

She wasn't sure how long it took. Her arms were beginning to tire, however she refused to move, wanting to be the perfect reference for the artist.

Vasily on the other hand took care of every press of his pencil. Every line and curve was delicate, but deliberate. The features of her's he enjoyed the most were given special attention to make sure they looked perfect; her eyes, the curve of her nose, the way the fire bounced off of her cheeks, her hair cascading over her shoulder like a subdued waterfall of golden sunlight. Vasily felt an overwhelming presence telling him that every detail needed to be perfect.

After what seemed like hours for the reference and mere minutes for the artist, Vasily's pencil stopped “Finished?” Franz asked. He almost seemed reluctant to show her.

“Come on,” She purred, crawling closer. “Don’t be a tease…”

Slowly, Vasily offered the blonde his sketch, and she took it gratefully and carefully. Her blue eyes scanned over every inch, widening as she noticed every detail.

Her face pointed away, a side view of her head, her body half resting, half perched on her hands. Lord, he even added the highlight of the fire underneath her cheek. Every press, every line and curve of his pencil was done with care, she could see it, she could feel it. Franz cursed in her mother language. “Vasily, it's… you did incredible.” The man gave pause. He watched a grin split open her face as she refused to look away. A new, terrible idea came to mind, his eyes found the scattered sketches next to him.

Franziska perked up upon Vasily shoving more paper into her face. “Hm? What's this..?” There was more. The bird, a street, a room she recognized as the one she found him and Sugimoto "bonding" in. Most were of her. Quick, messy doodles of Franziska walking, smiling at something one of the other men said. There was a doodle of her crouching down to the ground next to a squirrel they passed by. She remembered that happening just that morning, before they left the city, before they left Russian territory and got thrown into a blizzard. At that point she wasn't aware that he was following them. But the one that caught her attention was one that seemed very recent. Her furrowed brow highlighted by firelight, eyes casted down to watch the flames lick the air. It was hours ago, she realized, when she was messing around with her match box. In that quick moment, before she looked away, Vasily saw her, and he was able to sketch this?

Franz looked back at him with a raised brow and a knowing smirk, “You like drawing me? I’m flattered.”

The redhead huffed, looking away while the blonde laughed, placing the sketches to the side. Franz watched him with curiosity in her gaze. He was so sweet to watch. Vasily, a cold blooded sniper- hell, she was still healing from that bullet he threw her way, and now he was here acting like a child. Oh yeah, that bullet in her leg… Ah, well, all is forgiven. It was hard to be upset at such a pretty face- or more like, it was hard to be upset when he looked at her with those eyes.

She had been able to see his face… but only once. Something inside her wanted to see it again. She wanted to see those lips, his jaw, she wanted to gaze upon those horrible scars of his, and shower them with attention without that pesky hood in the way. Terribly so.

She brought her hand to his neck, the touch making the hardened sniper stiffen. Her eyes were hypnotizing, putting him in a paralyzed trance. Her fingers dug into his layers of clothing, warm digits finding his nape, and Vasily nearly felt faint. He was almost taken under until he saw her other hand, dangerously close to his face. It was then he violently jerked his head to the side, suddenly understanding what Franziska was trying to do.

“Please?” Vasily heard her say, a needy, pleading look in her eye that was hard to ignore. She spoke so sweetly to him in his mother language, coming even closer. “I'd really like to see your face… only if you're comfortable with it.”

She wanted to see him. To see it.

But why?

A voice deep in his mind told Vasily no, he shouldn't. A louder, much weaker part of him wanted to show her, with hopes of more of… this. This attention. Those beautiful ocean eyes of hers only on him.

His hand moved with a mind of its own, his rough fingertips grazing the hem of the cloth shielding his face. How would Franziska look at Vasily now? He remembered the time before, not even a day ago he showed her only once, along with that man with the shaved head. He had reacted in horror. But Franziska… it was fascination.

She said something, Vasily didn't recognize it, his thoughts too occupied with other things. When her lips stopped moving, he finally did it.

He pulled down his mask, taking in his first breath of clear air in a long while, his sigh crystalizing in the air. Along with it he pushed his fingers through his auburn locks, knocking off his hood. His eyes opened again with the softest look of hesitation in his pale gaze, immediately looking to Franziska to analyze her face.

She was staring at him. Or rather, his cheek, noting his gunshot wounds still looked angry and raw. One side was worse than the other, the exit hole. But despite the wounds, there was no hint of anything negative in her dark eyes. Franziska continued to look at Vasily like he held the moon and the stars in his hands.

Her own cupped the back of his head, and the sniper's breath hitched in a shameful way. She was closer than ever before, the woman was silent as her breath brushed against his neck and his jaw. Every little move she made had the sniper's body failing him. He wanted to break, to give into the thoughts poisoning his mind. All he had to do was twist his neck, a simple, easy thing, but her body was rendering him useless.

And then Franziska kissed him. Her lips were like fallen snow against his jaw, cold and soft against a patch of skin where hair refused to grow, toeing the line between skin and scar tissue.

Her lips softly, slowly pulled away only a centimeter, and they traveled across his chin to place a similar touch against his opposite side. This one, the worst of the two, was given two sweet kisses instead of one. And only once she was finished did she pull away. Now Franziska looked at him embarrassed, the softest highlight of pink on her cheeks. She smiled. “Ah… you must think I'm a fool, acting like this… and with a man I barely know. Please forgive me.”

The blonde tried to move away, but Vasily refused to let her leave. With an arm around her waist, his palm against her cheek, Vasily successfully stopped Franziska in her tracks. She looked at him like a deer staring down the barrel of a rifle.

Vasily’s thumb pressed against the corner of her lips. His eyes scanned over every inch of her face. Her porcelain skin was free of any blemishes, untouched by any scars or scratches. Fit for an aristocrat's daughter. When his thumb moved, it uncovered the one thing that dared to litter her face. Two moles, one smaller than the other, like two drops of pen ink splashed against her lower lip.

Vasily moved slowly to give Franziska the option to deny his silent request, but she didn’t. So his mouth pressed a kiss against her chin, chapped lips covering her moles. He heard the softest sigh escape Franz’s lips once their skin touched, the hands still wrapped around his skull pulling him even closer.

His first kiss was followed by another, close to her lips, but not close enough. On his third kiss, it was finally where they both wanted it most. His mouth clashed against hers, nearly toppling the poor woman over and sending her to the ground. The two held each other impossibly close, hands tangling in hair, fingers squeezing cloth and flesh. A deep seated hunger made itself known in Vasily’s stomach, a gaping hole threatening to swallow him whole. And the sniper suddenly realized just how long he had been craving this. To hold, to be held, to taste the lips of another so passionately, to drown in this wonderful, foreign feeling taking a grip on his heart. And for a change his body and mind were not occupied with revenge. He allowed himself to drown in this wonderfully uncomfortable feeling at that moment.

What a fantastic woman he had to spend the night with.

[starssunsoftheinfinite]

just remembered your requests are open!!!

Can I request a Loki with like...a winged s/o? Maybe half-bird?? Or angel, I guess? Preferably male but gender neutral is fine if you prefer that

Also the s/o is really, really tall. Taller than him.

sorry if this is too vague lol. I can make it more specific if you need.

love your writing btw!!!! Thank you good night!!!

-💚💚

Did I disappear for like... A large amount of time? Yes, yes I did. BUT I AM BACK WITH A VENGEANCE and I have lots of writing to do and ideas. I believe I actually stared this ask like.. A week after I got it? And I'd been working on it on and off since fjdjdj. I actually finished it just now and thought I'd make sure I get it out immediately dhdjjd you have waited long enough

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Loki x male! Winged! Tall! Y/n

Fluff/comfort/angst but only if you take your glasses off and squint within an inch of your life/the intimacy of cleaning someone you love my beloved

Warnings: none that I can think of! Maybe like... Sort of poor hygiene on your part? But not like anything detrimental it's just very hard to clean big old fluffy things attached to your back!! I also left the visual of the wings very vague. Loki does call you Dove but it's your choice whether or not that's because you look like a dove or if it's just cute <333

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"look at you" he says and his voice is like warm milk soothing a sore throat. Where you stand you feel like all eyes are on you, even if the only eyes are his. Your bathed in candlelight that flickers against your face, dipping in and out of the contours of your skin. Your wings are spread wide just as he had asked. Loki likes to see you like this, likes to witness you vulnerable. Usually your beauty is hidden by golden armour shimmering in sunlight and as much as Loki likes gold, he likes you more. So when night falls and you shed your armour in favour of soft shirts and loose trousers he savours it. He has you standing by the wall facing his bed while Loki leans on the bedpost with his arms crossed and his eyes trained on you. "I much prefer you like this instead of hidden away under all that metal." he says as he pushes off the wooden post in favour of walking towards you at an agonisingly slow pace.

For lack of a better term, you want to snuggle. Desperately so. You want to be held, to hold, to nuzzle into Loki's shoulder and take in his scent until you drift off into peaceful slumber. So you'd rather appreciate it Loki would come a little closer. He's strong as anyone, probably stronger than you, he is a god after all, but you're taller so you could probably man handle him into cuddle. Maybe. Loki's hands rest on either side of your face once he's close enough and he looks up at you like your the most wonderful thing in the world. You don't know how he does it really. "thank you. For letting me stay here at night." you say, just above a whisper. "oh my sweet boy, you've done so much today." he begins, his hands trailing to rest on your waist. "you need some time in the quiet. Besides, I need to clean up those wings- you really need to remember to do that." he says but it's barely chastising.

Your lips spread into a wide smile as he takes your hand and pulls you to the bed, gently pressing on your chest until you sit on the edge. Your forehead is just around the middle of his chest now, your head tilting back only a little until Loki's Face is back in your line of sight. Loki gives you a quick peck on the forehead before slipping behind you, kneeling in the silk sheet and begginning to undo the back tie at the bottom of your shirt. Having something with an intact collar and an open back that you tie up at your lower back was one of the only ways you could figure out to allow your wings free range in your shirts. Loki had helped with sewing when you were fixing your clothing, kind thing he is. He slips your shirt off with ease, leaving you comfortably bare as his hands smooth over the skin on your back. "poor thing. All messy." he cooes, his index finger trailing over the feathers on your left wing, watching them brissle beneath his fingertips. Your head ducks a little. You'd never been good at pruning yourself. It was a hassle, so intricate and it just took up so much time that you didn't have to give. So you often left it until it got bad, even if it hurt. This was something Loki frequently scolded you for but you never seemed to listen. So now he sits rearranging feathers while you scrunch your face in discomfort. "easy does it" loki whispers after you let out a particularly pathetic squeak. "doesn't hurt too much, does it?" he asks, as cool and composed as usual but the hint of concern spoke loudly to trained ears. You shake your head "it hurts more to leave them. It's mostly.. Uncomfortable really. Gets sort of itchy and gross feeling." you shrug and your words earn a stern look from Loki "then perhaps you should stop leaving them." he scolds softly. You know he's right but you argue nonetheless. " it's too much hassle. With training, duties, everything.. I don't have much time and the time I do have I'd rather not spend cleaning hundreds of feathers." it's understandable really but Loki worries and you understand that too. You choose to ignore how nice it feels to have Loki fix your wings up. You're lovers, affection is no stranger to either of you, but admitting that part of the reason you 'forget' to prune is because you like it when Loki fusses over you may just be a little too embarrassing. Loki let's out a small hum and smooths his fingers over the last few feathers.

You arnt quite sure when he got a sponge and bowl of soapy water, you presume some magic was involved, but either way you feel Loki press a wet sponde to the base of your wings. You turn your head to look behind you, your eyes falling down on Loki where he sits "little warning next time." you chuckle and he grins back at you. He soaks your feathers, watching them flatten out and eventually the majority of your wings are soaked. "see? Isn't this nice? All clean." loki hums like he's trying to convince a child vegetables are good. "yes it is nice. But only because I'm not the one doing it. My arms would be aching by now." that's another reason cleaning tour wings was such an unattractive idea. Your shoulders ached like hell after, constantly reaching behind you. "I suppose that's true. But if you needed a cleaning you should have asked. You didn't need to wait until tonight. I'll clean you up during your breaks if I have to." it's sweet, really. To have a prince take time out of his day to clean you. Perhaps there is some sort of metaphor or commentary on something in those words but at the moment your too focused on how Loki's hands feel gently rubbing a towel on your feathers. "I don't want to bother you" you say as your head ducks down in relaxation. "you're royalty, Loki. It already feels odd to always look down at you, you should not have to stoop even lower and clean me at my command." you admit. Despite how nice it feels to be taken care of, that underlying worry is always there.

Loki's hand stops and for a moment you fear You have said something wrong. "I like looking up at you, Dove." you've always liked when he called you that. "I like having to crane my neck to get a good look at your face. It make it feel like a great reward after my efforts. And I like to clean you. The way you curl up in your wings after they have been cleaned, basking in the fresh scent is rather cute." he says and for a moment you don't quite believe him. It doesn't sound like him, really. He is cocky and sometimes even down right rude if the wrong person gets on his nerves, but with you... He's so soft. He takes any opportunity to give you attention and uses it to its fullest, he whispers sweet nothings to you as though he were not a God. It almost feels sacrilegious. "you're just saying that" you say, eyes flicking to the floor. "ah ah, I see you in the mirror on the wall over there, there will be no shameful looking down with me, young man. Eyes up" Loki quickly corrects and you do as asked without question. That darn mirror. "Darling. My love. You do not need to worry about whether or not I enjoy moments like this because the answer will always be yes. I adore you. That includes the cleaning. Especially if I get to cuddle with you afterwards, it's always so soft all wrapped up in your wings. " cuddling! You'd almost forgotten about your desperate need for a cuddle until it was mentioned. You glance behind you, trying to look at your wings as best you can" are they dry yet? " you ask and Loki tilts his head, gently rubbing your wings down with a towel." eager are we? They will be soon. Patience, Dove" Loki hums and you nod.

After a few more minutes of silent scrubbing, Loki sets the towel down and gently ruffles the base of your wings where the smallest, fluffiest feathers were. "all done, my love." Loki cooes and your turning around before he even finishes. "-oh my" he mutters and he is silently thankful he had 'magic-ed' away the bowl of water when it was no longer needed. You scoop him up with ease, your hands under your back as you swiftly pull him up towards the head of the bed. "I feel like a damsel in distress swept up by her Knight" he comments as you ease him down on the left side of the bed and Loki presses his face into the silk pillow. "apologies. It's just- been a while and as much as you tell me to be patient, I am not very good at that." you say and pull him closer, curling your wings around him like a fuzzy shield. Loki shakes his head and his gaze never leaves you, his eyes filled with adoration and the contours of his face lit by what little candlelight could sneak through your feathers. If 'I love you' had a face it'd be his. " I am certainly not complaining." he says and then his eyes glance down in thought, then return to you. Your head is pressed against the soft pillow like it's the most comfortable thing in the world and your arms hold Loki tight. "you really needed this, didn't you?" "the cleaning?" you interupt "no, Dove. Well, yes. But no. Just to be taken care of. Held, to hold, to be cleaned." You don't answer for a moment and really that's answer enough. Fighting was difficult, training was difficult, even maintaining your own wings was difficult. But Loki made it easier. So much easier. You nod "yes. I am grateful for my life. For who I have met because of my profession. But it is tiring. I needed this. Needed you. Thank you" your voice is softer than intended in the quiet room, the two of you curled up and protected in your wings as you both wind down from the long day. Lokis hands finds your face, cupping your cheeks and rubbing your cheekbones with his thumbs as though you were something precious or delicate. "oh my love. My darling boy. Should you need me, call for me. Perhaps even pray to me. I am God after all, I will hear. And when I hear that it is you who calls I will be there before you even finish. With open arms and gentle hands. And perhaps a bowl of soapy water. " it's such a simple declaration. Something usual for couples. It's not exactly monumental for a lover to tell you to reach out should you need them and yet when he does it feels like you'd been gifted the stars themselves. "I will. I will call for you." you whisper, pressing yourself impossibley closer, your foreheads resting against each other. "Good. Now close those eyes, my boy. You've earned your sleep. And you look so cute all curled up and sleepy, I'd much like to see that again" he hums and you can't help the grin on your lips as your eyes flutter shut. "goodnight, Loki." you say and just before sleep grasp you by the hand you hear a soft "Goodnight, My dove."

[aureliqs]

Always there to help

pairing: tasm!Peter Parker x y/n

content: fluff, angst, light descriptions of wounds, blood, violence and pain

summary: Peter has already been acting weird all week, even weirder than usual. Y/n decided to ignore it in the hopes of Peter just having a stressful week. As y/n was peacefully sleeping on a weekend night she awoke in a shock. Someone was frantically knocking on her window. Was she about to be robbed, or even worse?

I awoke in terror. What is that noise. Is someone trying to brake in? As my eyes had slightly adjusted to the darkness around me, I could make out a silhouette on my window. How can someone be at my window on the fifth floor, and why my window out of all of them. „Okay calm down“ I’m thinking to myself while I try to slow my breathing. I can’t use hyperventilation right now. Why is my week this shitty?

I stand up from my bed and creep my way to the window for a good look, while trying to not get the intruders attention. As I’m trying to make out their face, I notice a big scratch along their cheek, that is dripping blood. Wait… he seems so familiar…

Then the realisation hit. It’s Peter. As my eyes scanned him further I recognised what he was wearing. A spider suit ? This has to be a bad bad joke.I rush to the window to let him. He needs help, and I need answers.

I slide up my old wooden window, and I just see Peter leaning against the wall, heavily breathing while sliding in and out of consciousness.

“Peter…Peter are you alright?!” I say while I touch his shoulder. Peter is slowly drifting back to consciousness, but he seems very breathless. I can hear his heart pounding, as if he has just run for his life. His breathing is so heavy his chest is heaping up and down. The wounds kind off solidify that guess of mine. Whatever was after him definitely nearly got him, and it wasn’t just a round of playing catch.

All Peter can mutter is a “mhhhh”, while he is falling into my room as he can’t hold himself up anymore. “Peter hold on, we’re gonna lay you down” I say to him, as I swing his arm around shoulder and heap him to my bed. He is really heavy, and his weight is nearly crushing me. As I lay him down he nearly faints again. I shake him a bit to make him stay with me.

I sit down next to him. “How are you feeling?”, to which he just mutters a “I …I’m fine I just need a moment… or several”, along with a slight chuckle. Even on the brink of fainting he’s still being sarcastic, which makes me grin a bit. That means he can’t be to bad off, or at least lethally injured. He’s been acting so weird all week, but I didn’t expect being Spider-Man was the culprit behind it all.

I use my time to scan Peter further. I can’t see anything wrong with the spider suit, except for a slightly bloody scratch on his back. As for bruises, I can’t say due to the suit coverage. The scratch on his right cheek looks quite rough, and is still bleeding, and he’s got some dirt on his face. I should take care of that in a second. As I was getting lost in my own thoughts, Peter began to mutter something again…

“Listen y/n.. I am so so sorry I dragged you into …” Peter was still so breathless, he took a tremendous breath and continued.

“This…”

“ I am so sorry I dragged you into all of this..this”

His voice was shivering so much, I could hear the guilt, regret and desperation in it. I was almost tearing up. Seeing Peter like this was heartbreaking. I did have feelings for him, I still do. I was just kind off giving up on it at this point. All the random disappearances, the quit bad lays to cover up something, I just didn’t know what, and his constant state of stress. I was just loosing my hopes. I didn’t even know what could be behind it, but I certainly didn’t except the reason would be him being Spider-Man.

I put my arm around Peter and hugged him. The last thing he needs right now is guilt. “Peter… please don’t worry about it… you and your health are more important right now than anything…”

“I don’t know why I deserve you. I never wanted to drag you into any of this. I .. just didn’t know where to go. My aunt can’t know, she just can’t. I’ve never been injured like this before ….”. I interrupted Peter, before he could go on rambling.

“It’s alright. Calm down, breathe and I’m gonna get you some first aid. We’re in luck my Mom’s on her work trip”. Peter laid down since I went on my quick search for first aid. Thank god Peter crashed here when my Moms on her work trip. I wouldn’t want to deal with that. I’ve found our old and not really up to date first aid kid, which will be enough.

I’ve approached my room again, and Peter looked much calmer already. I can barely hear his heavy breathing anymore. “Peter can you please sit up. I need to disinfect your wounds. Let’s start with your back”. Peter sat straight up without protest or saying anything. I could quit nearly feel his head rumbling with thoughts about what to do or even just say now, but I thought I might give him some peace. It must be very hard for him right now.

As I tapped the disinfectant onto his back Peter flinched and I could hear him trying to quit himself. “Are you alright?” I ask.

“Yeah yeah, I love the burning sensation of alcohol on my back” as he bit his lower lip in agony. As soon as I started I was finished with the wound on his back.

“Peter …please turn around…”. Now about the hard part for me. We still haven’t talked about what just happened, and why it happened …and everything else. After Peter started acting even weirder than usual, and I thought I couldn’t put up with it anymore…I lost hope. I loved the tension between us and now … I feel like the tension is coming back. Why is all of this so complicated.

As I am looking into Peters eyes I remember why I am in love with him. These deep brown eyes, that are filled with more compassion and kindness than stars in the universe. “As I am holding the disinfectant I open my mouth to speak but don’t. I don’t know what to say. Peter is doing the exact same thing. It’s been ages since we’ve just looked at each other.

“Y/n…” Peter begins but then pauses. Peter is still lost for words. “I’m Spider-Man, alright I’m just stating the obvious here” he stops himself and chuckles.

“I’m gonna be all honest with you now. It’s all on the table… I owe you an apology. I tried nothing but to keep you safe, but I shouldn’t have neglected you like that. I need to stop Lizard… I mean Dr. Connor. He mutated himself and he has big plans. I’ve been after him all week. He’s a huge threat. I don’t know his exact plan just yet, but it’s something about mutating all of New York. I’ve located him and tried to look what he’s up to. Before I could leave he noticed me, and I had to flee. It was so close. For a moment I thought this was it… but it wasn’t. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Peter’s eyes began to tear up. “I didn’t want you to be a part of this y/n… this freak show. Now it is too late for that. Please promise me you’ll stay out of it. Stay safe. For me…please”. As he was saying it, he took my hand, and moved his thumb over my palm. All my resentment and hurt was blown away by that. Sure, it is a lot to take in. Your potential boyfriend being Spider-Man wasn’t on my list of expectations or reasons for his behaviours. He was being so honest with his feelings right now, and he told me the truth of what happend to him tonight. I am just so glad he isn’t hurt. I tighten my grip on his hand.

“Peter…I understand… I’ve been hurt about how you have treated me. I didn’t know what was behind it. I understand… how unbelievably stressed you must have been. Well, you being Spider-Man wasn’t really my first go to thought. To be honest with you.. I thought you’ve just lost interest in me and tried to ghost me in a way…”

“Y/n… “ Peter took a moment to think. “Thank you for being this understanding really. I trust you a lot. I wouldn’t have come to you otherwise.”

“I really appreciate that” I gave back. “Youre gonna stay here tonight. You need to rest… before you end that lizard thingy.”

“Thank you…” Peter replied. I’ve noticed we’ve pretty much said everything that needed to be said, so it was time for his wound. I gently tap the disinfectant onto his right cheek, to which he flinches again. After I’m done I stand up, go to my drawer and find him some oversized sweatpants and shirt that hopefully fit.

Peter changed into his my clothes which were fitting but one could see it wasn’t really the size he should be going for. Peter stilled to think, and then proceeded to say “I’ll sleep in your living room couch if your mom is gone anyways.”

“…actually, you can stay with me if you want”

“Is that really okay?” Peter looked at me quit shocked.

“Yes please… I was so scared when I saw you like that… and it was quite a lot to take in. Please stay… for my sake” I felt myself growing a bit red from embarrassment.

Peter smiled slightly, and made his way to my bed. “It’s really sweet that you want me to stay with you.”

As we both laid down on my bed, faces opposite of each other, we just stared at one another. I could feel myself drifting to sleep gain…

“Y/n?”

“Yeah…” I more off yawned then said.

“I’ve missed you … a lot”

“I’ve missed you too, Pete. Good night”

“Good night y/n, thank you for everything”

I’ve drifted to sleep very fast, and I’m sure Peter did too after this whole lizard disaster. I’m glad I’ve got him back in my life again.

Let me know what y’all think. Feedback and prompt are happily seen in my inbox <3

[anonymouspuzzler]

big giant freaking post because i simply think the OLD SEMI-REFORMED CRIME MEN should KISS EACH OTHER

(alt text/image IDs under cut!)

[Image 1 ID: A black and white drawing of Raz and Oleander. Raz, gesturing to the side with one thumb, says, "Your co-conspirator is GNC as heck". Oleander, grimacing and refusing to make eye contact, standing with one fist on his hip, replies, "you're insane".]

[Image 2 ID: A black and white drawing of Oleander and Loboto speaking to a nondescript, silhouetted person in the foreground. Oleander is wearing a low-cut, short-sleeved button-up, dogtags on a necklace, and sunglasses on top of his head, standing with one hand on his hips; Loboto is crouched behind him, wearing a dress over a loose sweater, one hand resting over Oleander's shoulder, with one of Oleander's hands on his knee. Oleander, grinning smugly, says, "Hey, me and my co-conspirator saw you from across the bar and we hate your vibes"; Loboto, grinning manically, ads, "We're gonna take your brain out and see how far it bounces when we throw it".]

[Image 3 ID: A colored illustration of Loboto and Oleander sitting on the floor, Oleander in Loboto's lap. Loboto is wearing knee-length dark brown boots and a bulky green sweater with slim multicolored stripes, over which is a purple dress with a pattern of seaweed and fish along the hem. Oleander is in his usual outfit, minus the helmet. He is looking down at a stack of papers in one hand, reaching up behind him gesturing for a paper which Loboto has taken and lifted up to his face, the other arm around Oleander.]

[Image 4 ID: Oleander, sitting on an implied ledge, wearing a camo-print tank top, blue jeans and knee-length brown boots. Loboto is sitting on the ground to his right, wearing an off-white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and purple overalls unbuttoned on one side, with a hole in the left knee. He has his arms loosely around Oleander and is giving him a gentle kiss on the lips, to which Oleander is looking back with a surprised blush.]

[Image 5 ID: A colored illustration of Loboto and Oleander. Loboto is leaning back in a dark teal-green wooden chair with his elbow leaning on a round, light-green wooden table. He is wearing a baggy navy blue "All Paul Cruise" t-shirt with an orange neckline, which hangs slightly off his left shoulder and exposes a bit of his stomach, as well as light-green pajama pants patterned with orange and purple fish, and mismatched purple slippers, one plain with an orange patch and the other blue-and-pink striped. He is holding his unbuckled prosthetic limply in his left hand and looking over at Oleander with a raised eyebrow and chastising expression. Oleander is standing by the other side of the table in a white tank top, light-and-dark blue striped boxers, beige socks and bunny slippers. He has a light coat of stubble and looks sleepy and very mildly annoyed. He is holding a coffee cup with the Psychonauts logo in one hand and using the other to hold a pointer finger to his temple, creating an orange telekinetic hand to pour a pitcher of coffee into his mug.]

[Image 6 ID: A greyscale illustration of Loboto and Oleander asleep in bed. Oleander is on the left, lying on his back, wearing a tank top and striped boxers, with one leg propped up on Loboto's side. Loboto is to the right lying on his side, chest facing the mattress, wearing a quilted eye mask, a baggy shirt, and pajama pants patterned with fish. Loboto's prosthetic is off and he is reaching over Oleander to hold his right hand; his legs are also dangling off the edge of the mattress. One of Loboto's boots is on the floor to the right of the bed, while Oleander's bunny slippers are on the left partially under the bed. There are also nightstands to each side of the bed. On Oleander's side is his helmet, an alarm clock, and a three-ring notebook in a compartment underneath; on Oleander's side is his prosthetic, a plush fish, a wind-up chattering teeth toy, and a "TRUE DENTAL TALES" magazine in a compartment underneath.]

[Image 7 ID: A greyscale illustration of Oleander and Loboto. Oleander is sitting on the edge of a mattress, shirtless and wearing striped boxers, rubbing his head with one hand and looking back over his shoulder at Loboto, who is lying in bed behind him. Loboto is missing his shower cap, with his hair in sloppy patches, and looking sleepily at Oleander. His prosthetic is around one side of Oleander while his natural hand is sitting on Oleander's thigh.]

[Image 8 ID: A black-and-white illustration of Oleander and Loboto from the bust up. Loboto, sitting on the right and wearing a bulky ribbed sweater, twists his head around to give a surprised Oleander a kiss on the lips.]

[Image 9 ID: A black-and-white illustration of Loboto, grinning, scooping up Oleander in his arms, who flails slightly with his arms to the side like a kitten being picked up by a child. His helmet is getting knocked askew and he looks flustered, blushing and sweating.]

[Image 10 ID: A color illustration of Loboto holding Oleander in his arms, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Oleander is flailing in his hold but grinning widely at the affection.]

[Image 11 ID: A color illustration of Loboto and Oleander arguing over a map. Loboto is wearing a "TEETH MACHINE" t-shirt with lime green shoulders and collar that cuts off just above his belly button, rolled-up cargo shorts cinched tightly at the waist with a belt, green ribbed socks and greenish-black sandals; he is bent over at the waist with his prosthetic hand on his hip and his other hand pointing at something on the map. Oleander is standing next to him wearing a pink open aloha shirt with a floral pattern, a low-cut Whispering Rock tank, frayed denim shorts, dark socks, white tennis shoes and a magenta baseball cap. He is holding the map in his left hand and gesticulating wildly with the other, shouting as he looks down at the map. In the background are Raz and Lilli, holding hands; Raz is eating a cotton candy while Lilli is smiling and pointing at something offscreen.]

[Image 12 ID: A sketch of a grinning Loboto standing in a corner, pinned by Oleander, who is having to hold himself up with both hands and feet on the walls in a split to keep himself at eye-level.]

[Image 13 ID: Loboto imagining Oleander in his bright-blue mermaid tail, topless and wearing his gloves, one hand holding a microphone and the other making a V-sign. He is grinning widely and singing into the microphone, with hearts and musical notes in the background behind him. Below the imagine-spot is Loboto, grinning wobbly and blushing, one hand scratching his cheek. In the background are two of the fishmen from Rhombus of Ruin, both staring at Loboto in confusion.]

[Image 14 ID: A sketch of Oleander posing on a rock wearing his mermaid tail; Loboto is in the foreground, wearing a beret on top of his shower cap and sticking his tongue out in concentration as he sketches him with his prosthetic hand. The drawing is comically bad.]

[Image 15 ID: Multiple rough sketches of Loboto and Oleander. To the left is a little sketch of Oleander, left, and Loboto, right, holding hands; Loboto is smiling vacantly while Oleander is slightly flustered and pretending not to be, standing with one hand on his hip. In the middle is Oleander and Loboto sitting on the floor in a heap together, Loboto facing sideways and folded over with his arms around Oleander, legs on either side of him, and his head resting sideways on top of Oleander's head. Oleander has one hand on Loboto's knee and the other around his shoulders, resting on his neck. Loboto is topless, wearing jeans and his boots, and has a lovestruck grin; Oleander is in his usual pants and boots and a t-shirt, grinning somewhat smugly up at Loboto. To the right is a little sketch of Loboto holding up Oleander up in his arms, facing him; Loboto is grinning while Oleander, limbs limp, looks slightly embarrassed. On top is a sketch of Oleander sitting on a couch holding a bottle, with Loboto on the floor next to him; Loboto is in a baggy t-shirt and boxers, without his shower cap, and has turned around to cradle a flustered Oleander's head and kiss him on the lips.]

[Image 16 ID: A sketch of Oleander, sitting in Loboto's lap wearing a t-shirt and jeans, leaning against Loboto's knees and looking exasperated. Loboto is wearing a tank top and jeans and has a delighted grin, repeatedly slapping Oleander's bald head with his left hand.]

[Image 17-18 IDs: A two-panel comic split into two images. In the first, Loboto is sitting in a wooden chair at a round table holding a screwdriver in his left hand, wearing a baggy t-shirt and frayed sweatpants, looking back over at his shoulder at Oleander in the foreground. Oleander is standing at the kitchen sink, wearing an open button-up shirt over a tank top, as well as dishwashing gloves, and has his right hand in a fist while his left shoves something into the water. A screencapped caption from a Tumblr post reads "my boyfriend is washing the dishes and I just heard him say "who do you work for? who's your contact???" while repeatedly pushing a glass under water". The second panel cuts so Loboto is in the foreground, looking confused and raising his prosthetic hand to his chin, while in the background Oleander (visibly on a stepstool to reach the sink) holds up a glass with telekinesis and brandishes a knife at it, shouting. A second screencapped caption reads "at least he's having fun???"]

[Image 19 ID: A two-panel comic. In the first, Oleander is sitting on a stool at a table, looking down at blueprints he is caressing with his right hand, holding a martini glass in his left, looking contemplative. He says, "*sigh* What an amazing couple we would've been..." In the second panel, Loboto has suddenly appeared and hugs him from behind, grinning and saying "still cooould beeee [heart symbol]"; Oleander, flustered and grimacing, shouts back, "I COULD NOT BE MORE OBVIOUSLY TALKING TO THE MECH".]

[Image 20 ID: A colored two-panel comic. In the first, Oleander is in front of a red curtain, with Sheegor seen from behind in the background. He is wide-mouth shouting to Loboto offsceen, "You bozo! Have you no dignity?" In the second panel, Loboto has entered from stage left, grinning with mouth agape, responding, "Of course not! How long have we worked together?!" Oleander glares back with his mouth tight in a grimace, looking like he's barely holding back his rage.]

[Image 21-22 IDs: A two-panel black-and-white comic. In the first, Oleander is standing in front of an Otto-bon hatch surrounded by planters, with his hands on his hips and a serious expression, saying, "This summer I lost my (extremely platonic) co-conspirator". In the second, the camera cuts in slightly closer as Oleander clenches a fist, eyes closed and shedding a single tear, saying, "Sometimes I can still hear his voice..." In the background, Loboto emerges from the Otto-bon hatch, shouting, "QUIT TELLING PEOPLE I'M DEAD".]

[Image 23 ID: A color illustration of Loboto and Oleander sitting on a wine-purple couch with a golden-yellow throw blanket over the back, watching a rabbit-ear television, with a red rug with gold trim below them. There is also an orange cushion on the floor and two drink cans to the right. Loboto is sitting on the left side, one leg slung over the arm of the sofa on which his prosthetic arm is resting, leaning on the other arm, with a bowl of popcorn nestled in the crook of that arm. He is wearing a baggy green sweater that only reaches midway down his torso, a white button-up under that with the collar popped, and purple pajama pants patterned with teeth, as well as a teal-green sock on only his left foot (with the other visible discarded off the side of the sofa). Oleander is on the other side of the sofa, leaning against the arm on his left side and taking a fistful of popcorn with his right hand. He is wearing a zip-up orange-and-light-yellow sweater, long green pants, purple socks and reddish-brown slippers. A text balloon coming from the TV reads "I wanna be... a dentist!!" Loboto, grinning and pointing with his prosthetic hand, says, "This weird clown has it right." Oleander, lifting an eyebrow, responds, "That's an elf", to which Loboto replies, "No, no. Elves is the tall guys with the shooty bits".]

[samrut]

for the fic game- 🗝️ poliet

🗝️ Trapped : PoLiet

[Tw: Slight nsfw]

Alfred had invited Matthew, Tolys, and Feliks on a camping trip. The first day, the group decided to go for a swim. There was a swimming hole a short hike from the campground.

Feliks was not particularly athletic or outdoorsy. Not long after embarking on their journey, he had to stop for a break. Tolys stayed behind, telling the brothers to go on ahead.

With a hint of hesitation, Matt and Alfred finally conceded, and then they took off, sprinting down the winding path. Sitting on a tree stump, Feliks gulped down the entirety of his water bottle. He let out a breath, wiping the accumulated sweat from his brow.

During his rest, Feliks spotted the faded remnants of a forgotton footpath branching off the main trail. It looked as though it had not been traveled in many years. With a spark of curiousity, the petite blond brushed aside the underbrush and stumbled upon the entrance to an old mine.

A sign loomed ominously, declaring a stern warning against trespassers. Yet, Feliks disregarded it and pressed onward. Just as he was to venture inside, a firm grip siezed his wrist, yanking him back.

"What are you doing?" Tolys questioned, his brows furrowed, a look of concern etched across his face.

To which Feliks said with a grin, "Just exploring; relax."

"Feliks," Tolys exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice. "If you aren't tired anymore, we need to keep going." By now, Matt and Alfred had most likely reached the watering hole.

"Chill," Feliks crooned, tenderly touching Tolys' arm. He batted his lashes, gazing up at him with vivid chartreuse eyes. "Where is your sense of adventure?"

Tolys, visibly flustered, turned his head aside and muttered, "I do not have a sense of adventure."

With a laugh, Feliks tugged at Tolys' hands, guiding him toward the mine. "Come on, big boy, just a peek, and then we can go play with the kids."

Tolys resolve wavered. He caste an anxious glance back at their bags before slowly trugging along. "Fine, but only a few minutes."

The farther they went, the darker it became. However, it did not pose an issue for the pair. Compared to humans, their kind could see fairly well in low-lit environments.

There was not much to look at aside from the wooden supports placed every few feet. Most of the mine had been stripped clean. The evidence of miners tools from long ago left carved into the rocks. 

The gravel underfoot became noticeably looser, and Tolys stopped dead in his tracks. "We ought to go back," he said.

"Not yet," Feliks refused. He undid the buttons of his shirt, flashing the ruffled bikini top concealed underneath. "Do you like it? I bought it especially for the trip," he asked, smirking flirtatiously.

Tolys swallowed, warmth rushing to his cheeks. He stepped back in retreat, eyes locked on Feliks' chest. Clearing his throat, he shakily answered, "Yes, it looks nice."

"Nice?" Feliks approached Tolys and laced his arms around his neck, teasing him. "Is that all you have to say?"

Unable to resist Feliks' coquettish allure any longer; Tolys pulled the smaller man in by the hips. His breathing became heavy; he bared his teeth, whispering in Feliks' ear with a guttural growl, "You minx."

"Am I or are you just a dirty perv?" Feliks replied, toying with Tolys' hair tied loosely into a low ponytail. "Are you disappointed that the boys invited me along too? I know you were hoping for a twin fuckfest."

"Feliks!" Shouted Tolys, bright red with embarrassment.

"Oh, please, I know how naughty your mind is," snickered Feliks. He slithered a hand down Tolys' trunks, wrapping his slender fingers around his girth. It came to no surprise that he was hard and pulsating with desire.

Tolys let out a stifled moan, his knees buckling. He embraced Feliks and leaned against one of the wooden beams, rutting against his palm like a dog in heat. The weight was too much for the wood rotten from age to bear, and it snapped.

Feliks looked up at the rocks as they began to crumble overhead. "Look out!" He yelled, throwing Tolys to safety as the ceiling crashed down on top of him.

Tolys coughed, lifting himself off the ground. The tunnel had collapsed, trapping them inside. As the dirt settled, he saw Feliks half pinned under the rubble. 

He swiftly rushed to his aid and began to unbury him. Rocks once again began to fall from above, and Feliks wheezed, "Stop!"

Tolys immediately froze.

[bluewhispersandabsinth]

Movie Night (fic; smol Tsukishima bros being bros)

No Pairing Rating: Gen 2315 words No warnings Just kids being kids and brothers bonding AO3 Twitter

Based on one of my Tsukki head canons: he loves cheesy horror b-movies because he enjoys picking them apart and he used to watch them with his brother when they both were kids.

This can be considered the origin story.

-

Small feet walked down the stairs.

Tap - tap

He liked the feel of carpet and floorboards under his soles but hated the way slippers dangled loosely around his feet and he refused to wear them whenever he could get away with it. 

Tap - tap

Over the cold wooden floor of the corridor in the dark, guided by a weak light flickering through the crack of the living room door. 

Quietly he opened it, not far enough to trigger the treacherous squeak of the unoiled hinges.

Just enough for one eye to peek inside, to find out what was the source of the rumbling he had heard coming from downstairs. A hooded figure, just a head taller than him, sat on the couch. The back straight, the head slowly turning towards the door. 

“Kei, is that you?” 

“Uh, no?” he answered.

Even in his childish mind, he knew it was a stupid lie but lately, he had caught himself saying stupid, non-sensical things more often, just to contradict whoever was talking to him.  He pouted when his brother left the couch to open the door. 

“No?” Akiteru said, slightly irritated. “Who are you, then? An axe murderer? Because that's what I thought for a second when the door suddenly opened.”

“That’s silly!” Kei snickered, ignoring his brother’s accusatory tone. Aki wasn’t seriously mad at him, he never was. That was the good thing about having a big brother - he could do and say what he wanted but Aki never got mad at him and never scolded him. 

“What are you doing?” Kei asked curiously, trying to squint past Aki to catch a glimpse at the TV. Without waiting for an answer, he walked into the living room. “What are you watching? Is it good? Can I watch, too?” 

Akiteru sighed and, after a careful look into the corridor, closed the living room door. 

“No,” he said firmly in his best older-brother voice and picked up the blanket he had dropped when he heard Kei. 

“It’s a horror movie, isn’t it?” Kei asked. He was already sitting on the couch, legs crossed, hands around his ankles to stop them from twitching with too much excitement. The TV showed a creepy scene of a young woman staring at an old graveyard through her bedroom window in the middle of a stormy night. 

“That’s so cool!” Kei grinned from one ear to the other. “I want to watch it, too!” 

“Absolutely not!” Akiteru puffed his chest up and lowered his voice to give it an air of authority. “You’re too young! Horror isn’t for little kids!” 

“That’s not fair!” Kei protested. “You’re a kid, too! You’re just eleven!” 

“And you’re just six, Kei! I’m almost twice as old as you!” 

“That’s a dumb argument, you’re always five years older, that doesn’t make you always twice as old!” 

“Smartass.” Aki ruffled his brother’s hair. “Now back to bed with you. Do you want me to walk you there?” 

“I bet mom doesn’t know you’re watching this.” Kei smiled innocently at him. “I know she told you not to watch this stuff.” 

“Kei! You don’t think of snitching on me, do you?” Aki stared at him, alarmed. Kei thought about it for a second. He hated it when his brother did fun stuff without him because he was too little but snitching was what the stupid kids at school did. 

“No,” he said with a pout. “But I want to watch it with you. Please, Aki?” 

Aki sighed and glanced at the TV. He had missed what happened with the graveyard and now he had no idea why the woman was screaming as she tried to wake up her husband.  He didn’t want his little brother to get scared and have nightmares but he also didn’t want to miss more from the movie. Their mother hadn’t taken many nightshifts lately and it could be weeks, half an eternity really, until the next time he had the chance to watch TV this late. 

“Okay,” he said. He sat down and wrapped the blanket around both their shoulders. “Let’s make a deal! You can stay this time but if you are too scared to go back to bed alone later or have nightmares, you’ll never ask me again before you’re eighteen!” 

“Eighteen?” Kei whined. Eight would have been ages in the future but eighteen! That would take forever. He’d be old by then. 

“Deal or not?” Aki grinned.

Kei frowned, pondering over the offer. Then, he jumped off the couch and hurried out of the living room. 

Puzzled, Aki looked after him. He adored his brother but sometimes, Kei was a little weird and it was difficult to guess what was going on in his head. He went through a stubborn, contrarian streak, their mother had explained, but he wasn’t sure if it really was just that.  Also, what boy in his right mind would ditch a horror movie just to be stubborn? 

Not Kei. Shortly after the quick footsteps had disappeared upstairs they were back on their way down the stairs.

Seconds later, Kei sat down, grinning, with the big, old dino plushie had had inherited from Aki when he was born, and this time, with his glasses on his nose. He held out his little hand. 

“Deal!” he declared triumphantly. 

“Fine!” Aki laughed and they shook hands on it. 

“And now be quiet,” he whispered, wrapping them up in the blanket a second time. “I don’t want to miss more of the movie!” 

They watched in silence. Aki glanced at his little brother a few times to make sure he was okay but Kei’s eyes were fixated on the movie, his face so unreadable, it looked almost creepy in the flickering blue light of the TV. Fortunately, the couple were talking to a priest about what the woman had seen that night, repeating what they had missed when he tried to convince Kei to go back to bed. A weird shadow, apparently. Her husband and the priest suggested it had been an animal from the nearby forest but she insisted it looked too human for that and yet, not human at all. The pencil drawing she made of the creature looked scary, like it was supposed to be a human body but somehow, it got it all wrong and the red eyes looked super creepy. 

He almost jumped off his seat when he heard a sharp his.

“This is stupid,” Kei’s small voice whispered. “Shadow don’t have eyes. And shadows don’t look like humans either. Either she saw a shadow or something else.” 

“What are you talking about?” Aki stared at his little brother, puzzled. Kei pushed up his glasses and frowned. 

“It doesn’t make sense! Why doesn’t she say she saw a weird creature? Why a shadow? Shadows can be anything!

Like the tree in Grandma’s garden! Its shadow looked like a witch with weird hair, remember? Grandpa tried to scare us, saying there’s a witch at the wall in the evening but it was just the tree and the sun.” 

“Uh…” Aki didn’t know what to say to that. Kei was right but it kinda made the drawing less spooky and less fun. “Just keep watching,” he said, gesturing him to stop talking. 

Kei didn’t interrupt the movie again but Aki could see that there were other moments when he wanted to say something - he sat on his hands, rocking back and forth and bit hard on his lip. Aki felt sorry for him, it was difficult for Kei to not give in to his impulses when he got something to say but the movie was getting  really dark and exciting and Aki wanted to enjoy it all in peace. 

The husband had left for a work trip and the first three days, everything was quiet. Two days before his return, weird noises came from the basement. 

On the last day alone, the wife couldn’t resist her curiosity anymore. She was scared but wanted to know what was going on. When the noises were back in the middle of the night, she went to see for herself. 

Her candle painted strange shadows over the walls and her face and she looked like a ghost herself in her nightgown. Kei hissed again next to him but didn’t say anything so Aki ignored him. 

She reached the end of the stairs and stepped into the darkness, barely able to see what was lying in front of her. The shadows behind her came closer. Aki tightly hugged one of the sofa cushions he had grabbed earlier and forced himself not to hide behind it. 

The shadows closed in. A cold breeze made her shudder and she turned around, two red eyes- 

“This is stupid!” 

Aki yelped and almost fell off the couch. He did drop the cushion when his brother’s angry voice startled him. 

“Wh-wha-!” 

“Why didn’t she wait?” Kei started to rant. “She waited long enough. Her husband comes back the next morning! Why now? And why didn’t she use the torchlight they had used before he left, when they searched the garden shed for the garden sheers?” He scoffed, which sounded adorably funny in his childish voice  but Aki was too bewildered to laugh. 

“And why does she go in her nightgown? And slippers? Walking in slippers is super annoying,” Kei continued. “What if she has to run? And why doesn’t she take a stick or a knife with her or something?”

“Are you…Really nitpicking on a horror movie? Aren’t you scared at all?”

“No!” Kei scoffed again and Aki could tell he wasn’t pretending. Kei was a horrible liar and it was clear as day that he wasn’t the least bit scared. 

“Not even by the monster?” Aki glanced at the TV. The uncanny shadow monster was floating after the screaming woman. Its eyes glowed with a dark red light and an unearthly noise came from where its mouth should have been, had it been human. Aki quickly looked back at Kei.

“No,” Kei repeated. “It looks like a weird puppet that was filmed elsewhere and somehow cut into the movie. It doesn’t look real at all. That’s so disappointing.” He crossed his short arms and pouted, looking so serious and yet so childish that, finally, Aki couldn’t stop giggling. 

“You’re a weird kid.”

“You’re a kid yourself!” Kei snapped back. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Aki picked up the cushion and made himself comfortable again. “Do you want to watch the rest of the movie or go to bed now?”

“No,” Kei said. “I want to watch it all.” 

“Fine by me.” He swallowed a remark about Kei better not complaining to him about nightmares if he stayed through the gruesome death scene of the couple and the priest. He had the feeling that the movie would rather have nightmares of Kei than the other way around. 

“Where’s Aki?” Kei asked when he walked into the kitchen the next morning. 

“Good morning, son,” his mother greeted him with a smile and an exaggerated bow. “I hope you slept well.” 

“Sorry. Morning, Mom, where’s Aki?” Kei repeated and sat down for breakfast.

“He’s sleeping in a little longer,” their mother explained, yawning. She was always tired when she worked nightshifts but she always made sure to be awake to make breakfast for her sons. She’d sleep once they were off to school. 

“Why?”

“He didn’t sleep well last night,” she said, pouring him a glass of milk and herself a cup of coffee. “He screamed when I came back and walked past his room. Poor boy, he had a really bad nightmare. Is everything okay, Kei, baby?” she asked when he looked at her with wide, surprised eyes.

“Yes. What nightmare?” 

“I don’t know. Did something happen last night? You two went to bed and stayed there as you were supposed to, didn’t you?”

“Sure,” Kei said and began poking his scrambled eggs with his fork. 

“Sure, really?” 

“Yeah. We went to bed as you said,” Kei stated. 

“Is that so?” But her eldest son scuffled into the kitchen before she could ask if they stayed there. 

“Morning, Mom. Morning, Kei. Slept well?”

“Yes.” 

The brothers exchanged a knowing glance. 

Their mother watched from behind her coffee with a raised eyebrow but decided to say nothing. She had a good idea of what probably happened and it didn’t come as a surprise. If she cut corners here and there, she should be able to hire a babysitter for the next time she had to work at night.  Also, Kei seemed fine and Aki had already been punished by bad dreams. It was more important to see that the two brothers got along and stuck up for each other than giving them a lecture about the dire consequences of staying up late and watching movies not meant for little kids. 

Aki sat down and quietly poured himself a glass of juice and began to eat his breakfast. 

“Hey!” Kei pulled his sleeve when their mother went into the living room to take a phone call. “Can we do that again? Watch another horror movie when mom works?” 

“I thought you hated it!” Aki whispered back.  “You said it was stupid and not scary at all.” 

“Yes,” Kei said. “But it was fun to find it stupid. I want to do it again!” 

“Sure,” Aki grinned. “But only if you promise to bring some of your snacks next time.” 

“Promised!” 

“Cool. Mom’s coming!” They went quiet and stared at their breakfast when their mom returned to the kitchen. Kei hummed the theme from the movie credits and was happily swinging his legs under the table. Aki grinned. 

He had already planned to watch another horror movie as soon as possible, despite his nightmares, and with his adorable smartass of a little brother, it should be much more fun than scary the next time.

[rhodeybugg]

Before The Dawn; Chapter 7 Smitten

She really wished her mind would stop playing tricks on her. The manor was too big. The hallways didn't make sense, and it was unbearably cold. "Tessa?" There was no response, only the echo of her words around her.  It was dark outside. Darker than normal, she couldn't see anything.  It SCARED her. "N? V? Cyn?! Come on, this isn't funny, where are you guys?!" She followed the path she knew, or at least she thought she knew, every hallway looked the same. Tessa's room was quiet. Too fucking quiet. Drones don't have hearts, at least, to her knowledge, none of them did. Maybe N, but not her. Not her or V or Cyn or any of the other thousands of drones out there. But something sank in her chest when she crept into the doorframe of Tessa's room. The human was asleep, nestled into her blankets, her back facing the door- but that wasn't what J was afraid of.  What made her freeze in place, was that ....thing up in the rafters, just above Tessa's bed. It tried to blend into the darkness, but she could make out bits of its features as it leaned over the edge of the wooden beam. There was a long, slender tail that hung down and curled around another beam; she could make out the outline of sharp, metallic claws digging into the wood the creature was sitting on, balancing its body as it leaned over Tessa like a hawk stalking a field mouse. Two bright gold eyes stared down from the darkness, and she could have sworn she saw a flash of its teeth and a tongue brushing against them hungrily. She wanted to move. She wanted to scream at Tessa to wake up, to scare this thing off, but no matter how hard she tried, no sound came from the drone's voicebox. The sound of wood breaking hit her audio receptors. The creature had untangled its tail from the rafter it was using to balance, and was now posed like a cat preparing to pounce. Wake up.  It inched forward. Wake up. The creature's jaws split open. She could see every individual tooth in the creature's maw, diving down towards her human. It's not real. Wake up! Claws hit flesh. MOVE!!

And then, she felt her body collide with the hardwood floor. The sun was on her face. She could hear N speaking. 

☽✧    ✦    ✧☾

"You're holding it too low!" Clang. "..Like…like this?" "That's better! Just a little more to the right." Clatter.

Zara winced as Tessa swung again, finally making contact with the sword. They had been at this for hours. When the Elliott manor's ballroom wasn't being used for fancy gatherings or dinner parties, it was used as Tessa's personal swordfighting classroom. Somehow today, she’d talked Zara into joining her, leaving the two fifteen-year-olds in the ballroom with swords. …Which was never a good idea, especially not when one could barely hold up the sword, and the other was Tessa. "You have to keep your legs in position, otherwise you'll lose your balance." Tessa watched Zara fix her posture. "Shoulders up a little more." She placed her sword down, walked over to Zara and placed a hand on her shoulders, giving them a gentle, but firm push.  "I'm trying! You have to remember, I've never done this before!" Zara sighed. "I know!" Tessa went back to her spot, picking her sword back up and turning to face Zara. "You're learning, though! You're doing really well!" Zara glanced down at her sword. "Are you sure? Because it feels like I-" CLANG. Zara's sword flew from her hands and clattered against the tile as it slid away. Tessa threw her own sword down and slid behind Zara, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other very lightly around her shoulders. "Don't worry about it." Tessa teased. "You're doing fine."  Zara, still startled and caught off-guard, stayed still in Tessa's grasp, staring down at the arm that wrapped loosely around her waist, feeling the heat rush to her face.

"...Five bucks says they kiss." Cyn leaned her head against the railing of the upper balcony. "First off, you don't have any money." J glared at her and crossed her arms, leaning over V to watch the two girls below. "Second, no, they won't." "Counterpoint." Cyn held up a finger. "Yes, I do." She held up another finger, never taking her eyes off of Zara and Tessa. "And yes they will."

Tessa held Zara in place for a moment, before glancing over her shoulder and tilting her head. “...You good?”  Zara opened her mouth to speak, only able to get out a strained “YeAh.” “What’s got you all blushy?” Tessa snickered, letting go of Zara and allowing her to retrieve her sword. Shit. She stared down at the ground. “Oh! Er- Nothing, nothing at all, just..thinking? “About?” Tessa leaned down to be in Zara’s vision.  “...Someone.”  Zara felt more heat rush to her face. She knew her blush was absolutely beyond hiding- she’d gone and outed herself, it was that obvious. “Ooh?~” A look of burning curiosity appeared on Tessa’s face as she leaned closer to Zara. Zara shrugged her head into her shoulders, desperately trying to hide herself as she began fidgeting with her hands. “Y…yeah.”  “And who might this someone be?” Tessa got a little closer as Zara sunk to the ground, crossing her legs, still trying to collapse in on herself. “....I mean…you don’t have to tell me.” Tessa scooted closer, now at Zara’s side. “....But as your best friend, you are legally required to tell me.” She grinned. This was it. This was where it ended, she’d end up confessing and be really awkward about it and Tessa wouldn’t reciprocate and she’d hate her and then she’d go back to not having any friends and she’d die alone and- A hand on her shoulder snapped her out of her spiral. “...Zara, dude, breathe, you’re scaring me.”  “...S..sorry.” Zara looked down, still fidgeting with her hands.  Where was she even supposed to begin? “...well, she’s…really smart-” “Always a bonus.” Tessa leaned her chin against her palm, listening intensely as Zara spoke. “- and she’s got a fantastic sense of humor, and dazzling green eyes and she makes me feel all soft and fuzzy and she’s-” Zara stopped, glancing at Tessa and smiling. “....She’s perfect.”  Tessa leaned back. “...Well, she definitely sounds interesting.” She stared down at the floor for a moment, then back at Zara. “....Am I ever gonna meet this she someday?” Zara didn’t answer. Her gaze remained locked on the ground for a few moments, before shly looking up at Tessa, their eyes locking for a moment. “...I uh…well, you already know her a lot better than I do, actually.”  Everything was silent. She hated it. She was waiting for it, for Tessa to realize, and hate her for it. Tessa gave her a puzzled look, and Zara simply motioned back to Tessa with her head. She felt her heart stop as Tessa’s eyes widened, and she put a hand to her chest. “...me?” Shit. shit, shit, shit, fuck, even.  Zara gulped and glared back down at the floor. “You love…me?” She didn’t sound upset about it. She didn’t sound disgusted or angry or any of what Zara was expecting her to sound like. Instead, Tessa sounded more thrown off about it.  Zara hesitantly nodded. “I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” She started to get up, but instantly fell back down the second she felt Tessa’s hand on hers, her other free hand reaching out to gently cup Zara’s face, forcing her to look back at Tessa. “It’s okay.” Her grip tightened a little on Zara’s hands. They were soft. She never wanted to let go. They sat there for a moment, holding hands.  The world could have stopped around them, for all they seemed to care.  “...I..Feel the same way.” Tessa smiled, now blushing as well- nowhere near as intensely as Zara still was.

“They’re holding hands.” Cyn leaned over, nudging V in the side. “I see that!” V winced and leaned a little closer to the edge of the railing. J briefly considered shoving her over it. “I think they confessed.” N glanced over to Cyn, who held a finger to her lips.  “Shhhh, they’re saying something!” J crossed her arms and huffed. “...why are you guys so worried about it anyway? So what if they kiss? It doesn’t mean anything.” “Sure it does!” V glared over her shoulder at J, turning to grab N’s face, pulling him into a very aggressive, but passionate kiss. The second she let go of him, a “HIGH TEMP!!!!!” warning appeared on his visor as he fell over backward. “See?” “That’s just N.” J took a step forward, pecking V on the cheek. “It doesn't mean anything.”  An error briefly flashed on V’s screen as she shook her head. J could see the internal warning on her own system, appearing in bright red letters: “NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.”   “That doesn’t count.” V shook her head and grumbled. “They’re leaning closer.” Cyn tilted her head, watching the scene play out on the ballroom floor beneath them. “They’re not going to kiss. Tessa’s just being nice about it.”  “Why are you so against it? Zara would be a better partner for her than Salvadore.” V poked her head back over the balcony. “Why does she have to date anyone?” J grumbled. “All it’s doing is causing problems all around.”  “J.” Cyn growled, never moving her head. “What?” “Stop being such a romantic killjoy.”  J opened her mouth to say something, being interrupted by V, causing her to return her attention back to the ground.  “They kissed!” 

It wasn’t anything long. It was short, it was sweet, but it was loving. Tessa was the one who closed the gap, using the hand that had been resting against Zara’s face to guide their heads together. Zara didn’t resist. She knew Tessa, she knew that if she showed the slightest sign of hesitation, that if she backed off, she’d fuck up the whole thing. Tessa was gentle with her. She held her with reverence, as though she was afraid of breaking her, that the slightest movement would hurt her.  She melted into the kiss, feeling Tessa brush her thumb over her hand. She never wanted it to end, she wanted to stay in that moment forever, enjoying the feeling of their lips touching, holding hands with her crush, forever in that perfect moment. And just like that, it was over.  Both girls pulled back, lovingly staring into each other’s eyes, fingers still intertwined. Zara scooted closer, sitting so that their sides were touching, carefully laying her head on Tessa’s shoulder. Neither of them said anything for a moment. They didn’t need to- why would they need to?  Zara’s silence was contentment, still trapped in a loving daze, nuzzling her head against Tessa’s shoulder and holding onto her hand as though she was scared that Tessa would phase out of existence the second she let go. Tessa’s silence was less enjoyable. Internally, she was at war with herself. Yes, she loved Zara, god, she loved her. But how was she going to explain this one to her parents? And if they accepted it (which, she had her ways of making sure they would. She would make sure they would), how were they going to explain the situation to Salvadore’s parents? She’d gone and fucked up the plans, and now she was going to have to fix it.  “...Tessa?”  She tilted her head. Keeping her head against Tessa’s shoulder, Zara glanced up at her.  “...did you…mean it?” “...well, i just kissed you, didn’t I?” Tessa chuckled. “I can’t mean it any more than that.” “No, no, I mean…You didn’t…do it out of pity, did you..?” Tessa placed her hand under Zara’s chin, leaning down so that their noses touched for a second. “I meant it. I love you, Zara Rose. I mean it.” 

☽✧    ✦    ✧☾

Anytime their parents weren’t around, they were holding hands. J hated it.  Sure, she wanted Tessa to be happy- and she was happy that Tessa was happy, but why a partner? Why someone else to take her away from them?  She did her best to sit between them when they could, forcing herself at Tessa’s side and silently glaring at Zara when she wasn’t looking. At least, she did whenever V and Cyn weren’t holding her back. ‘You’re being overprotective’, they said, and ‘She’s not going to make Tessa get rid of us or forget us’, and ‘J, I think you need counseling’. Zara was way too nice. She didn’t like it. Surely there was some underlying goal, she was only in it for Tessa’s family fortune, or she just wanted to play with Tessa’s heart. Tessa was definitely worth being chased after and loved, but normally people only drooled over her so they could get a hand in on her family’s wealth. How could Zara be any different? 

She really hated it whenever Zara started cuddling up to her at night. She’d taken J’s spot. And they were stealthy enough to avoid getting caught by Tessa’s parents. She still had to figure out how to explain her relationship with Zara to them- and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let Zara find out about her forced arrangement with Salvadore, because she didn’t want him. She didn’t want Zara to back off and lose feelings because she was being forced to be with him. She didn’t want Salvadore. She wanted Zara.  First, it was N. Then Cyn, and now Zara, an outsider, a fucking human, taking her spot, cuddling up to Tessa.  J had been reduced to sleeping at the foot of the bed almost permanently now, save for the days when Zara had to return home. 

The nightmares were getting more frequent. More demons in the rafters, dreams of her waking up in the drone graveyard, and dreams of a purple-haired drone that she could never recognize or remember after she woke up, but those dreams were always associated with her own death, a searing phantom pain in her upper body always jerking her from her sleep cycle.  …Maybe she really should go get that checked out

[chelles-trees]

Diderot's Coffee

By me

              Teaching isn’t all it used to be. Tegan makes me to jump with her sudden entrance.

       ��      “Michelle! You need to grab the carboy and bring it over here. We’re just about to leave!”

              I pick up the big, cardboard container of ice-cold milk and carry it out of the cafe to the covered pickup truck. Stupid, should have already had this in there. It’s nice to do something that has a definite start and end time. If you can’t handle the teaching and paperwork separately you don’t deserve easy. It’s also nice not being a second mom to 150 teenagers. You could’ve had your own children if not for becoming a girl. The cab doors click unlocked, and I get into the back seat with the induction stove and boxes of croissants.

              “What do you think you’re doing?” Stephan asks from the driver’s seat. The boss continued, “Get up front here. You’re so big you are going to smash something. Let Tegan sit back there.”

              I nodded and got out. If you throw up right now, you won’t have to go, and then you won’t fee-fie-foe-fum all over everything. Tegan passed from one door to the other right in front of me, then I got into the front without opening my mouth again.

              The job site was a film set, looking like old dust bowl Colorado—where the wooden buildings all had raised wooden porches that connected to each other with bridges to make a sidewalk that couldn’t be easily buried in dust. Someone’s daughter’s class was coming for a field trip, and they wanted better hot chocolate and cinnamon apple spice than the regular contractors had on hand.

              “Why aren’t you wearing your uniform?” Stephan asked in a hurry, as I lifted an ice chest one tenth my weight and one half my size out of the back of the truck. Jut your chest out so people can see your boobs so they don’t think you’re a man.

              “Oh, uh, it’s my first day.” Does he know? Does he see through me? I look down at my black, faux silk, yin-yang decorated blouse, and my loose-fitting slacks. Of course this was too ‘interesting’ an outfit for a first day. What do you want to look like, some wannabe disk jockey? Is it racist in an appropriative sort of way?

              “Ah!” Stephan winces. He reaches in the cab, right behind the driver’s seat, and hands me a folded set of clothes. “Put these on.”

              The pile includes short shorts, a shirt, and an apron with the outline of a foppish Frenchman holding a mug of coffee and the inscription “Drink Diderot’s, it’s written on high.” How does he know my size?

              “Wha- where…” I see the port-a-potties are still being delivered off their truck, and the school bus just arrived.

              “I don’t care where you change,” Stephan said. “Just go. Go behind a bush or something.”

              He wants to see you change. Looking at everyone milling about, I take the pile of clothes and a plastic bag from the truck. He wants the wrong people to see you change because he wants them to kill you. I walk beneath the wooden sidewalk, jog behind the buildings, then find the biggest bushes I can that are at least 50 yards away and try to change faster than it’ll take someone to follow me out here.

              Your legs are so untanned they can blind people at 20 yards. They’re gross, even shaved. Why would you subject anyone to that? Don’t look at that thing between them. It looks like a shaved mouse that ate arsenic and died months ago in a spider’s web. It feels like being pinched by a lobster.

              With my new uniform of a beige, button down shirt, white short shorts, and green apron-tisement, I re-emerged from the bushes from behind the buildings, and passed under the sidewalk again to find the whole place deserted. Clothes bag in hand, I put the other hand to my head to shade it from the rising sun on the east, and scan all the way around to the west. Cars and trucks are here. Everything is still half unloaded. There were just no people.

              They left you. They just started playing a prank on you, and then they decided to do something useful with their day and left.

              “Hello?” I called out.

              There is no response.

              After another minute of waiting, I decide to just finish unloading Stephan’s truck. Wherever they went, they’ll be back, and I need something to do in the meantime. Maybe I can make myself some coffee.

              I just finished setting our little stand up and plugging everything in when the doors to the buildings opened, and everyone poured back out. They were laughing. I heard joking about being drowned and whether they’d still be expected to come to work. Someone tried to do a back of the envelope calculation of how much force it’d take to knock down the wooden structures.

              “What is going on?” I asked, a little dumbfounded and trying to hide a tear in each eye.

              “Didn’t you get the notifications?” one of the key grips asked me. When I shook my head, he said, “check your phone.”

              My phone was in my back pocket, and was set to silent, no vibrate. I reached for it. Why is your hand near your butt? Who will think you’re trying to draw attention to your butt? Who will think you’re trying to flirt with them? Will they be mad enough to say something?

              “Tsunami Warning,” read my notification. “Earthquake 650 miles off the coast of California. Get to high ground if within 40 miles of the coast.” I started panicking, then saw the second notification. “Tsunami warning false alarm. Faulty sensor near deep ocean drill rig.”

              Cheeks wet with tears, and feeling light-headed, I steadied myself with one hand while I took a few deep breaths and laughed my anxiety away. 

              “Do you go to Santa Cruz?” I heard a young voice ask.

              I looked up to see that a small crowd of 8-year-olds had gathered near me.

              “No…?” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever needed to go there. Why do you ask?”

              “My sister goes to school there, and you look a lot like her friends.”

              “Really?”

              “Yeah. Her friends live in this big building with some ancient letters on it.”

              “Oh! Her ‘s friends are in a Greek house… at UC Santa Cruz.”

              “Yeah! That’s the one.”

              “And you think I look like them?”

              “Well, you’re a big kid, and pretty.” The little boy gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.

              I laughed and smiled. Kids are always super honest. I dried my eyes with a paper-towel and asked them if they wanted hot chocolate. They all did. Of course they all did. We chatted about school while I made their drinks. I told them I’d already graduated, and I’d studied literature, biology, and teaching. Some of their eyes got wide. One of the girls wanted to talk about the books her parents had against a wall. She said it was a whole library in their house. One of the boys told me about his terrarium. Someone asked why I was serving them chocolate if I was a teacher—wasn’t I supposed to keep them from eating or drinking when it wasn’t lunch time?—and I said that I might be a teacher, but I wasn’t their teacher. I also told them that I liked chocolate and coffee, a lot.

              By the end of the day, I was apparently the kids’ favorite thing on set. It might have been because I introduced them to Mexican hot chocolate that was spicy like Cuauhtémoc and Moctezuma would have drunk. It might have been when I told them about the Turkish defeat at the battle of Vienna, how coffee stolen from the Turkish camp was crucial to keeping the Viennese spy awake long enough to get reinforcements, which I finished by dramatically holding up a croissant—the pastry that was shaped like the Turkish flag to commemorate the battle. It’s also possible that I was such a hit because the movie star who was supposed to be there didn’t believe the tsunami warning was false and drove inland as fast as they could go. You can’t film much without someone in front of the camera.

              At one point, I happened to glance into a full-length mirror that leaned against a wall, waiting for its final destination to be decided and cleared. The girl who glanced back looked fit and cute in those shorts. Her legs were muscular. Her makeup was messy, but in a woman-at-work sort of way. The neck beneath her foundation looked like it belonged there. Looking at her from the outside, she made me want to be her. No, I want to continue to be her.