#their momentum does not stop when they come out the other side and they are just flung forwards

[tineymang]

@heropartnerweek day 6 - return!

i feel like there was a significant lack of hugs in the explorers of sky storyline and i aim to rectify this fact

[emptyheadedhousecow]

still fat

900 words · 5 min read · emptyheadedhousecow.tumblr.com · November 2024

The funnel is empty. The blanket is dotted with crumbs. The pizza boxes are on the floor — there's a grease stain on the bedsheet where it had been carelessly placed half an hour ago, but that's a job for tomorrow. The box of aftercare chocolates is open and the best ones are already gone. It was hot, but the libido is gone now, and appetites are more than sated. Your feeder is curled up beside you, half-asleep already, small beside you, eclipsed by your mass. The pain has been kissed and rubbed away, but you're still swollen and stuffed, and most importantly, you're still fat.

They woke up before you. The pizza boxes are gone, and the funnel too; through the walls you hear the dishwasher churning, something sizzling on a stovetop, and fresh coffee being ground. There's a hunger brewing inside you already, but the stretchmarks on your sides are itching again, and the moisturiser is just out of reach. They'd jump at the chance to help, but it's not sexy right now, you just want the discomfort gone. You shift and roll, and build momentum, and grab the bottle, and then come crashing back down on the mattress in a breathless heap, your fat splayed out in exactly the same way it was before. You breathe, and recover, and you have to remind yourself, like every other morning, that your body has grown into something made of carbs and lard, even though everything else is back to normal, you're still fat.

Your day would be easy for anyone else, but everything is an ordeal for you. It seems like every time you shower you discover a new fold that needs to be cleaned and powdered. You need to catch your breath while washing your hair. You could wear clothes, if you wanted, but it's so much easier not to try, and you're increasingly unsure just how long it's been since you wore anything at all. Your feeder brings you all the food you could want, four meals a day or five if you're lucky... and you're grateful, of course you are, but not every meal is sex. You eat because you're hungry — a deep hunger that's only satisfied when you're pushed to breaking point — and you eat to shush, if only for a little while, that tiny voice inside you that's always demanding more more more. You knew this would happen; that every time you push yourself, your appetite grows a little... and you've pushed yourself a lot. You don't always eat because you want to, you eat because you HAVE to, because that's what a body as fat as yours craves, and day after day, you're still fat.

And then the funnel's back in play, and another order is lined up on the pizza app. Can you down the pitcher of cream before the pizzas arrives, and then the pizzas too? It's always an offer, never coerced. It was such a struggle last time, you only barely made it, but that only means it'll be easier now. And the tiny voice inside you can't be silenced, and the deep hunger is so very demanding, and it does drive you wild to see them this excited. You agree. You know you won't be able to stop yourself from pushing yourself to your limit, again, and you know that if you manage it, next time there might be another pizza on top, and that's far beyond what any normal person could eat, and as exciting as that is, you can't help but worry a little. But the preparations are underway, and your feeder's in the kitchen already, and all you need to do is eat, which you're amazing at, so this is just the best option, right? After all, you've done this a hundred times, what's one more? Tonight won't change anything, not really — either way, you're still fat.

The next day is always the same as the day before. Your feeder is dressed in a tenth of the time it takes you to shuffle to the edge of the bed and you're exhausted already. A kiss and a smile and you're helped to your feet, but you're not steady, and your balance is always unfamiliar, and it wasn't so long ago that it wouldn't even have occurred to you that you might need help getting up, and yet here it is, a development as casual as a second portion of breakfast. It ought to worry you but you are so very hungry, and the little voice is louder than your own thoughts these days, even though the pressure from last night's feast remains. Food is brought directly to the bedroom, once a rare treat but now the norm simply because it's getting harder to walk to the kitchen, even assisted. Getting dressed isn't an option anymore, for sure there's no clothes that still fit you, and that means no going outside, even in the car. Not that you've been outside in a long time. Perhaps you begin to slowly realise, if you hadn't been in denial about it already, that your last opportunity to lose the weight has quietly disappeared, who knows how long ago, and you never even noticed. But that doesn't seem nearly as important as finishing the plate of food that's in front of you. Maybe you'll get a chance to think about that later, maybe not — it feels like a very permanent fact of your life that you're still fat, forever.

[h0neylevi]

After a major shift, your life has become a series of monotonous routines. Eat, sleep, go to work, repeat. But when you find a man bleeding on the subway with no idea how he got there, things become anything but ordinary.

General content warnings: isekai/parallel universe, modern AU, mentions of blood and canon-typical violence, some light angst, eventual smut.

chapter warnings: mentions of blood/cleaning of wounds

word count: 3.2k

It’s just after midnight when you make it to the metro platform.

The descent underground is quiet. Below the bustling city streets, you go through the process of boarding a train back home in a bit of a mindless daze, having done this cycle of late night shifts at the hospital countless times before.

The carriage is empty when you walk on board, silent except for the pneumatic hiss of the doors that slide closed behind you. You fall into the nearest seat with a heavy sigh.

It’s the first time in thirteen hours you’ve really been able to get off your feet.

Working four 12 hour days in a row can be tiring, but it’s worth it most of the time for the following four days off that you’re able to get. Four days off of freedom—which usually means catching up on errands. Laundry, getting groceries, and cleaning.

It’s just you now, so things tend to pile up much more quickly.

As you feel the rumble of movement beneath you, the momentum causing you to sway a little in your seat, you stare unblinking at the opposite window. Flashes of advertisements and thick concrete tunnel walls speed by in a blur, and you allow your mind to wander.

Maybe you could go to that new cafe in the morning that opened up on College Street. It’s been a while since you’ve taken a moment just for yourself. Or maybe you could take a book to the park after cleaning your apartment. The weather was supposed to be nice, and that used to be your favorite thing to do before…

The train slows to a stop before you continue down that line of thinking. With a droning chime, the doors open to signal would-be passengers to either depart or climb aboard.

A pleasant female voice erupts from the intercom system. “This is Freedom Park Station. Please stand clear of the doors.”

It’s not unheard of for others to be out so late, particularly on a Friday night, so to see a man walk aboard doesn’t immediately surprise you.

What does cause you to do a double take is the state of him.

The first thing you see is the insignia of the wings of freedom, a symbol you immediately recognize on the back of the green cloak covering his upper half from one of your favorite shows, Attack on Titan.

The second thing you notice is that he’s soaked.

That’s odd. You don’t remember it raining earlier in the day, but it could have been a brief downpour in another part of the city. And he’s clearly coming from an anime convention. Those were usually held at the convention center on the other side of the city.

The man heavily slumps forward against the railing. His back is turned toward you, but you watch him thoughtfully, admiring the impressive handiwork of his costume. From under the cloak, you see the intricately wrapped belts of the omni-directional gear, as well as the boxes along his thighs that are used in the show to store blades. When you see a reflection of an advertisement briefly glimmer off of the surface, you realize that they’re actually metal.

Those must be heavy. Did he make them himself?

The train begins to move again and your thoughts are stopped short when the man stumbles, nearly falling. That’s when he turns and you notice the blood.

His face is covered in it.

You’re on your feet before you even realize it. “Excuse me.”

He turns at the sound of your voice and you see the source: a rough cut just above his right eyebrow.

The man sways unsteadily on his feet against the movement of the train. The look he gives you is immediately distrusting, but he doesn’t back away.

You stop a few feet from him. “Sir, are you okay?” When his eyes narrow, you point to the badge pinned to your work scrubs. “I’m a nurse, see?”

You wait as his eyes study your hospital badge for a moment.

“Where the hell am I?”

Okay, that’s potentially a cause for concern. “Uh.” You try to remember what stop he got on from. “Freedom Park.” The look on his face doesn’t resemble recognition. “You’re not from around here?”

For a moment, he seems to think. “No.”

There’s a sharp jolt from the train car and you both sway a little, him more than you.

You gesture to the empty seat next to him. “Here. You should probably sit down.”

He doesn’t argue as he takes a seat.

Looking him over, you consider your options. It isn’t too late to take him back to the hospital, but you don’t exactly want to after spending the entire day there already. From the looks of it, it doesn’t look like he’ll need stitches, but it doesn’t feel right to leave him alone in the state he’s in either.

“Can you tell me what happened?” you ask.

The man looks around for a moment. The look on his face turns apprehensive. “I don’t remember. There was a flash… and then I just woke up here.”

You raise your brows. Something about the way he says it feels like he isn’t being completely honest, but you suppose the bleeding itself is a more pressing concern right now anyway.

“Okay,” you say. “Well, that cut doesn’t look too deep, but you should get it cleaned.” You pause for a moment, debating. “My apartment is at the next stop.”

You had meant it as a suggestion, but the man doesn’t seem to follow.

“I can look at it for you,” you add. “Maybe help you find wherever you were supposed to stay.”

He seems to consider it for a long moment, looking from you to around the empty train car and then back to your badge.

“Alright,” he says as the train begins to slow. When it comes to a stop and the doors open with their loud hydraulic hiss, he follows you back out onto the platform.

It’s quiet for most of the walk back. You go through the motions of exiting the station—swiping your pass and leading the way up the winding corridors to street level while the man follows, watching your movements and your surroundings with a puzzled sort of awe.

It isn’t until you’re pulling out the keys to your place before you turn to him again.

“So, what’s your name?”

He gives you a subdued look. “Levi.”

You smile.

“No, really…” you press, looking over his clothes again. It’s obvious that’s what he’s going for now that you see him up close—the scout uniform and the way he’s styled his hair. Come to think of it, he has Levi’s frame as well. And his eyes.

It’s a damn good cosplay actually. If Levi Ackerman were to magically come out of the television screen as a flesh and blood person, he’d look exactly like this guy.

But judging by his expression and the complete lack of response, he isn’t interested in giving you any sort of real information.

You turn then, your smile dropping, and lead the way into the apartment building. “O-kay.”

It’s possible, you guess, that his name really is Levi. Just a very bizarre coincidence that he happens to look and act exactly like your favorite character from an anime and also likes the anime as well. There are billions of people in the world though. Stranger things happen all the time.

Reluctant to piss him off further, the rest of the walk up to the second floor is done in more silence. You unlock your front door and lead the way inside, smiling when you hear the telltale trill of your cat greeting you at the door.

“Hello, Luna,” you greet, bending down to run your hand between the shorthair’s ears. She pushes herself up into your hand a little further with a chirp.

Still at the door, the man—Levi—watches.

“Luna?” he asks in a flat tone.

You straighten back up, noting his hesitancy to walk forward. “You’re not allergic, are you?” That would be some cosmic bad luck on his part to deal with a head wound and an allergic reaction in one night.

But thankfully, he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s affectionate but she’s harmless,” you say, sidestepping around your cat to walk further into your living room. When Levi joins you, you gesture to the sofa. “Have a seat there. I’ll be right back with some supplies.”

You don’t wait around to see if he does what you say, instead dipping down the hall toward a small office. It’s mostly just a place for all of your trinkets—a desk filled with a few figures and a computer. Some bookshelves line the walls, collecting dust. It’s been months since you’ve picked up a good book or did much of anything in this room, really. But you know exactly where to look for the supply kits you’ve managed to stock up on from the hospital.

After you find the suture thread and some wound wash, you grab a towel from the bathroom next door and return to the living room.

Levi is there, sitting on the edge of the sofa as if he’s afraid to get comfortable. His gaze keeps jumping around the room, taking in the layout and decor, and his fists rest stiffly on his knees. Luna is next to him, tentatively sniffing at his knuckles with a curious stretch of her neck.

You shoo her away gently and take her place on the sofa. The angle of light allows you to see the source of the drying blood on his face a bit better.

Quietly, you look him over. “How are you feeling?”

He watches as you slip on a pair of gloves. “I’ve had worse.”

You snort lightly and begin to prep the fresh towel with wound wash.

“Do you have stuff like this happen to you often?” you ask, now reaching to press the towel to his face.

At your question, he pulls his one uncovered eye from you, surveying the room again. “Nothing quite like this.”

“What happened?”

Levi is quiet for a moment before he says, “It was nothing. I fell.”

You pause your movements, frowning. “This doesn’t look like the kind of cut you’d get from a fall.”

“Why does it matter?”

Judging by his defensive tone, he knows more than he’s letting on, but you can’t figure out why he isn’t being honest.

But with him already in your apartment, you don’t want to do anything to unnecessarily antagonize him. Even in his current state, he looks strong and capable enough to hurt you.

Probably best to just change the subject.

“Did you have somewhere you were staying?” you ask, returning to your task.

You gently dab the towel down the curve of his jaw and feel the muscle tense beneath your touch.

“No,” he finally says.

“You came all the way here for a convention and didn’t book a hotel?”

“A convention?”

“Yeah,” you nod, gesturing to his clothes. “You’re a scout, right?”

At your words, his expression becomes a bit more relieved. He nods. “Yes. I got onto that... train thing because I hoped it might take me to headquarters.”

You blink as you listen to him. Did he hit his head hard enough for him to think that he is Levi Ackerman?

Maybe you should take him to the hospital anyway just to get him checked out. He seems perfectly lucid otherwise though, if a bit confused.

You reach forward and check his head wound again. Just like you thought, it’s too shallow to need stitches and isn’t bleeding anymore, so that’s a good sign. Maybe it could wait until morning.

“Do you feel sick?” you ask, searching his expression for any lack of focus or disorientation but find none. “Nauseated? Dizzy?”

“Other than the stabbing pain above my eye?” he deadpans, glaring at you. “No. I feel fine.”

You sigh. This is insane, considering letting a complete stranger stay in your apartment. But he doesn’t have anywhere else to go and he’s still soaking wet. You’d feel guilty if you just let him go and he got into trouble. At the very least, you could make sure he has somewhere to sleep. 

You get to your feet and look over his clothes once more. “You can stay here tonight if you’d like. I think I might have some old clothes you can sleep in, and there’s a shower down the hall.”

He gives you a distrustful look. “You’re putting a lot of faith in a stranger.”

You raise a brow. “I guess we both are. But if you’d rather sleep out in the cold, then be my guest.”

That seems to give him pause, and he looks around the room once more.

“Where did you say the shower was?”

“Down the hall, second door on the left,” you tell him. “I can get you a towel and some clothes.”

You dispose quickly of the bloodied towel in your kitchen trash along with your gloves and turn back down the hall again. When you return, Levi is standing awkwardly next to your sofa. He seems to be pointedly ignoring Luna, who is still curiously sniffing him from the armrest.

“These should fit,” you tell him, patting the folded up sweatpants and an oversized shirt tucked beneath your arm. “Just leave your things in the bathroom and I’ll make sure your clothes are washed in the morning.”

He takes the items from you with another skeptical glance. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I have to do laundry anyway,” you wave him off. “It’s no trouble.” Quickly, you point at him. “Just don’t scrub at that cut. You’ll just make it bleed again.”

He doesn’t move immediately when you back away to let him pass by, but the promise of a hot shower seems to eventually override whatever keeps him fixed in place. Without another word, he retreats down the hall, right to the second door on the left like you told him.

What a strange man.

It takes fifteen minutes before you hear the shower turn on.

In that time, you busy yourself with finding a spare blanket and a pillow and leave them on the sofa. You tidy up a little next, grabbing leftover drinking glasses off the table and discarded socks that had been pushed under the coffee table. It isn’t much, but you’re left feeling slightly less anxious about the state of your place by the time you’re finished. You like to keep things tidy to begin with, but the place certainly looks lived in right now.

Curious, you sink into a chair and pull out your phone while you’re waiting and click on the search engine, quickly typing in a few keywords to check on any local anime conventions happening in the area.

There are no ongoing events, and the next one isn’t happening until six months from now.

Well, that eliminates your theory. So then what the hell was he doing cosplaying on the street on a random Friday? If he was with someone, he wouldn’t have been wandering around alone and he said he wasn’t staying anywhere in the area.

The thought occurs to you that maybe this is some sort of trap to lure unsuspecting women into vulnerable positions, preying on a person’s compassion. But then, that was very real blood on his face and a very real wound, and he has had ample opportunities to attack and rob you if that was truly what he was after. He might look intimidating, but there’s nothing about him that screams that you’re in any sort of immediate danger either.

Maybe you can get some real answers out of him in the morning when he’s less grumpy.

You’re feeding Luna in the kitchen when Levi reappears.

With silent relief, you note that his wound seems to still be fine. He looks healthier in general after cleaning off, but he also looks… well, even more like Levi Ackerman. It’s kind of uncanny.

“What?”

You jump when you hear his voice. He’s watching you from the living room, looking about as confused as you feel.

Shit, have you been staring? “Nothing.” You sigh and rub at your eyes. It’s been too long of a day to start questioning your sanity. “Are you hungry or anything? I have some leftovers I can heat up really quick.”

“I’m fine.” He shakes his head and turns his attention to the blanket and pillow on the sofa. 

Carefully, he arranges it how he likes and sits down. He glances at the television on the other side of the room before looking around again, lingering at times on things like the lamps in the corners and over to the open kitchen.

His hands fidget in his lap.

“I’ll be out of here first thing in the morning.”

The sound of his voice surprises you.

“Where are you going to go?”

He shrugs. “I’ll figure it out.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. He’s a grown man, so it shouldn’t concern you what he does. But his comments about not being from here, and the whole thing about him trying to find ‘headquarters’? You’d feel better knowing there isn’t anything you’ve missed.

“At least let me take you to the hospital to get that cut checked out,” you suggest. “We can go first thing while your clothes are drying.”

He scoffs but the sound is entirely devoid of humor. “I told you I’m fine.”

“So it’ll be a quick visit and you can be on your way in no time,” you reply. “One of the doctors I work with can look you over before we open. He won’t mind.”

“Or I could just leave in the middle of the night.”

“I guess.” You shrug. “I wouldn’t be able to stop you, but that’s your choice. My conscience can be clear as long as I’ve offered to help you. I can’t make you take it, but I think it’s a good idea.”

He glares at you from the sofa, but doesn’t reply.

You get the sense that he doesn’t want to be bothered anymore. With the night he’s had, he probably just wants some rest, and you’re more than willing to get some sleep yourself.

Now that the shock of the night has worn off a bit, your body feels heavy as you get to your feet.

Levi stays quiet as you move around the room, shutting off lights and locking your front door. He moves to lay down once he gathers what you’re doing.

“I’ll get you up in the morning,” you tell him from the hallway. “Get some sleep.”

That earns you little more than a grunt of acknowledgement.

When you get into your room, you make sure to lock the door and find a baseball bat from the depths of your closet to sit by your bed. You’ve always been a light sleeper, so you hope that you’ll be able to hear if he decides to try anything.

You go through your nightly routine and climb into bed, then send off a text before closing your eyes—a message to one of your friends and fellow co-workers at the hospital.

Hey, could you do me a huge favor tomorrow morning? It’ll be quick.

Hopefully, when you wake up, Levi will still be there.

[iinarizaki]

pro freak

things just don't go so well on a call for poor Aizawa...and he needs you 🫵 tags: 18+, 4.0k, aizawa x f!reader (sorta, I don't think I used any pronouns or gendered petnames with this one), guys it's sex pollen there's like unprotected marathon sex, cunnilingus, cum, sweat, masturbation (m!), dry humping, things are happening.

“Ha! Even the great Eraserhead can’t beat me. So sad how the heroes are falling since All Might’s retirement!” The lanky twenty-something currently attempting to do circles around him taunts him with that annoying, grating voice of his. 

Attempting is the key word here. While still being surprisingly fast, Aizawa has still managed to stun him twice but there was some stupid counter to his quirk that is proving full capture a little challenging. And the– admittedly foolish as he knows much better– added distraction of being almost late to a dinner date with you is tugging his full attention from the urban jungle that he chases this young idiot through, swinging from buildings and lamp posts like that one fictional American superhero All Might compared him to one day not too long ago… Spider-boy or something. 

It’s just the thought of disappointing you, of missing the expensive reservation that he somewhat reluctantly booked six months in advance at some hyper popular restaurant you wistfully mentioned wanting to go to after seeing an instagram reel…

Just to see you happy. 

Knowing it’s work related and you would forgive him easily is a weak comfort but he would rather not have to ask for forgiveness in the first place. Having you in his life is something he never realized he needed until one day you just seemed to show up and he quickly realized that it would kill part of him if you weren’t around. 

He just needs to hurry and wrap this guy up, then alert the police or Best Jeanist or whoever else is close enough to pick him up. It’s not like he really cares if he gets all the glory…

Especially on a minor incident like this. The guy was stealing from an improperly unsecured bank truck and knocked out the guards. It’s basically kid shit. 

As he tries to quickly consider his options and form a plan, an opening appears when his opponent turns his head to taunt him further, only to clip the side of a building, falling to the ground with a heavy thud, his plastic helmet cracking on the sidewalk. He dives forward with his scarf, activating his quirk and using his scarf to carry him closer to further incapacitate him when he passes the opening of a street and out of his peripheral he sees something coming towards him at speed.

Before he can react, a cloud of something pink is thrown at him. He flinches when it slips through the slats in his visor, the powder burning his already sensitive eyes harshly. Thinking quickly despite the burning sensation that now spreads down his neck, rolling over his shoulders and making him shudder. 

Taking a literal blind chance, he flicks one end of his scarf out to suspend himself from a street light. Unable to stop his momentum, he swings wildly, bumping his leg painfully as he wraps his other scarf around the second perpetrator.

His shoulder protests holding his weight, Aizawa forcing himself to bite back a grunt and the growing hot feeling beginning to thrum through his veins. He carefully drops himself to the ground before launching the now freed second end of his scarf to wrap the first of the hooligans that still lays unconscious. 

“What is this?” He asks sharply to the grumbling form on the ground, trying to open his eyes but every time he tries it just burns so badly that his eyelids can only flutter. 

“My quirk. You got hit with a full dose of my love dust!” 

Aizawa grimaces, and not just at the corniness of the bullshit these young villains have been spouting recently. 

“And what does it do?” He asks sharply as he uses his chin to bump the comms button on his watch. “Eraserhead here. Need assistance.”

“Already have your location. Best Jeanist is in the area and on his way. Hang tight.” Dispatch crackles back via his earpiece. 

“It’s in the name, wise-ass.” His aggressor snaps back with a clear grin that Aizawa can hear in his voice while the dispatcher spoke. Honestly he couldn’t be more happy that he can’t see the full expression on their face, though the burn is starting to subside, leaving more of that weird pleasurable tingle in its wake that seems to be intensifying. 

“We’ll just have to ask you two more questions at the station.” He sighs, forcing himself to breathe normally when that pleasurable tingle spreads past his shoulders in earnest, snaking down towards his groin. 

“If you make it that long.” The dust villain mutters before they start to laugh, earning a renewed glare of disgust from Aizawa. 

Before he can inquire further into whatever the hell that means, the sound of confident steps approaches from behind as Best Jeanist interrupts them. 

“Good evening, Eraserhead. Seems like you’ve gotten into a bit of a situation.” Best Jeanist’s proper tone clips along, never overly friendly, but that’s something he’s always appreciated about him. All professionalism and getting the job done so they can just go home. 

“Yeah, uh, hey, Jeanist. There’s just this one and the kid on the corner.” 

“Understood. I have backup on the way.” Best Jeanist just nods, strings whipping out to secure the two of them so Aizawa can undo his scarf.

“Ugh but c’mon, you need to let me go, I have class tomorrow! We didn’t even do anything!” The whining would-be villain at his feet huffs. 

“Should have thought about that before throwing weird dirt at me.”

“It’s not dirt.” 

Well that can be said for sure. The the initial burn was closer to lightning, sparking through him harshly, but now burn is slowly licking its way down his spine, over his abdominals, almost too uncomfortable at first before it subsides into a pleasant buzz, his thoughts drifting to you now– in compromising positions, whimpers and breathy moans replaying in total replay. 

Everything in him begs to go see you, very nearly overwhelming him as he attempts to stay professional and alert…except he brings his hands up to his eyes and makes the mistake of rubbing at them to see if he can open them yet. 

The heat that explodes immediately catches him off guard by how potent it is. He staggers forward, the sensation almost bringing him to his knees. 

“Are you alright, Eraserhead?” Best Jeanist asks curiously. “Do I need to call for a medic?” 

“No, it’s fine. I will go see Recovery Girl myself.” He says quickly, not really wanting anyone else to know about whatever this ‘love dust’ is. 

Getting attacked in battle was easier than now having to sit in Recovery Girl’s station, his scarf unraveled from his neck and strategically placed in his lap while she finishes running her tests. 

It’s not like he can just knock out their well-meaning nurse, nor does he want to but the embarrassment is terrible and invasive, and being rock hard while she shakes her head at him and chastises him is even fucking worse. His skin feels like it’s on fire, desire to be with you heavy in his gut and balls even heavier. 

Fortunately between texts to you to let you know that ‘yes, I’m safe’ but ‘sorry I won’t be home in time to go to dinner. Go ahead and take a friend. We’ll go another time.’ and keeping his hands and mind busy with an end of his scarf keeps his thoughts from wandering too badly. Folding an edge, then smoothing it out, folding it back down, rinse and repeat.

“You need to be more careful.” Recovery Girl scolds him. “But you’ll be fine. It’s just a case of um, well, increased libido for at least the next several hours. Nothing I can do about it unfortunately.” 

A fresh fat bead of sweat rolls down his neck uncomfortably and Aizawa fixes her with a tired, blank stare, only to be taken aback completely by her next question: 

“Have you ever heard of sex pollen?” 

“Excuse me?” He half asks, half says way too quickly. He was young and curious once and some of the stupid things he’s confiscated from the students over the years from drawings to handwritten fanfiction have been wildly inappropriate in nature…But he’s not going to talk to Recovery Girl about sex pollen. 

He must maintain some shred of distance and self respect today. 

A beat goes by as Recovery Girl debates explaining it to him before she just waves him off. “Eh, forget about it. It’ll probably go away by tomorrow. Maybe if you found a partner it would go away quicker?”

Clearly a reference to you, but he does feel a little…weird about seeking you out when he finally gets home just to work out the lingering effects of a villain’s quirk. Even if the craving he has for you right now physically hurts him. 

“I’ll just head home and wait it out. Thanks.” With that, he quickly stands, still trying to keep the mess of his scarf in front of him to conceal the biggest issue with him wanting to stay lowkey about all of this. 

“Good luck.” Recovery Girl offers as she finishes her report, what he’s fairly certain is a grandmotherly giggle managing to sneak through the crack of the door as it shuts behind him. 

By the time Aizawa gets to the apartment he shares with you and starts to unlock the door, he’s feverish. His thoughts are cloudy, he’s hot and sweaty all over, and worst of all, his cock has throbbed painfully nonstop at not being paid any attention to in the last couple hours since his initial exposure. 

Separate warring feelings of relief and disappointment flood through him when he steps through the door and it’s dark, only the hum of the appliances in the air to suggest that the power is on, and the place you usually occupy on the couch by this time of the evening is empty and cold. Maybe, hopefully, you did take his suggestion and took a friend to your reservations. 

But God, his heart and cock aches for you. 

At any rate, he quickly undresses and throws his still contaminated clothes in the washer before he finds himself attempting to remedy the issue himself in the shower, the leading thought of removing any remnants of dust that hasn’t soaked into his skin yet quickly forgotten when he accidentally grabs your body wash instead of his own. 

Cool water running over his defined back and surrounded by the scent that has become so you, he finally begins to palm at his cock, red and swollen and begging for attention. His head falls forward to rest on the shower wall, long dark hair curtaining his face as a pant escapes his lips. 

It feels good, a slight relief to take some of that gnawing edge off, but his hand is not your hand, and pulling from his expansive memories of experiences with you is not helping the same way it usually does. He strokes himself, squeezes, tries all the tricks he’s come to enjoy over the years with growing desperation to cum, but every time he’s so very close it fizzles out. 

The water runs freezing by the time Aizawa gets out and dries off, pulling his wet hair back in a loose bun, yet the heat that burns under his skin still rages, and he’s more frustrated than he has ever been in his entire life. 

He curses under his breath as he strides to the bedroom. Heading straight for his wardrobe, he grabs a pair of boxers to wear, the thought of putting on any more clothes than that right now makes him feel as if he very well could die. And the only person who can help him is��

Well, Aizawa needs to check his phone to see if you’ve texted him back since he was in the shower. It’s been nearly an hour judging by the time on the clock by your side of the bed. He pads back out to the living room, a small groan rumbling in his throat as sweat starts to roll down his back and chest again. 

As he picks up his phone from the kitchen counter, the front door opens and it takes all he can possibly muster not to immediately sweep you off your feet. 

“I’m home!” You call. “Shota?” 

“In the kitchen.” He calls back, attempting to clear his throat when his voice comes out a little husky. 

“How are you feeling? I stopped to get some things for you and I sweet talked them into letting me bring you home some takeout from that restaurant.” You flounce in with a sparkle in your eye, setting plastic bags down before moving in to hug him. Something he immediately dissuades by holding a hand up that stops you in your tracks, a confused frown pinching your brow as you wait for him to explain. 

“Don’t come too close right now. Sorry.” It’s a dagger to his heart to have to refuse you right now. Aizawa bites his lip, looking away from you, one of his hands coming up to rest on the back of his neck, “Thank you for dinner.”

“What's wrong?” He looks back towards you, watching as your concerned gaze roams him, searching for any obvious signs that he is hurt but coming up with none aside from a bruise forming on his calf from his slight collision with the light pole during the chase. 

“I was attacked by a villain with a, uh, quirk that makes you very horny for a while.” 

“Oh.” The frown turns into a look of surprise, before you start giggling, the sound even sweeter than usual and so fucking dangerous but the final nail in his terrible coffin is when you pair it with a gesture to the treacherous bulge in his boxers. “I was wondering why you were so happy to see me.” 

His face feels even hotter, and he pitches forward to rest his elbows on the counter, planting his head in his hands with a long groan. 

“Don’t bully me.” He grumbles, muffled behind his hands. “It is so hard not to drag you off to bed right now.” 

What answers him is another giggle that is both his salvation and his destruction. 

“Awww, poor thing, how can I help you?” Your voice gets closer, all but purring in his ear, and he wants so badly to bury his face between your legs, sink into your pretty cunt over and over again, hear you cry out in pleasure until you’re hoarse, leave you covered in love bites and cum and— 

He starts to deny you but the second your lips plant a soft blissful kiss against his shoulder, one of your hands starting to rub over his tense back, letting your nails drag down lightly, his brain short circuits. He moans into his hands, dropping them down to turn and seek you and your pretty lips instead. 

You meet him halfway, soft lips brushing against his and another needy noise rumbles in his throat as one of your hands rubs over his chest through his dark, neatly trimmed chest hair. A scrape of your nail over his nipple and he pushes you up against the counter, hips rolling against your half perched thigh. 

Stars sparkle behind his eyelids with the friction against his cock, the relief almost palpable. He breaks from the kiss to mouth at your neck, hot breath fanning out over your skin as you hum so sweetly.

“Thank you.” He breathes, fucking himself against your thigh desperately, “Fuck, thank you.”  

“Come, Shota. You’re doing so good.” You purr, stroking fingers along his scruffy jaw and down to drag your nails over his shoulder lightly again.

Quickly and with the force of a train, finally his first orgasm drowns him, vision whiting out as he clutches on to you tightly, tensing as he fills his boxers with ropes of warm cum. 

Aizawa shudders while the last sparks of pleasure roll through him, rough pants and soft hums tucked into the crook of your neck. But he only gets to enjoy how satisfied he feels for a moment before that awful hot thirst grabs him by the throat again. 

“How do you feel now?” You ask, continuing to rub your hand up and down one side of his back soothingly.

“Hah, we’re not done yet.” He rasps against your neck, easily hooking his arms around you and picking you up to sweep you away. You laugh in his arms as he quickly strides down the hallway and into your bedroom, his heartbeat thumping in his ears.

You’re so satisfying in his arms, substantial and gorgeous and everything he could ever hope to get lost in as he drops you down onto the soft covers of the bed. Immediately you start shedding your clothing, everything thrown off in a rush to the four corners of the room. 

A few sticky rogue webs of cum take their sweet time to break as Aizawa steps out of his boxers. His cock lurches upwards, tapping against his stomach before he’s kneeling on the bed and draping himself over you with a blistering hunger and need you have only rarely seen before. 

He kisses you again, all teeth and tongue and whimpering desire, his breath catching when you return his kisses with the same desperation. As much as he needs to fuck you with abandon, he forces himself to slow down, beginning to kiss down your body until he’s half off the bed, supporting most of his weight on one outstretched foot before he spreads your thighs a little wider to reach your soft glistening cunt. 

“You’re so pretty.” He compliments before he spreads your folds with his nose, bumping your clit as he licks broadly with his tongue. He moans against you, not usually minding your taste, but today you just taste incredible. Like the finest fresh strawberry in the world. 

“Oh, god.” You whine under the overwhelming onslaught of his mouth. He smiles when you cant your hips into his mouth, feeling a fresh gush of wetness on his tongue. He introduces two fingers, so gently stroking over your folds before they delve into you with abandon. 

Ever aware, Aizawa knows all your spots. All the little tricks to have you coming completely undone before he’s even been inside of you yet, anything he can do to hear you crying out his name and leave you struggling to walk on boneless legs, he’ll do. 

And he takes advantage of that now, latching onto your clit and crooking his fingers to brush against that rough spot that always makes you see stars, fucking into you with punishing speed and accuracy as your hips jerk and you desperately try to muffle yourself even just a little bit, but he doesn’t care about the neighbors hearing tonight. 

His thoughts are filled with only you and fucking this quirk bullshit out of his system. His hips grind against the edge of the bed with every sweet moan of his name, his cock twitching when you tumble over the edge, cunt clenching tightly around his fingers. Your hands tangle into his hair tightly, loose pieces falling over his drenched face. 

Pulling his fingers from you, he sucks them clean, wiping the spit and remainders of your juices off on the covers before he pushes back up onto the bed, tendrils of still damp black hair brushing against your collarbone. 

“So, how was dinner?” He asks between heavy breaths as he reaches down and grabs his cock, angling it down to slip into you easily and to the hilt with one stroke. 

You keen at the fullness, still sensitive from your orgasm just a few moments ago, the most gorgeous sight to him when your head tilts back into the blankets and exposes your neck for him to mark up, let everybody know that you are his. 

It’s so juvenile, Aizawa is more than aware, but he saw Hawks flirting with you the other day and it ignited a little something in him, even though he knows you would never betray him like that. 

“Ah, it was sooo good. There was—Ah, Shota,” You start off strong, voice dying off into a whine. “Wish you had been there.” 

Obscene noises fill any silence as he rocks his hips into you, barely pulling out before he’s hitting himself again roughly, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t. I tried to make it.” 

“I know, baby, I know.” You coo, “I’ll tell you more about it after you’re done railing me as long as you tell me how you got hit by— harder, please, oh fuck —this sex quirk.” 

Aizawa snorts though heavy breaths, “Deal.” 

The sight of you underneath him, sweat slicking your skin from the heat radiating off him, smelling so sweet and musky and sexy, he dips his head down and licks over your chest, up to just under your jaw as he snaps his hips into you, salty and sweet and driving him wild. 

Every stroke inside of you feels like the first one, the pleasure leaving his head swimming as he continues the quick pace of snapping his hips into you once more, another orgasm blinding him harshly as he falls forward onto you, barely braced by an arm he throws out to catch himself. He continues to grind into you, curses and whimpers of your name are panted against your collarbone as warm ropes of cum paint your walls.

“Sorry.” He groans, relieved as it seems to be wearing off now, that sense of urgency gripping his body and mind easing off. “I think it’s over.”

“I don’t know, I think this is pretty hot.” You laugh. “Seeing you so wrecked is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, Shota.” 

“Glad someone is enjoying this.”

“And you aren’t?” 

“Oh, I am. You taste so fucking good.” He kisses you, slipping a little tongue before he pulls away and licks at a bead of sweat on your chest. “So good.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” You laugh, pushing a stray damp strand of his hair back behind his ear.

“Uh huh.” He rolls his eyes, a sense of dread filling him when that now familiar heat fogs over his mind again, racing down his back towards his groin. “Fuck.” 

“Again?” 

“Uh huh.” He shudders when you purposefully clench around him. He begins to rock into you again, his hip popping and starting to ache. 

“I heard that.” You comment. “Let me get on top. Have a rest.” 

He rolls the two of you so he’s underneath you, carefully enough that his cock barely moves from where it’s buried in your warm cunt. You sit up and Aizawa can’t help but moan when you shift and the erotic sight of the mixture of your fluids slips from your pussy down his shaft, pooling on the dark hair around the base of his cock. 

You start to move your hips and his eyes are fixed on how gorgeous you look like this, his cock disappearing between your thighs, the slick sound of wet skin on skin, the way your chest jiggles, he remains transfixed as you push yourself to keep the rough pace he set a few moments ago. 

“Shota,” You moan, “Touch me. Please.”

His heart hammers in his chest as he meets the rhythm of your hips, pistoning up into you desperately as he brings his fingers up to caress your chest and rub at your clit in short fast circles that leave you keening. 

When you fall apart on him and Aizawa cums again with a hoarse cry, disgusted yet beyond turned on by the slick mess he’s making out of you, he’s so grateful that it’s you by his side. 

The effects of the quirk subside by the morning after a night filled with exhausted love-making, leaving the two of you sore and soaked in cum and hickies and exhausted— and throwing this set of sheets out as soon as possible.

[bullet-prooflove]

Poolside: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @cosmic-psychickitty @puredicks @queenslandlover-93

Companion piece to:

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Sometimes after shift Robby ends up at the pool. It’s never a conscious decision. It’s just when he’s had a shitty day he wants to be wherever you are and on Tuesdays and Thursdays that’s late nights at one of the city pools teaching adults or kids how to swim.

Tonight it’s the preschool class. Most the kids in the pool are age 4+, there’s another lifeguard Brandon in with them instructing them while you assess the lesson from a bench against the backwall, where the kids towels are all nearly bundled up in a row.

There’s a couple of parents scattered around waiting for the session to end on the bleachers. He finds a spot with his cold brew, a small distance away because he doesn’t have the bandwidth for small talk with soccer moms or preppy dads, not after the day he’s had.

It’s when your mentee begins helping the kids out the pool that the trouble starts. A six year old in lime green swimming trunks doesn’t want to leave the water and starts hauling ass towards the deep end. Brandon’s trying to coral the other kids to make sure they don’t follow in his tracks when you rise to your feet and bellow “Joel. Come away from there.”

The kid ignores you, paddling with his float, his little legs pumping as fast as he can.

Robby knows you see it coming, the same way that he does, the evitability of tiring after that burst of energy. You raise to your feet, slipping out of your flip flops, unzipping your fleece and shucking out of those gym shorts the dads have been ogling you in. You come to stand on the edge of the pool before you take a deep breath and dive.

It’s a quick, fluid motion that looks like something out of a mermaid movie, the water shimmering as the momentum carries you along the bottom of the pool. It’s just as Joel’s starting to panic that you break the surface. You bob up alongside him, wrapping his tiny arms around your neck before you start a slow swim back to the shallow end, the kid crying into your hair.

You hand him off to Brandon, who gets him out of the water, returning him to a mom who has barely looked up from her phone the entire time. 90 % of the rescues you undertake are due to lack of parental supervision, the other 10% are heart attacks.

He waits for the rest of the parents to filter out before he descends the steps slowly, stepping up to the edge as you swim towards him.  

“You getting in?” You ask as his bag slips off his shoulder and lands on the tiles beside him.

“Don’t have a swim suit.” He says toeing off his boots.

“Since when has that ever stopped you?” You tease as you lie back to float and his dick twitches at the sight of you in that swimsuit, the way it clings to your body. “I’ll even let you do a cannon ball.”

“You’re sure they’re  gone?” He asks as he unfastens his watch, setting it on the bench.

Your gaze shifts to the office on the other side of the glass, you watch it click off before the door beyond it closes. “Brandon’s just left so it’s just you and me now Robby.”

You watch him undress, the navy blue fleece followed by his white t-shirt revealing that firm chest you love to mark up and that silver St Luke’s pendent that Dr Adamson gifted to him after he completed his residency. His combat pants follow suit, landing in the same heap with the rest of his clothes.

“You sure about that cannon ball?” He asks.

“Oh absolutely.”

The moment he jumps it’s like everything else disappears. The stress of the day, it completely evaporates and there’s just the sensation of the water immersing him, drowning out all of the noise in his head. He tries to keep that feeling as long as he can, holding his breath until his lungs feel like they’re about to give out.

When he breaks the surface he comes after you, sweeping you into his arms, making you laugh. There is nothing in the world like that sound, it lights something up deep inside his soul, pushing away the darkness and drowning it out with sunshine.

“Better?” You ask as his forehead comes to rest against yours.

“Much.” He whispers as he looks into your eyes. “It always is when I’m with you.”

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[rosierin]

power play | atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; (y/n) could've sworn "power play" meant something else. (aka she misuses it in a sentence and accidentally exposes one of atsumu's kinks)

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It was supposed to be a chill evening.

The volleyball match on TV was intense—national-level, high-stakes, and exciting enough to have the boys talking over the commentators.

Atsumu and Osamu were perched on the couch, already deep in a serious debate about serve formations. Suna lounged in his usual armchair, one leg hooked over the side, sipping from a half-empty can of Coke and muttering the occasional critique like a low-effort sports analyst.

(Y/n) sat cross-legged on the beanbag in front of them, a warm cup of tea in hand, eyes drifting between the scoreboard and the increasingly animated boys behind her.

The energy in the room buzzed—not just from the game, but from the commentary bouncing back and forth around her.

A particularly aggressive rally played out onscreen—fast, brutal, ending in a decisive spike that made Atsumu sit forward with an impressed “Oof!”

“S'about time!" he roared, throwing his arms up.

And then—completely unprompted—(y/n) turned toward Atsumu with a thoughtful crease between her brows.

“Wait—Atsumu,” she said, eyes shining with genuine curiosity. “You’re into power play, right?”

Even the world stopped to listen.

Three heads whipped toward her. At the exact same time.

Then slowly swivelled toward each other.

Then snapped back to her.

In the background, the referee's whistle could be heard.

Osamu’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

Suna looked like Christmas had come early.

Atsumu looked like he didn't know whether to feel immense pride or shame.

“I—I’m sorry, what?” he stammered, blinking like he’d just needed to reboot his brain.

(Y/n) blinked back, confused but earnest. “Power play? I swear you mentioned liking that once..."

Within the span of ten seconds, Atsumu went from pale, all the colour drained from his face, to a fierce shade of scarlet. The kind that crawled from the tips of his ears down to his neck. “I mean—I wouldn’t say into it, but—”

Suna was practically hanging off the edge of his seat.

Even Osamu had leaned forward, jerking his thumb towards the hallway with an impish grin. “Should we be leavin’ the room, or...?”

“I just mean,” (y/n) went on, blissfully unaware, “you’re always going on about fast-paced games and momentum shifts—so I figured power play was your thing.”

Atsumu opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again.

He started putting the pieces together.

“What... do you mean by power play?” He asked cautiously.

She gestured innocently toward the screen. “You know. When one team’s got the advantage? More players at the net, tighter rotation, big swings—high pressure, high risk. Power play.”

She said it with full confidence. With absolute conviction and positively zero clue.

And that was what broke them.

Suna wheeze-laughed, slapping his hand against the couch. “Oh my god,” he gasped. “Who the hell told her that’s what it meant?!”

(Y/n) turned defensive. And frankly, a little confused. Very confused. "Nobody! As I said, i just assumed."

Osamu was doubled over. “There's no way," he said, shoving Atsumu’s shoulder. “Look at you—turnin’ beet red thinkin' she'd outed one of yer kinks."

“I thought she was callin’ me out!” Atsumu barked. “What was I supposed to do—deny it? Pretend I wasn’t into—ya know what, forget it.”

(Y/n)’s eyes went wide with creeping realisation. “Wait—kinks? I'm confused. What else does it mean, then?”

Suna, without an ounce of trepidation, smirked. “It’s a sex thing.”

(Y/n) went crimson. “Oh my god—really? No! I didn't—!”

Atsumu had officially recovered.

He grinned, teeth sharp, pride blooming now that the worst had passed. “Too late, sweetheart. It’s on record now."

Osamu was giggling. Actual giggling. Shoulders shaking like a schoolboy in sex ed.

“Oh, (y/n),” he said, wiping his eyes. “Bless yer little heart.”

“I swear I didn’t know!” she groaned, smacking a pillow into her own face. “I was talking about volleyball!”

“And yet,” Suna said, gesturing toward Atsumu like he was presenting a rare species, “you managed to expose this degenerate without even trying.”

"He's right," Osamu chimed in, eyebrows raised thoughtfully. "She said ya mentioned it to her once."

He tutted. "Ya filthy, filthy pervert."

The grin finally slipped off Atsumu’s face, replaced with something halfway between wounded pride and defensive panic.

“Okay, first of all,” he said, holding up a finger. “You all have your weird little kinks. Don’t act like I’m the only one.”

Nobody denied it.

And (y/n) cursed herself for noticing.

Her eyes flicked to Osamu—stoic, unfazed, arms crossed—and then to Suna, who just sipped his drink with that same old unreadable expression.

...Somehow that made things worse.

Her brain, against her will, began to spiral. Did she even want to know?

No. Probably not. Definitely not. But maybe...

God, her imagination was already filling in the blanks—

“(Y/n).”

Atsumu’s voice cut through her thoughts, and when she looked up, he was wearing that infuriatingly smug grin.

“If ya ever wanna talk strategy,” he said, all faux innocence. “Volleyball strategy, of course.”

He winked.

“Ya know where to find me.”

The boys howled.

(Y/n) groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Don’t start.”

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Tension? What Tension? - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

i’m having too much fun writing about these emotionally constipated idiots

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 3.39k

series masterlist | main masterlist

Katniss is trying to drown Peeta again.

Not seriously. Just enough to make it theatrical.

He resurfaces with a gasp and a grin, water dripping from his hair as he yells, “That was a war crime, Everdeen!”

She just smirks and flicks water at him with the back of her hand. “Next time, I hold you under longer.”

You’re watching all this from the dock, leaning back on your hands. Your ankles are in the water, your face is half-melted from the heat, and your shirt’s already damp with sweat because of course it’s the most suffocating day of the entire damn summer so far.

Haymitch is stretched out beside you, shirt half-unbuttoned, sunglasses on, very obviously Not Participating.

“You gonna go in?” you ask, nudging his leg with your foot.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like being dry, honey. And also because the minute I set foot in that lake, one of those lunatics is going to try and baptize me with violence.”

You snort. “So dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic?” he says, sitting up slightly. “You’re the one who packed a towel, a snack, and an escape plan.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Because I have foresight. You, meanwhile, are going to be sweaty and miserable in five minutes and begging me for water like a sad little plant.”

Haymitch opens his mouth to argue—and then a waterlogged Peeta lunges onto the dock behind you with a war cry.

You scream. He grabs your wrist. You shriek louder.

Haymitch does nothing except sip from a bottle he definitely smuggled into your bag, “I warned you.”

Chaos. Immediate chaos.

Katniss cannonballs. Peeta’s trying to haul you into the lake. You’re clinging to Haymitch’s leg like it’s your last hope.

You’re clinging to Haymitch like he’s a damn life raft, and he’s just sitting there—laughing—while Peeta tries to pry your fingers off his leg.

“Traitor!” you shout at him, as Peeta finally hooks an arm around your waist.

“You picked your side the second you called me a sad little plant,” Haymitch says, utterly unbothered.

You try to twist away, but Peeta’s got momentum and water weight on his side. You go down like a ship in a storm—splashing into the lake with a shriek that echoes through the trees.

The water hits like a shock, cold and loud, stealing the breath from your lungs. When you come up, sputtering, hair plastered to your face, Katniss is already grinning from where she’s floating nearby.

“I didn’t even have to help this time,” she says. “Impressive, Mellark.”

Peeta bows, dramatically. “I take my work seriously.”

“You’re both monsters!” you yell, treading water furiously. “I am a delicate creature! I have rights!”

“You started this,” Haymitch calls from the dock, still lounging like he’s sunbathing royalty. “You brought chaos. Chaos came for you.”

You swim back toward the dock, slap a wave of water in his direction. “You’re not safe up there forever, old man.”

He snorts. “Try me, fish bait.”

Peeta and Katniss start splashing each other again—lighthearted but somehow already bordering on romantic duel levels of intensity. You barely have a chance to process it before Peeta swims behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. She doesn’t even pretend to fight it this time. Just leans back into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Ugh,” you groan. “Can you two stop being in love for, like, one second?”

“You came to the lake with a couple,” Katniss says flatly, resting her head against Peeta’s shoulder.

“Technically, I came here with Haymitch, which was its own mistake,” you call.

Haymitch raises a brow. “Keep talking, honey. See what happens.”

“Oh no,” you mock gasp, “am I in trouble?”

“Neck deep,” he mutters, but you see the corner of his mouth twitch.

You kick your way back to the dock, grab onto the wood with both hands, and lean your cheek against it dramatically. Your hair drips down the side, soaking your shirt even more. “I’m gonna haunt this lake if I die from betrayal.”

Haymitch stands—finally—and peers down at you. His sunglasses slide down his nose just enough for you to see his eyes.

“You’re already haunting me,” he mutters, and your brain short-circuits on the spot.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I said you’re loud.”

“You did not say that!”

He steps around you casually. “That’s what I meant.”

You grab the dock edge and start climbing up, water streaming down your arms and legs. Haymitch turns just in time to see you crawling up like some kind of soggy vengeance demon. He does not look sorry.

“You’re gonna regret this,” you mutter, shoving your wet hair back from your face.

“I already do.”

“Oh, do you now?”

You lunge for him.

He yelps—actually yelps—and tries to dodge, but you’re fast when you’re fueled by righteous fury. You manage to get both hands on him and shove—not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to throw him off balance.

He stumbles.

You blink.

He blinks.

Then he grabs you by the waist and drags you down with him.

You crash into the water again with a full-body shriek. Somewhere behind you, Peeta’s cackling.

When you come up again, Haymitch is already bobbing to the surface, soaked and smirking like he’s proud of himself.

“Happy now?” he asks, brushing his hair back.

You squint. “You’re in so much trouble.”

“I’m already wet. Not like you can punish me worse.”

“Oh, I can try.”

“Please don’t,” Peeta yells. “Innocent bystanders present.”

Katniss looks at you two, then at Peeta, and rolls her eyes. “Let’s go walk the edge. Give the weirdos some space.”

Peeta nods solemnly and swims toward shore.

You and Haymitch watch them go.

Then you look at each other.

And immediately look away again.

He clears his throat. “They’re disgusting.”

You nod. “Horrible. Sickening, really.”

He says nothing for a moment, then adds, “I bet she kisses his nose when no one’s looking.”

“I bet he braids her hair with wildflowers when they’re alone.”

A long pause.

You say, quieter, “Must be nice, though.”

You don’t mean to look at him when you say it, but you do. And he’s already looking at you.

Something shifts. Just slightly.

Then—he flicks water at your face. “You gonna get all sappy on me now, honey?”

You flick water back. “Please. I’m emotionally unavailable.”

“Liar.”

“Grump.”

“You like it.”

You grin. “Maybe.”

He moves closer—just a bit. You’re still floating, still surrounded by water and sunlight and the aftershocks of laughter.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he mutters.

“Yours looks like seaweed.”

“You say that like it’s not a look.”

You open your mouth to fire back—but then, with absolutely zero warning, Haymitch steps forward and grabs you by the waist.

Your yelp is somewhere between startled and indignant as he pulls you toward him, steadying you effortlessly while you flail just slightly—just enough to prove a point.

“Hey!” you squawk, grabbing onto his shoulders more out of reflex than anything else. “What was that for?”

He’s got both hands on your waist and his grin is maddeningly smug.

“Seeing you try not to drown was making me tired.”

“I wasn’t drowning! I was floating!”

“You were flailing.”

You gasp. “I was elegantly drifting in a natural paradise, thank you very much.”

He raises an eyebrow, eyes sparkling despite the wet strands of hair stuck to his forehead. “Elegantly drifting? That what we’re calling dog-paddling now?”

You squint at him, lips twitching. “You’re lucky I’m clinging to you or I’d kick you.”

“Mm.” He glances down at your hands still hooked over his shoulders, his fingers still loose but steady around your waist. “How tragic for me.”

Your heart forgets how to beat for a second. Maybe two. It’s the water. The heat. The soft flicker of sunlight off his lashes. It’s definitely not the way his voice dipped just slightly or the fact that his thumb brushed your side like it didn’t mean anything.

You try to regain your footing, pushing gently against him to test for the bottom—and fail. Immediately. You flail again, bumping into him harder than intended, which only makes him laugh under his breath.

“See? Flailing.”

“I hate you,” you grumble.

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m sunburnt!”

“Sure, honey.”

Your brain short-circuits at the nickname. Again. Which is unfair because he says it all the time now and you should be used to it by now and—oh god, his hands are still on you.

You glance up at him through your lashes. “You know, you didn’t have to grab me.”

“Didn’t I?”

Your stomach swoops. You forget how to be a person for approximately three seconds before you clear your throat and say, with as much sass as you can muster, “Okay, sunshine. You can let go now.”

“Right,” he says. But he doesn’t. Not right away. His grip loosens slowly, hands brushing over your sides before letting go completely.

And suddenly, the water feels colder where his hands were.

You blink at him. He grins at you.

Somewhere on shore, Peeta laughs way too loudly at something Katniss says, and you both turn—only to see her perched on a tall rock, smug as ever, as Peeta beams up at her like she put the stars in the sky.

You and Haymitch exchange a look.

Totally annoyed.

Totally not longing.

“Disgusting,” Haymitch mutters.

“Unbelievable.”

“Who gave them the right?”

He hums. “Should ban it.”

“Right? Love? In this economy?”

Haymitch starts wading toward the shore first, muttering something about “getting too old for water-based shenanigans.” You follow after him, still grinning as you slog through the shallows, water clinging to your legs like it doesn’t want to let go.

The sun’s still high, but the breeze has picked up—just enough to raise goosebumps on your arms as you step onto the warm rock near the edge and plop down beside Haymitch, who’s already collapsed onto a towel like he’s auditioning for the role of Most Dramatic Reclining Man.

“Water’s nice,” you say, wringing out the end of your shirt.

“Nice,” he mutters. “Sure. Real spa treatment. Can’t wait for the mold to set in.”

You snort, grabbing your towel and flopping it over your head. It muffles the sound of Katniss yelling something at Peeta, who’s clearly just dunked her on purpose now that they’re back in the water. You peek out from under the towel, grin at the chaos.

And then you glance down.

Your breath catches just a little—but not from shock. Just from the reminder.

The scars—thick lines that stretch from the outer sides to the tops of your thighs—always stand out more when you’re cold or wet because they turn purple of all colors. It’s not painful. It’s just… obvious.

You tilt your head at them.

Then grin, all teeth and mischief.

“Hey, look,” you say, tugging your towel off your head and gesturing to your thighs with a dramatic flair. “I’m a mood ring!”

Haymitch, mid-sip from a canteen, chokes.

You shoot him a wide, unapologetic grin. “Purple means ‘cold and full of unresolved trauma.’”

He coughs into his fist, half a laugh slipping through. “Jesus, honey.”

“What? It’s seasonal color analysis for my mental state.”

He glances down, catches the faint glint of scars against your skin, then looks back up at your face—like he’s checking.

You nudge his foot with yours. “Don’t get all soft on me, sunshine.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You looked soft.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I’m just disgusted by your sense of humor.”

“Mm, no. I think you’re endeared.”

“You’re lucky I don’t toss you back in the lake and let you drown.”

“Admit it,” you say, smirking as you flop back onto the towel, arms spread dramatically. “You’d miss me.”

He hums again, settling back beside you, eyes flicking toward the sky. “Yeah. I would.”

You squint at the sky, pretending like your heart didn’t just trip over itself. “Careful,” you murmur. “I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

Haymitch doesn’t look over. Just lets the sun spill across his face as he says, “Maybe I do.”

And that—that—short-circuits your entire brain.

You blink up at the clouds. “Well. That’s illegal.”

He smirks, barely. “Sue me.”

“I might.”

“Peeta’s got a lawyer name. Ask him for a referral.”

You snort, nudging your foot against his again. “You’re such a menace.”

“Says the girl comparing her trauma to a novelty item from hundreds of years ago.”

“Bet you owned a mood ring.”

He exhales through his nose. “Probably. Might’ve invented it.”

You gasp, scandalized. “So you are ancient.”

“I prefer ‘mysteriously timeless.’”

“You creak when you sit down.”

“Whiskey fixes that.”

You cackle, covering your face. “Oh my god. You would’ve been the kid trying to eat a mood ring just to see if your insides were sad.”

“Still am,” he mutters, cracking one eye open to look at you. “Except now I’ve got worse coping mechanisms and better whiskey.”

“Progress?”

“Debatable.”

You hum contentedly, fingers tracing lazy shapes into the towel beneath you. The sun warms your skin, the wind tugs gently at your damp clothes, and beside you, Haymitch lets out a sigh that sounds like something untangling in his chest.

“You really okay?” you ask, not teasing this time. Just soft.

He glances over at you—eyes serious for half a second. Then he nods. “Yeah. Kinda hard not to be when you’re yelling about knee cartilage and emotionally aware thighs.”

You grin, eyes closing. “That’s what I’m here for. Unhinged weather reports and deeply concerning jokes.”

Haymitch doesn’t say anything for a beat.

Then, quieter. “And hand-holding. Apparently.”

Your smile turns a little shy. “Well. Only on special occasions.”

He hums again. “We’ll have to make more of those, then.”

You turn your head slightly, eyes still closed, just barely nudging your shoulder against his. “Yeah. We will.”

You’re still smiling when Peeta calls out from farther down the shore, where he and Katniss are already rolling up their towels and tossing things into their bag.

“Hey! If we don’t leave soon, we’re gonna end up hiking back in the dark!”

Katniss, with all the tenderness of a brick, adds, “Which is fine for me, but Peeta’s just gonna trip on a root and dent his prosthetic again.”

“That was once,” Peeta says indignantly.

“Was it?” Haymitch asks, loudly and very unhelpfully.

You snort and stand, brushing off some damp grass stuck to your calves. “Guess we’re calling it.”

“Tragic,” Haymitch says, standing up beside you with a grunt. “Just when I was enjoying your drowned rat aesthetic.”

“You’re just mad I didn’t actually drown.”

“Oh no. That was plan B.”

You flick water at him from the end of your towel, and he swats at you like you’re an annoying bug—which only encourages you further. Katniss shakes her head but is definitely smirking as she slings her bow over one shoulder.

You all start the short hike back, the trail still warm underfoot despite the sun starting to dip. It’s golden-hour light now—soft and low, filtering through the trees in hazy streaks. Cicadas buzz in the distance, and everything smells like summer and wet earth and warm leaves.

Peeta walks ahead with Katniss, their fingers automatically tangled together like they were built that way. At one point, she mutters something under her breath and he laughs—low and bright—and leans over to kiss her cheek without missing a step.

You don’t look at Haymitch.

He doesn’t look at you.

You both do not look at each other.

But your hands are close.

Not on purpose. Definitely not. The trail is just narrow, okay? The heat still clings to your skin, and your towel keeps slipping, and maybe you’re walking a little too close, but it’s fine.

The first brush of fingers is probably accidental.

Probably.

The second one definitely isn’t.

You glance up at him from the corner of your eye.

Haymitch is looking ahead, expression neutral. His hand swings just enough to bump yours again.

“Accidental, huh?” you murmur, lips twitching.

“I’m just walking.”

“Mmhmm.”

“You’re the one with twitchy hands.”

“I’m full of feelings and poor decision-making.”

He glances down at you, eyes warm in the gold light. “You say that like it’s new.”

You grin. “It’s my whole brand.”

You don’t reach for his hand.

But you don’t move yours away, either.

The third time your fingers brush, they stay there for just a second longer than they need to.

Not quite held.

Just… hovering.

Your chest feels like someone lit a match in it.

But you keep walking, keep smiling, keep your voice even despite the fact that you’re mentally screaming at the clouds.

“I like summer,” you say vaguely, because it’s the safest thing your brain can find.

Haymitch hums. “You just like being chaotic without freezing.”

“Exactly.”

He grins. It’s quick and sharp and real, and you want to bottle it.

By the time you reach the edge of the woods, the sun is kissing the horizon and the village is bathed in soft amber light, the kind that makes everything look a little more like home.

Peeta holds low hanging branches back for everyone. Katniss pretends not to smile when he bows dramatically like some overly romantic butler. Haymitch mutters something about “idiots in love,” and your heart does a weird little thing you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

You take a long shower the second you get home—long enough to scrub the lake water from your skin, long enough to make the dried grass and chaos feel like a memory instead of something still clinging to your arms.

The sun’s almost fully set by the time you towel off and throw on your softest oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. Your hair’s still damp, but you don’t care. You feel clean, warm, soft.

And maybe just a little bit floaty.

You pause at your front door, hand on the knob, and let yourself breathe.

In.

Out.

Then you open the door and step back into the twilight air, your legs moving on autopilot.

Haymitch’s porch creaks when you step onto it. The windows glow faintly from inside, and something in your chest settles at the sight of it—like your bones were always meant to find their way back here.

You don’t knock.

You just swing the door open with flair and yell, “Sunshine, I’m home!”

And then your brain dies.

Because Haymitch is stretched out on his couch like some kind of vintage painting come to life—shirtless, one arm thrown over the backrest, the other resting where his scar is, fingers absently tapping. His hair’s still damp, like he just showered too, and his skin is all golden in the low lamplight, the lines of his chest and stomach defined in that effortless, unfair way.

Your mouth forgets how to form words.

Your thoughts all pile up in a traffic jam behind your eyes.

Haymitch glances up at you, completely unbothered. “You announce yourself like that every time you break into my house?”

You’re still frozen in the doorway.

“I—uh. Yep. Regularly. It’s a… tradition.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You good?”

No. No, you are not good. You are currently short-circuiting over the veins in his forearms and the way his sweatpants are sitting just low enough to trigger the spiraling part of your brain.

You clear your throat. “Fine. Totally fine. Why would I not be fine.”

His lips twitch like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You’re staring.”

You immediately look at the ceiling, and wonder, not for the first time, how the hell a man who survives on whiskey, sarcasm, and sheer spite has the audacity to look that good shirtless.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m admiring the—uh—lightbulb.”

“It’s not even on.”

“Exactly. Very energy conscious.”

He huffs a laugh and stretches a little, which is not helping, because now his scar is in plain sight and oh no—

“Do you own shirts?” you blurt.

He lifts his hand lazily to gesture toward the arm of the couch. “Took it off. It was wet.”

“From the lake?”

“From your storm spirit ambiance, actually.”

You press your palms to your cheeks. “You are the worst.”

“Flustered already, honey?”

“I will set your porch on fire.”

He smirks. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Next Part

[hells-wasabii]

A/n: this one is a little on the shorter side like its predicesor, but I made up for it with a bit of a Drabble!

Part 1 | Part 2

Character: Alastor

Type: Headcanons + Drabble (Alastor x Doe!reader pt 2, Fluff)

Alastor was... gone. No broadcast, no letter, no cryptic bullshit. Just gone.

As were the demons that kept tabs on you. The overlord undoubtedly thought you didn't know, but you were a doe, and they weren't exactly subtle about it. One even outright told you.

It had been that way for seven years now.

That is, until you had seen and heard a television turned radio broadcast through out the city. You stood in front of the televisions in the store window, eyes wide and jaw practically on the ground. Like a deer in headlights. The radio demon was back.

Just as suddenly as he had disappeared all those years ago he was back. That... That bastard! Who did he think he was?!

Your ears flatten as an angry snort escapes you. And you knew exactly where he was, too.

The hotel wasn't too hard to find, you could pick Alastor's magic out of a croud. The place reeked of it, you thought as you scrunched up your nose. Before you knew it you had pushed open the doors of the establishment, finding yourself face to face with a blonde demon you assumed to be the princess of hell

"Hi, welcome to the Hazbin Ho-Oh." You pushed past the far too cheery woman making a note to apologize to her later, and marched right up to that damned deer. As if he could sense the danger he was in, Alastor finally turned to look at you. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw you.

"Hello, my dear!" As smooth as ever, he swept in to take you in his grasp, spinning you around in a small dance to slow your momentum. As soon as the two of you stopped Alastor took your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, as gentlemanly as ever you supposed. "It's been some time now, hasn't it?"

Your eyes narrowed at your fellow deer demon, while his smile only grew, clearly delighted by your angered state.

"You have some explaining to do, Alastor."

You did forgive him eventually, but that didn't mean you weren't still upset about it. He wouldn't tell you why, either, which certainly didn't help his case, but your forgiveness still came, nonetheless.

Things at the hotel seemed simple enough, and you had to admit you were curious about this whole 'redemption' shtick that Charlie Morningstar was constantly on about. Plus Nifty was even there! She had been one of the contractees that Alastor had assigned to keep tabs on you so long ago. The little psycho. (I love her, she's so chaotic)

When it comes to Alastor's contractees, you only knew of a few, Nifty included, Husk, however, you only knew by name. So imagine your surprise to discover that Alastor employed a disgraced overlord. Unlike Nifty, however, Husk mostly kept away from you, associating you with Alastor's inner circle as it turns out. He seemed pretty apprehensive of you.

Now that the two of you were back in each other's lives, you settled into a routine of sorts. He quite enjoyed accompanying you in your morning routines, whether that meant a stroll or meditations, It meant that he could make up for lost time, and he couldn't think of a better way to spend his mornings.

[naffeclipse]

A Gesture Returned Pt. 2

Reader x Orca!Eclipse

Commission Info

I return with another lovely request by the sweet @rinzydings who asked for a little continuation! Y/N has accepted life as a siren and a mate to Orca!Eclipse, they miss just a thing or two from their human days. Eclipse helps to make things a little better. I hope you enjoy! <3

———

The Arctic sea is icy blue and calm. The depths once terrified you, how the waves seemed to swallow whole whatever touched its surface, but you are no longer the small and ill-adapted human you once were. 

A strong and sleek tail propels you through the glacier dotted waters. Ice floes gather upon the surface and create a patchy field of white and dark. To the far side of you, a towering land mass of ice and frozen rock juts into the sky and breaks up the pale mist. The cold does not sink into your bones and cause you to shiver. Though your upper half is bare, you have no fear of freezing. Magic and the natural blubber of your tail combined to keep you safe.

This is your home. When you first arrived for the simple objective of taking photos, you never dreamed of who you would meet in the frigid temperatures nor how much it would change your very existence. 

You love being a siren. Very rarely have you longed or desired for something only your human hands could get a hold of, but while you draw your fingertips just under the surface to watch ripples bloom outwards at your touch, you remember a few things. Your camera, for one. There are so many incredible sights to see that Eclipse has guided you too, and he waited with baited breath for your excitement. The world is beautiful. You had set out to capture those images and share them with others, and succeeded. Now, you enjoy them for yourself.

Another, as silly and strange as it sounds, is dancing. You were never particularly skilled. It was simply a way to express how much you enjoyed a song or felt like getting excitable energy out when you were alone. 

You slow for a moment to gaze at yourself in the dark teal depths. Holding out your arms, you study the shape of your limbs, then slip your gaze down to your tail. Black and white flukes wave slightly to allow you to tread water. The breath in your lungs is still strong, fresh. 

Eclipse can dance. You’ve sat in reverent awe of his ability to cut powerfully through the deep darkness of the sea and effortlessly bound over the surface in graceful bows. Maybe he wouldn’t use that word, but you find it beautiful all the same.

Maybe you can still dance, even now. 

You slowly hold out your arm and tilt your hand, drawing it upwards and softly flicking your tail. Your body turns in a makeshift pirouette. The urge to arch a leg and separate your lower half from itself comes and goes, and your tail gives an awkward jerk. You stop, drifting slightly in your lost momentum. It is very different. 

Again, you begin turning. You focus on your arms, on the push of your flukes and the sweeping motion of your tail. The water sloshes around you, bubbles conjured at your flips and leaps, though you remain just below the surface. 

A frown touches your mouth as you find yourself struggling to conquer what you think is a proper dance. You’re not Eclipse. You don’t have his great power and slipstream grace in the ocean. You were once a human, now a siren, who is learning how to dance again.

Again, you try to twist yourself as if you were spinning upon air and find a way to step with the tips of your flukes, but the attempt slips down your body in awkward jolts and unnatural movements. Your tail strains against itself. Your arms hold heavy in the water, and you huff a gurgle of air that darts upwards.

In your distraction, you don’t catch the familiar approach of a black and white, red tipped siren. You stare down your tail until large hands, adorn in black-bone claws, take hold of your waist, and lift you to the surface where you take a gentle, deep gasp.

“Birdie,” Eclipse rumbles. He floats gently along the surface, leaning back slightly as he pulls you against his chest. Your back lights flat against him, your dorsal fin brushing against his side. “What were you doing just a moment ago? It looked strange.”

You laugh quietly. Sensing his genuine curiosity, you gently turn in his embrace to lay your hands against his chest. His powerful tail flicks and allows you two to drift seamlessly along the surface. He keeps your head above water.

“Dancing,” you confess, though a frustrated flush fills your face. “I was trying to, at least.”

His eyes gleam brightly. He draws a hand along your hip, caressing your skin along the seam of where it melts down into black and white flesh. 

“What reason did you feel to start dancing?” The intrigue in his voice makes you blush slightly. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

A tease touches the corner of your mouth.

“So eager, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he dips his chin firmly. The beautiful flare of the frills around his head seem to burn brighter red for a moment. “How do you dance?”

“Oh, well, I…” You pause and look down Eclipse before lifting your chin. The effort you expel to put together the image of two humans dancing is difficult, but you try nonetheless. If only you had a picture of such a thing. Frustration begins to claw along your throat when you near a faltering end of your vision.

Eclipse stops you gently with a claw to your jawline.

“Show me.”

A stillness falls over you. His certainty, however, gives the gentle push you require.

You slide slightly off of him. Before his expression can morph into displeasure at your distance, you gently take his hands in yours. The seashells decorating his wrist click softly together as you bring your chests closer.

“Place your hand here,” you instruct gently as you set his palm upon your hip. “Then hold my hand here.”

You extend his arm. Though his size is greater than yours, he adjusts to match you. 

“Tell me more,” Eclipse rumbles, low in his chest. The vibrations touch you, and you smile. 

“If we were human, we would step together, sort of in a square,” your thoughts grow heavy as you try to translate the motion. You tug him gently, gliding through the sea in an uncertain and strange manner. You are not two humans dancing.

You are sirens. 

A low hum lifts from Eclipse. Before you can grow anxious that you’ve tried to impose a very human element upon two aquatic creatures, Eclipse gently flaps his flukes. He draws you backwards with his movement. You gasp softly. He pulls you into another motion, and this time, you flick your tail to keep up with his motion. 

You lift your eyes. His gaze is already upon you, warm in the Arctic. Like twin suns, his eyes of yellow and red hold you softly as he replicates something you haven’t felt in a long time.

“I do miss your legs,” he says in a low, nostalgic tone while taking you into another motion with the push of his tail, “but I adore how you are now.”

A sweet warmth comes upon you. Clutching his hand, and resting your other on his shoulder, you lean in closer in this makeshift, watery waltz. 

“I do, too,” you murmur. 

Resting your head on his shoulder, Eclipse leads you effortlessly along the surface. The water splashes against your shoulders. The ocean tugs on your flukes but Eclipse is steady as the sky while dancing you through his world.

It feels right. He understands how the motions should go, even without legs, and you are falling into the hypnotic rhythm with a dreamy satisfaction.

“We must dance like this more often,” he rasps close to your ear. He turns his head gently to lay a kiss to your cheek. “Now, let me show you how I dance.”

Perking up at his affection, you smile while squeezing his hand.

Eclipse grins. He stops with a slight jolt, and his touch falls away from your hip as he unweaves his fingers from between your own. He slips away. Much to your cold confusion, you clutch your empty palms and watch him gather a deep breath. The orca siren grins his pearly white teeth before diving below. 

Your tail swishes back and forth. Peering through the blurry veil of the surface, you watch his shape descend down, down, down. Slowly, you lower yourself into the ocean. Blinking your eyes, you find him in the dazzling depths. Eclipse begins to wind back and forth. His powerful tail works through the thick brine and his dorsal fin arches high and proud. He twists back to the surface. His toothy smile is still in place, his eyes set ablaze with determination.

Then he begins to swim. Speeding like a torpedo through the deep blue, he rises, higher and higher. You find your breath catching in your throat as you follow him up towards the very sky. You jerk through the surface just as he breaks through it. For a moment, he seems to fly. The orca siren sails, his body a beautiful curve of power and elegance, before he crashes back down with a magnificent splash. 

Water cascades over you. Salty sea spray pushes your short hair onto your face. Eclipse calls out your name. A bubbling, joyous sound rises from your lips as you peel away the sobbing wet strands from your forehead. 

A gentle wave reaches you before you lift your head once more, and find Eclipse reaching for you. His hands lightly grasp your arms before tugging you closer.

“That is how I dance,” he rumbles softly, lowering his head to press his forehead to yours.

“I love it,” you utter, breathless. “You’re so incredible and handsome. I wish I could be as balletic.”

He chortles a rough but nonetheless sweet sound. He caresses your arms, sliding his touch down to your hands.

“You will,” he declares. “Come dance with me.” 

You blink. He sets his expression, unwavering set upon this moment, and you beam.

“Okay,” you breathe, eager.

He squeezes your hands one, then releasing one, he dives underneath, taking you with him. He builds his speed with strong waves of his tail. You push yourself. Using the strength of your sleek and strong body, you shoot into the depths. 

The water darkens. Eclipse clutches your hand tight. For one brief moment, you two are one, weaving and twirling together, held within a frosted sea. But he turns you back to the surface. From a great distance, the surface glitters with refractions of the sun, and you feel no fear for how close the darkness below you lies. You are caught in a salty twilight.

Eclipse squeezes your hand. You look at him and your instinct answers. In one movement together, you charge for the light. Up, and up, and up, you struggle and fight until the surface twinkles just within reach. Hand in hand, you and Eclipse launch into the air. 

You fly with your mate. Weightless, endless, you float between ocean and sky. Water scatters, and you dance. 

He pulls you against him just as you both crash back to the surface. His back takes the brunt of the impact and water rushes back to welcome you two, but you are laughing. You hide your face against Eclipse’s neck. He booms with joy, a thunderous cackle that leaves you with more mirth. 

He holds you tight and keeps you along the surface. 

“You are so beautiful, my mate,” he declares.

You touch his cheek.

“You are stunning,” you stroke the sleek and smooth markings of his visage. “Thank you for dancing with me.”

“We can dance whenever you wish, birdie.” Eclipse takes your hand, and sets his other on your hip. “Merely say the word. I am yours.”

You beam at him. Whatever lingering nostalgia there is clinging to your rib cage surely melts away as Eclipse pulls you into another waltz in the Arctic Ocean.

[matchingbatbites]

it all comes down to you

Explicit | 4k | Omegaverse; Alpha Steve, Omega Eddie | Divider Credit

Written for @stmarchmm Day 12: Mating/Bonding Day 15: First time/First kiss Day 18: Knotting Day 19: Heats/Ruts (though this is just a false heat) Day 25: Scentmates/Soulmates Day 31: Biting/Marking

Full tags + Read on Ao3

Eddie knows as he stands at the edge of the forest, that this could be his only chance to find a mate. As a maleomega with no dowry and no real standing in society, there's very little reason for an alpha to ever actively choose Eddie. He's more likely to end up at the whore house, submitting to any alpha or beta willing to pay the price, and that's not what he wants. 

Call him a romantic, but Eddie wants an Alpha, wants someone to love him and care for him, someone he'd be glad to call his mate.

That doesn't mean the run isn't a risk. He knows that he could end up just like his mother- saddled with an alpha that treats him like garbage, that takes what they want and leaves Eddie to put himself back together. An alpha that cares more about money than family, that would just abandon their children if anything were to happen to Eddie.

Yes, he knows firsthand exactly how bad it could be.

It could be good, though. 

It's at least worth the try.

Eddie ties up his hair as the full moon rises above the treetops and the chill night air settles on his bare skin. The elixir they fed him earlier warms him from the inside out; it heightens his instincts, increases his scent and his need to run, to be chased. The false heat will be upon him soon, and while Eddie does want to be caught, he intends to make his future alpha work for it.

A horn blows in the distance, low and foreboding, and Eddie bolts, darting off into the trees. He runs as fast as he's able, trying to cover as much distance as he can with the little head start he gets. It feels like barely any time has passed when a second horn sounds, the signal that the alphas have joined the run.

Eddie keeps his distance from the other omegas, wanting to keep his scent distinct as he weaves through the trees. He occasionally reaches out to touch the scent gland in his wrist to one, leaving a trail for an alpha to follow as he moves deeper and deeper. A low growl and footsteps coming up behind him kick Eddie's instincts into overdrive and he darts forward, the chase truly on. 

He doesn’t know how long he runs, but he can hear the alpha break off at one point, leaving to find easier prey, and another takes their place, their steps different as they hunt Eddie down. After a third alpha abandons the chase, Eddie wonders if he should just shop, should just let himself be caught. 

The feeling increases as he can smell the matings happening around him, the blending of scents as omegas are caught and claimed, one after the other. His steps slow and he takes a moment to catch his breath, even as his instincts urge him to continue running, telling him that it’s not over, and he should know better than to ignore those feelings. 

He doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching until it’s too late.

Arms snatch Eddie around his waist as a body collides into him, and the sudden momentum sends both him and the newcomer tumbling to the ground. The rough landing steals the remainder Eddie's breath, but he still tries to scramble away as soon as they roll to a stop, his instincts still driving him to run until he’s properly claimed. 

He gives it his best go, but the alpha’s hold on him is unwavering as they tussle on the forest floor. The only thing that stops Eddie’s relentless squirming is the set of teeth that latch onto the back of his neck. He goes lax under the pinch of sharp canines and finally realizes that the game is over; he has been hunted, and he has been caught. 

A low growl vibrates against Eddie's skin before shifting into a purr as hands roam over Eddie's sides, spreading the alpha's scent over his skin. It's woodsy and smokey, but crisp, like walking through the forest on a clear autumn night. Eddie can't help but trill as it fills his nose, something about it settling deep in his soul, and he hopes that his own scent is just as pleasing to the stranger. 

The alpha ruts against him and Eddie’s mouth waters as the man’s heavy cock slides against his naked ass. He keens and arches his back, pushing into the touch as the teeth release his neck and move to scrape over his mating gland.

“Been looking for you, Omega,” the alpha says through the purr still rumbling in his chest. “Could smell you on the trees. Needed to find you, my perfect omega. My true mate.”

It's not until the alpha says it that Eddie realizes, but that is what this is. This thrum coursing through his body, like is very soul is singing, calling out to the alpha above him.

When Eddie came here hoping for an alpha, he never would have dreamed that he'd find his perfect match, his scentmate. It's something that only happens in stories and fairy tales, in dreams that Eddie stopped believing in once his mother passed. But here he is - Eddie's destined Alpha, in the flesh. 

Eddie's scent blooms around them, apple and honey and warm spice filling the air as his purr starts in his chest. “You found me, Alpha. I’m yours, need you, please.”

“I have you, lovely. I'll give you what you need.” The alpha sits up and Eddie whines at the loss, only to be placated by hands that run over the plane of his back. The touch is gentle but firm as it follows smooth skin down to the swell of his ass. “Gonna mate you, Omega. Claim you and-”

Something slams into Eddie's alpha, sending him flying to the side and leaving the omega suddenly exposed to the elements. Eddie is confused until a different set of hands grab his hips, bigger and rougher than his alpha's. They pull until Eddie is forced to present, his back arched and ass in the air. The unfamiliar scent of linen and musk floods his senses, like he’s just been pressed face first into dirty, stale bedding, and it’s just so intrinsically wrong. 

Eddie can’t stop the high, distressed keen that rips from him as he scrambles forward, trying to escape the stranger’s grip. Nails dig into his sides as the alpha tries to keep him in place and Eddie cries out as they catch, ripping at his skin until the omega can smell his own blood mixing with the scent of his fear.

The snarl that cuts through the clearing is enough to make both Eddie and the stranger freeze, and then suddenly the hands are gone as the alpha is ripped away from him. The sound of fighting is unmistakable and so dangerously close, and Eddie moves away from the brawl as quickly as he can, not wanting to get caught up in it. It’s only when he’s a safe distance away that he turns to watch, thankful for the moonlight that shines into the clearing.

The two seem to be pretty evenly matched. Eddie’s alpha - and he’s not sure how, but he just knows which one is his - is a bit shorter than the other, but he’s got some muscle and is clearly well trained, his movements fluid in comparison to the other alpha’s rage-fueled attacks. Eddie watches as they struggle, and there’s one terrifying moment where Eddie’s mate gets pinned beneath the bigger man. 

Everything within him screams to jump in, to get this man off his alpha, but before he can even move their positions are flipped and Eddie’s alpha is landing blow after blow on the aggressor. There’s a sickening crunch and a loud yelp, and Eddie can smell the tang of fresh blood even from where he sits. Eddie's alpha growls low and threatening as the loser scurries off, and he makes sure the threat is gone before turning to face Eddie.

The omega stays where he is as the man stalks over and drops to his knees between Eddie’s legs. Eddie finally gets a good look at his face - hazel eyes, a strong nose, and a scattering of moles across tanned skin - before he's distracted by the bruise already starting to bloom on one sharp cheekbone. Eddie whines in sympathy, and his alpha must be thinking the same thing, because he reaches out to brush his fingers over the scratches on Eddie’s hips. The touch pulls a soft hiss from him, and his alpha growls low. 

“Should have killed him for hurting you, Omega. For drawing blood that isn’t his.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You stopped him from claiming me, you kept me safe. Just need you now, Alpha," he says, and receives a low, pleased rumble.

“And you have me. What’s your name, lovely?”

“Edward- Eddie.”

The alpha smiles and mutters “Eddie, my dearest. My name is Stephen, but those closest to me call me Steve.” 

Steve. Eddie's beloved is named Steve, and he can feel the name etching itself onto his very soul as Steve dips down, pressing a chaste kiss to the line of Eddie's jaw. He nuzzles the underside of it before his lips trace down the side of Eddie's neck, and the omega tilts his head in submission as he lets himself fall back onto the earth. Steve follows him down, unrelenting in his task to- to taste Eddie? To scent him? Eddie isn't entirely sure, but he purrs loudly at the attention.

“Alpha, Steve.”

Steve hums and nips at his collar bone as he makes his way down, kissing and licking his way over Eddie’s chest until he can lave his tongue over the scratches left on pale hips. Eddie shivers at the sensation and digs his fingers into the leaves beneath him as Steve focuses on the wounds, his own big hands pinning Eddie’s thighs to the ground.

He doesn't stop until he's cleaned away any blood that had spilled across Eddie's skin, and then he licks over Eddie's smaller, omegan dick, causing the man to jerk in his hold. Eddie gasps and his hands snap up, pushing into Steve’s hair. He briefly marvels at the softness of it before tugging on the locks as Steve licks him again.

“Steve, please kiss me," Eddie begs, and when Steve relents and moves up to seal their mouths together, it feels like coming home, like something that's been missing has finally slotted into place.

Eddie doesn't have a lot of experience. He's kissed before, has let a couple of hands find their way into his pants and done the same to a few others. But he’s never had this, never had someone’s full attention on him like this. Steve kisses Eddie like he wants to consume him, like they'll merge into one person if he only presses closer, kisses harder. It's instantly addictive- even moreso when Steve's tongue presses into his mouth, deepening the connection.

Steve's hands begin to wander, moving over Eddie's thighs and hips and thumbing unexpectedly at his dick, making the omega whine. The hand moves down and the alpha rubs at his entrance, feeling the slick that's steadily leaking out of him and spreading it around. When Steve pushes two fingers into him without preamble, Eddie trembles at the intrusion.

It doesn't hurt; the false heat has progressed far enough that Eddie is dripping fluid and his body is eager to be filled. It's easy to arch into it, to grind his hips down to meet every thrust Steve gives him. Two fingers quickly becomes three, then four, and Eddie whines into the open air. "Need you, Alpha! Fuck me, fill me- make me yours, please!"

"You have me, Omega," Steve says as he pulls his fingers free. He hauls Eddie closer and wraps a hand around his dick, giving it a few pumps to smear Eddie's slick over it before he lines up with the omega's cunt. Eddie keens as Steve finally pushes into him, his cock so good as it stretches him open, filling him so perfectly. He clutches at Steve’s shoulders as the alpha rocks into him inch by inch until their hips are pressed together.

“Oh. So full, Alpha,” he gasps, and Steve rumbles as he grinds his hips forward, pulling a groan from the omega. Eddie can already tell that this isn't going to last long, both of them on edge already - Eddie from the elixir and Steve's touch, and Steve himself from the chase, the adrenaline from the fight.

“So good for me, my Eddie. Letting me have you like this."

Eddie nods dumbly and wraps his legs around Steve's hips, pulling him even closer. "Only you, no one else. My first and only."

Steve's scent sharpens at the confession and he dips down, pressing a bruising kiss to Eddie's mouth. When Steve finally moves it's only slow for a moment, just long enough to make sure Eddie is properly adjusted, before he speeds up.

Eddie’s never felt anything like this before, has never experienced the high that Steve's cock is giving him. He wants this every day. Wants to live the rest of his life stretched wide and stuffed full, with Steve bringing him pleasure over and over.

The rational part of Eddie’s brain knows that he won’t be able to get pregnant now, the elixir only sending him into a false heat. That doesn’t stop him from begging for it though, a stream of “Fill me, Alpha, knot me, breed me please,” as he gets closer to release. Steve growls low and snaps his hips harder into Eddie.

“I will, Omega. Going to pup you, mate you, make you mine.”

It doesn't take long after that. Eddie cries out as he comes, spilling between their bodies as Steve’s knot expands inside him. He shudders as the alpha grinds into him, pushing even deeper until he comes with a loud growl. Eddie keens as his insides are flooded with warmth, and he has a brief moment of disappointment because he knows it won't take.

The thought vanishes when Steve sinks his teeth into Eddie’s neck, breaking the skin and branding the omega with his mark. It burns like nothing he's felt before, like fire ripping through his skin before it settles into a pulsing warmth.

Steve tips his head to the side and Eddie doesn't hesitate before he leans in and places his own bite on Steve's neck, the alpha groaning as Eddie breaks the skin of his mating gland. Eddie can feel as the bond snaps into place between them, a bright, shining thread that ties them together. It’s an instant comfort, like being wrapped in a fire-warmed blanket on the coldest winter night.

He laps at the blood and ichor before it can run down Steve's chest, and he can feel the rumble of the alpha's purr under his mouth. They lay there for a moment before Steve pulls back just enough to press a sweet, bloody kiss to Eddie's mouth. “We might be here for a bit until my knot goes down.”

“I don’t mind. Like how you feel inside me,” Eddie mutters, and Steve shudders.

He brings a hand up to trace over Eddie's cheek, his fingers following the shape of his nose and lips. "You are so beautiful," he mutters, and Eddie blushes.

"Says you," Eddie retorts as he cups Steve's face in his hands. The moonlight shining down on them makes him appear almost ethereal. "You're so lovely, I'm sure the gods handcrafted you themselves."

Steve scoffs lightly and dips down to kiss Eddie again, and the omega smiles into it as he feels the warmth rushing to Steve's face. They kiss slowly, finally able to enjoy the action without the need to rush. Eddie thinks it's the best kiss he's ever had in his life, and judging by the warm, smoky scent that blooms around them, he thinks Steve might feel the same.

Eddie isn't sure how long they spend learning each other's mouths, but he keens when Steve finally pulls free, the combination of feeling empty and feeling Steve's release leaking from him making him wince. Steve coos and moves down, and Eddie jerks when the alpha laps over his entrance, tasting the mix of them in Eddie's slick.

Eddie gasps an "Alpha!" as Steve presses closer, as he slides his tongue into the wet warmth of Eddie's cunt. He doesn't stop as the omega whines and cries and begs, his mate set on some unknown task. The man only concedes when Eddie is shaking apart again and adding to the mess on his stomach - and Steve's face, he learns when the alpha pulls back, his mouth and chin wet and shiny.

Steve wipes his face with the back of his hand before pressing a kiss to Eddie's mouth. "You're delicious, my Omega. I can't wait to get you home so I can really savor you."

Eddie, flushes and shoves playfully at his mate's shoulder. "Speaking of, we should probably be getting back."

Steve nods and stands before helping Eddie off the ground. There's just enough light as Steve runs his hands over Eddie's back and legs, brushing away any stray dirt and leaves that cling to his skin. He even pulls a few out of his hair, and Eddie is glad that he tied it up before the run - after everything, it would have been a pain to brush.

Steve wraps an arm around Eddie's waist and tugs him close, offering both support and protection as they head back in the direction they came.

“We have a bit of a walk ahead of us. Tell me about yourself?” Steve asks, and Eddie smiles. He tells Steve about his home, his uncle who raised him, the reason why he came to the run in the first place. Steve just lets Eddie chatter on until they reach the edge of the forest and the familiar sight of lanterns dotted along the path leading back to town.

Others are getting back as well, pairs of Alphas and Omegas clinging to each other in a similar manner, all of them making their way back to the starting point for the whole event. They're not too far off when Eddie spies a woman standing off to the side, something fabric held in her arms, and she lights up as Steve guides them closer.

“Welcome back! I'm guessing you had fun?” she asks as she passes over what turns out to be two cloaks, one for each of them. 

“Just a little.” Steve grins and tips his head, showing off the fresh bite in the crook of his neck. The woman gasps before squealing in delight as she pulls Steve into a hug. Eddie smiles, watching the interaction as he pulls the cloak around his shoulders. It’s nice, clearly well made, and Eddie briefly wonders exactly who he’s found himself mated to that they can afford something so clearly expensive.

“Robin, this is Eddie," Steve says as he reaches out, tugging Eddie closer. "Eddie, meet Robin, my best friend in the world and my right hand woman.”

"It's nice to meet you," Eddie says, unsure just how polite he needs to be. The woman - another Alpha, he can tell - is clearly important to Steve, but also- Eddie is essentially naked. He supposes that formality may not be an issue in the current setting, and he's proven right when Robin gives him a bright smile.

"It's nice to meet you as well, Eddie. May I recommend finishing this conversation in the carriage, before your mate freezes, Steve?"

"Right! Of course," Steve says and ushers Eddie forward. "There's salve in the carriage, yes? Eddie has wounds that need attention."

"Salve and bandages. It seems like you'll be needing some as well, though," Robin replies as she reaches out to poke at Steve's bruised cheek. Eddie's mate smacks the hand away.

"I'll be fine, Birdie. There's more important things to worry about. Tomorrow, we need to travel to Forest Hills to collect Eddie’s uncle and all their things, and move them to the castle,” Steve says, and Eddie freezes in place. Steve and Robin continue on, and he hears his mate say “We’ll also need to appoint him a lady in waiting, but I honestly think Chrissy would-”

Castle? 

Lady in waiting? 

Who on Earth is this man?

Steve seems to realize that Eddie isn't with them, because he turns to look at the omega, clearly concerned. "Eddie? Are you alright?"

"Castle," Eddie replies, blinking harshly. "You said- Why did you say castle?"

Robin smacks Steve's arm in a gesture that screams of familiarity. "Did you not tell him?" she asks, and Steve flushes.

"I was waiting for the right moment!" he explains as he steps over and takes Eddie's hands in his own. He takes a breath, seeming to brace himself before he says "I'm the crown Prince of Loch Nora. My parents were in the process of arranging a mating for me, when I decided that I'd rather leave it in fate's hands than in theirs. Clearly it was the right decision, since the gods led me to you."

He punctuates the statement by reaching up to cup Eddie's face in his hands, and- Eddie can hardly breathe. Just hours ago he was a desperate man taking the riskiest chance of his life, and now he's mated to a prince. A prince who happens to be his scentmate.

"Am I dreaming?" he asks as tears well up in his eyes, and Steve coos. The alpha leans in and rubs their noses together, a sign of affection that only makes Eddie want to cry even more.

"Not dreaming, Eddie. This is real, this is happening. I found you, and you have me, my Omega."

They stand there for a moment, Eddie taking in his new reality as his mate surrounds him with the scent of a warm autumn evening, made all the stronger with Eddie's clove and spice. Eventually Eddie steps back, feeling lighter than he has in a long time.

"We, uh. We shouldn't keep Robin waiting any longer," he says, ignoring the slight roughness still clinging to his voice. Steve simply nods and takes his hand, leading them back over to where Robin is standing. Eddie laces their fingers together and listens to the soft drone of their voices as they discuss the logistics of moving Eddie's entire life into Steve's home.

"Are your parents going to be disappointed?" Eddie asks out of nowhere, cutting through the conversation and pulling the alphas' attention. A frown tugs at Steve's mouth even as he brings their joined hands up and presses a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.

"Even if they are, I promise nothing they say or do could ever make me leave you. You're my Omega, Eddie, my mate. I would give up the crown and run away before I'd ever give you up."

Eddie believes him. The conviction in his voice, in his face, lets Eddie know that Steve is telling him the truth. He would give up a life of royalty to be by Eddie's side.

He can't help but pull Steve in for a kiss, sinking every emotion he doesn't have the words for into it. It's brief but intense, and when they part he says "Take me home, my Alpha."

They continue their trek to the carriage, and possibly for the first time in his life, Eddie is genuinely excited to see what the future holds for him.

[perpetuallydaydreaming]

you kissed me.

how the marauders kiss you.

tags: james potter x gn!reader,, sirius black x gn!reader,, remus lupin x gn!reader,, headcannon,, fluffy,, self indulgent

james would absolutely forget where you are, who you’re with, and what you’re doing whenever he even thinks about kissing you. kissing you is his absolute favourite past time. with his eyes closed, he would slowly rub the tip of his nose all over your face. softly, gently, nuzzling your nose, your cheeks, your temples and your jaw, slowly breathing you in. until you’re nothing but a smiling and giddy besotted fool. he would rub his cheeks over yours, feeling every inch of your face just as you would feel his light stubble, his warm breath, and the light brush of his lips over your cheeks as he softly smiles. the entire act before the actual kiss just as intimate and soft and just as toe curling, making you feel like you’re melting. and when he finally does kiss you, it would be soft, and open, and warm, and amazing, your head cradled in his hands—breathing each other in.

sirius will make an absolute show of kissing you. he would grab your hips with one hand—connecting your front with his. he would look at you, a smirk pulling at his pink lips, while his other hand runs through his inky silken hair. his eyes shining with intensity and giddy mirth before tipping you backwards. his face inches away from yours but he wouldn’t kiss you yet, no, he would let the roars and hollers of the spectators reach your ears first. and then he would wait for some type of abashed consent from you. before finally, planting a soft, chaste kiss on your lips. when he pulls away, he would look into your eyes and smile all gentle and loving, no trace of that playful intensity. and then he would kiss you again, and again, and again. each one slower and more intense than the last. he wouldn’t stop until you say so, even when his arms begin to cramp.

remus would push your hair out of your face first. gently tucking locks behind your ears, and smoothing the back of your hair. he would run his fingers over your temples, down to the sides of your cheeks to your jaw and neck—so agonizingly slow. following each angle and line, looking at his own fingers trailing over your skin, as if it was the first time he’s seen it. as if he had to memorize you first. when he kisses you, it would start out slow, tentative, like it was the first time, like he would gladly spend the rest of his remaining time kissing you if he could. then slowly gaining momentum once you open your mouth. his tongue licking your teeth, your mouth and your lips. swallowing each breath and groan and moan coming out of your mouth.

[karenssupplystore]

Photo booth (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x GN! reader)

Warnings: none (let me know if there is any!)

Word count: 1079

There weren't many times when Simon had a day off, but when he did, you better know he'd be spending every moment with his partner. 

Back for a few days after a long mission? Reports are finished in record time and left on Price's desk.

A few hours between long meetings? He's calling you or sending a text, just wanting a moment of peace and to hear your voice before he'll inevitably have to deal with Soap's shenanigans.

Point being any time away from work he has, you're the first thing on his mind, and he will do anything to get that little bit of recharge time with the one person who he feels he can truly relax with.

So when the 141 gets back from a long, few-month mission on the other side of the globe, as soon as humanly possible, Simon's heading home to be with you. 

The first few days are just spent curled up together. Lazy mornings turning into lazy afternoons with lingering touches and tender kisses. Cooking together in the warmth of your shared kitchen, his big arms wrapped around your waist as his chin rests on the top of your head. Warm meals and lots of storytelling, more so coming from your end, but who wouldn't want to know about how the neighbours got into another fight and might be ending in divorce this time?

After those initial days just gently getting back into the calm civilian life, the two of you are more than happy to adventure out for the day. Treating yourselves to a nice cup of tea and a fresh pastry from a rather fancy cafe in the heart of town and a calm walk by river, hand in hand, the two of you find yourselves in a little corner store as the clouds roll over and little drops start to fall.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Bloody hell love, a little rain won't hurt ya," Simon chuckles as you pull him into a nearby corner store as the droplets of rain start to gain momentum, falling in a more rapid succession.

"Yes, but I did my hair today, and I don't want it to be ruined," you answer with a playful roll of your eyes. The store is much more pleasant than the rain, with a warm glow to the lights and, most importantly, nice and dry. 

Deciding to busy yourselves while the rain rolls over, the two of you go up and down the few isles, pointing out little snacks you want to try or ones you have tried and definitely didn't like. Coming to the end of one of the isles you spot an old photo booth pushed into the corner and excitedly pull on Simon's arm.

"Si, look! Do you think it works?" The whole thing looks like it hasn't been used in a long while, but, taking your chances, you pull the curtain open and the display lights up. 

"Suppose it does, come 'ere," a large hand moves to hold your waist as you're pulled onto Simon's lap, the two of you making a tight fit in the small booth.

With an excited squeal you press a few buttons, pulling a few pound coins from your pocket and inserting them into the machine, a quick preview of the photo format appearing on the screen. Before the two of you can plan what your poses will be, the first timer starts counting down.

""Right, just a smile then?" He says, guiding one of your arms over his shoulders as you lean your head closer, big smile pulling at your lips and a hint of a curl on the Brits. The flash clicks and the photo shows before another timer starts counting down.

"Now a silly one!" You say, holding up bunny ears behind his head as you stick your tongue out, Simon doing quite the similar pose. The timer stops and another flash goes off, both your eyes drawn to the preview of the photo. For a burly military man Simon sure does look a bit silly with the tip of his tongue poking out and your fingers as bunny ears behind him, contrasting his usual hard and gruff facade he put son for the average individual.

"Hey, you copied my idea," A playful shove is given to his shoulder as you look at the photo, chuckles leaving the both of you. "Can't help if it's a good idea," Simons voice grumbles though the smile on his scared lips tells you how happy you make him as he pokes a finger in your ribs, making you laugh.

"Simon!" You giggle, half heartedly pulling away from him, "That tickles!" The Brit doesn't stop his teasing and you try to pull away again that you almost fall off his lap, arms flailing slightly but a hand firmly on your waist ensures you don't go anywhere. In the struggle the timer for the third photo finishes and the flash goes off just as you feel like you're tipping.

As the two of you calm your giggles you see there's only one photo left and you turn to look at Simon, exaggerated disappointment on your face. "Look you ruined the photo," you tease as you point to the screen.

"Wouldn't have been ruined if ya were more original," He chuckles, fingers lightly pinching your thigh as he gazes at you with those big brown eyes. "I'm plenty original, thank you"

The timer counting down for the fourth and final picture snaps you both back as you stumble to figure out one last pose.

"What do you we do for this one?" You ask out loud as you try your hardest to think of a cute pose.

Without more than a little grumble of a 'Come 'ere' Simons free hand reaches up and gently wraps around your neck, pointer finger helping guide your face to his as your lips meet his. All thoughts are almost completely disregarded as you lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as his tongue traces the seam of your lips. Just as you begin to part your lips the flash goes off and the machine begins to print the series of photos.

""ere you go, love," Simon grumbles as his hand leaves your warm skin to grab the photos, handing them to you. Hand on your thigh giving you a gently pat before guiding you off his lap and out of the photo booth, grin on his lips the whole time.

[spooky-jordan]

They’re in a cheap motel in the ass end of Nowhere, USA, so it’s a safe bet that the walls are paper thin. The TV remote is on the dresser next to the bed; he leans over nonchalantly and eases the volume up a couple notches, not loud enough to bother Scully in the next room, just loud enough to mask the tell-tale sound of skin on skin.

He’s lying on top of the scratchy bedsheets wearing grey sweatpants and no shirt. His rain-soaked clothes are in a sodden heap on the floor and his hair is still wet from the shower. The motel didn’t have any shower gel, and he forgot to pack his own, so he borrowed some of Scully’s. He smells like pecan and vanilla—like her—and he’s painfully hard.

He wonders when the situation got so dire? He used to be so good at compartmentalising. The work was the work, she was his partner, his friend, and that was that. And sure, okay, maybe he’d occasionally noticed the curve of her breast when she leaned forward to drop a file on their desk, the shape of her ass on the days she swapped the pants for a form-fitting pencil skirt. He was only human. But he respected her far too much to do anything about it, and he couldn’t risk losing what they had, whatever that was. She was Scully, his Scully, and he loved her too much to risk fucking it all up.

But something has shifted. Since her remission, she’s been lighter, more playful. They went through Hell together, but against all odds, they came out the other side and something is different. He can’t quite figure out the way she looks at him now, a challenge in her eyes, like she’s waiting for something. He doesn’t know what to do with it. But he can’t stop thinking about her.

He promised himself that he’d keep it professional while on assignment. The work is the work, and everything else is background noise.

Then they got caught in the rain.

Settling back into the pillows, he shuffles out of his sweatpants. He strokes himself once, twice, three times, letting his eyes fall closed and picturing Scully as he last saw her; standing in the connecting doorway soaked to the bone, her white shirt made see-through, clinging to her body in all the right places. There were clumps of auburn hair stuck to her face, little rivulets running down her cheeks, following the line of her jaw, dripping onto the flushed skin of her chest.

His breathing hitches as he increases the momentum. After she handed him the little bottle of shower gel, she went back to her room and left him alone, but that’s not how it happens in his fantasies, oh no. Somewhere beneath the hot haze of lust, he knows he should feel guilty for thinking about her like this, but he can’t help it. God, he wants her, of course he does. He’s wanted her since Bellefleur, since she shed her clothes and offered up her trust, candlelight dripping off her pale skin like honey. He holds the memory in his mind as he strokes faster, his hips bucking upward, thrusting into his fist.

The familiar scent of her is everywhere, it’s all over him. He imagines her there in the bed with him, her hands touching him, her hair falling in his face. He imagines kissing her, tasting her everywhere, drinking her in like dessert wine, sticky sweet and warm, so warm. His muscles contract as he climbs toward release, his breath coming in short bursts. Images flash through his mind too quickly, memories and fantasies running together like watercolours, and all he sees is Scully Scully Scully.

Lightning shoots through his veins, and with a strangled cry, he comes hot and wet into his hand. His hips twitch as he rides the aftershock, endorphins flooding his bloodstream, his mind going blissfully blank.

“Mulder?”

Scully’s voice from the other side of the connecting door, followed by two sharp knocks. He has just enough time to fumble with the duvet, throwing it over his bottom half, before the door handle twists and Scully walks in.

“H-hey?” Mulder says, trying to control his breathing. Under the duvet, his thighs are sticky and damp and he tries not to grimace. “What’s up, Scully?”

“I thought I heard a yell,” she says, confused. He watches her eyes flit around the room, looking for some clue.

Mulder shakes his head slowly, making a show of looking around the room. “Uh, no. No yelling in here. Maybe it was the TV?” he suggests, gesturing toward the television set.

Scully glances at the screen, where a news anchor is going over the day’s headlines. “Yeah, maybe,” she says, unconvinced. She turns her gaze back to him, her big blue eyes like two spotlights. Even protected by the duvet, he feels naked under her scrutiny. “Are you sure you’re okay, Mulder? You look a little flushed.”

“Uh, yeah, no, I’m fine,” he says, trying for nonchalance. “Just a little hot, I guess.”

“Do you feel feverish?” she says, suddenly serious, stepping toward the bed.

“No!” he says, a little louder than he meant to. Scully stops in her tracks, looking at him like he’s gone off the deep end. Hell, maybe he has. “Uh, no, no fever. Just tired.”

Scully stares at him for a moment, apparently trying to decide whether to believe him. Mulder waits, hoping she can’t hear the way his traitorous heart is hammering against his ribcage. Eventually, she chooses to believe he’s telling the truth, if only because the call of her bed in the next room is too appealing to ignore.

“Okay, well if you’re sure,” she says with a sigh. “Night, Mulder.”

He gives his most reassuring smile. “Night, Scully.”

She leaves him alone, closing the door behind her. He lets out a slow sigh of relief, sagging back against the pillows. That was too fucking close.

In the next room, Scully settles into bed, switching off the bedside lamp and snuggling deeper into the mattress. The only light is the blue glare of the television; the remote is on the dresser next to the bed. Mindful of the paper-thin walls, she reaches for the remote and eases the volume up a couple of notches.

Slipping one hand beneath the waistband of her silk pyjamas, she allows her eyes to fall closed, and pictures Mulder as he was this afternoon; standing in his room, soaked to the bone, his white shirt made see-through, clinging to his body in all the right places...

[he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle]

Unknown - Ep 11 - That Scene

The opening scene of episode 11 landed differently for me than it did for others. I was going to just keep it to myself since I have a minority opinion, but when I rewatched it last night I fell even more in love with it!

The structure!! It's so good! Let me explain.

At the bottom of the stairs, Qian hesitates. He still hasn't made up his mind.

Yuan says "Do you still not get it?" He knows what Qian is feeling, even if Qian hasn't figured it out yet. So he says what he wants very clearly.

Yuan asks for permission to do 4 things:

1. Be more than just Qian's brother.

2. Be who Qian relies on when he's down.

3. Be someone Qian can talk to about anything.

4. Be with Qian for the rest of his life.

Before Qian answers, he revisits 4 sets of memories, each set answering one of Yuan's questions with a resounding YES.

After each affirmative answer, it cuts back to the sex scene to communicate that THIS is the culmination of all those yesses.

In other words, there are 4 direct questions and 4 groups of memories that hold the answers to those questions, 4 times those memories scream the answer is YES, and 4 cuts to a bit of sex.

Let's look at the groups of memories.

1. He thinks back to Yuan's words in ep 9. Does he not want Yuan? Or does he not DARE to want Yuan? And he remembers all the times he felt desire for Yuan, but suppressed it. Can he be more than just Yuan's brother? Yes.

2. He thinks back to Yuan consistently being someone Qian can rely on, all through his childhood until now. "If the world falls down, we'll hold it up together." "You won't be alone." "I like being around you." Yuan genuinely likes being around Qian and has never wanted to leave him. He's shown his commitment to Qian time and time again. Can Qian rely on Yuan when he's down? Yes.

3. He remembers how long and hard Yuan suffered while enduring one-sided love, and that Yuan chose to suffer in quiet for years rather than confess to Qian about it. But Qian knew Yuan was suffering that whole time and hated it. It broke Qian's heart to see how hard it was for Yuan. If he did likewise and didn't talk about things, he'd also break the heart of the person who loves him because of his silence. Yuan laid himself bare and told Qian everything. Can Qian reciprocate and tell Yuan about everything in his life, even the hard things? Yes.

4. He thinks about how Yuan has ALREADY built his entire life around Qian. "I can sum up my life in two words: Wei Qian." Memories of Yuan come like a flood, rapidly gaining momentum. Yuan has already been with Qian for most of his life, and will NOT STOP. Qian can't imagine a life without Yuan. So can Yuan be with Qian for the rest of his life? Yes.

Qian nods and says his answer aloud: You can. And then they kiss.

The sex is not the point. It's the culmination. It's all the yesses stacked on top each other until they break the last of Qian's walls. By cutting the sex so it only exists between each resounding YES, they've made it less about the action of it and more about Qian realizing that YES, they're ALREADY in love and unalterably committed to each other. Why not give in to his physical desires when the rest is so clear?

Others watched this and saw a sex scene interrupted by cumbersome flashbacks. I watched this and saw a dramatic feelings realization interrupted by snippets of quite lovely sex that drove those feelings home.

A final note: It's probably because I'm demisexual, but I am frequently unmoved by sex scenes, especially when they do not advance the plot or the character development. This onscreen scene moved me. It hit the right emotional note. It was focused primarily on Qian's pov (his face is the one the camera is focusing on). And it was artfully done, instead of merely being titillating.

I'm tagging a few people who I recall talking about this in their posts, but it's been a couple of weeks so forgive me if I leave someone out or misremember. @absolutebl @lurkingshan @bengiyo @wen-kexing-apologist @wanderlust-in-my-soul @twig-tea

[lexicorp]

Transformers Earthspark: Another Place, Another Prison

[inserts Starscream next to Hashtag-] Seriously, its so hard getting a good view of their bunker, and there's never a screenshot of Star at their place so i can only manifest lmao

But yeah! Starscream is now amidst the Malto family and oh boy is this era of the fic complex to write oml. This chapter certainly matched the previous in length, and i feel like that might become a pattern with tryna wrap up these types of interactions/scenes.

Starscream is full of so much hekin anxiety dude, but this time he actually does get a bit of assistance!

Previous Chapter: The Illusion of Freedom

First Chapter: The Need For Read

Next Chapter: Bee's Good Guy Crash Course

Chapter 9: Settling Into Circumstance

Finally. 

After an absurd amount of kliks being knocked around the blasted box the bots had apparently needed to throw him in, they reached their destination. Signaled by the gradual slowing of momentum, paired with a collection of conversation, and the trailer door beginning to be pulled open. Starscream was not going to allow either of those femmes to wrestle him out of his predicament, he needed some dignity. So, he maneuvered himself as closely to the entrance as he could to prepare his exit. 

The effort was extremely uncomfortable, but he didn’t care, as long as he got out of there with at least a scrap of his pride intact. As soon as Elita-1 became fully visible, he shoved her aside with one servo while pushing off from the edge of the trailer with the other. “Out of my way!” He’d almost stumbled into a faceplate full of dirt, but instead ducked into a haphazard roll with an involuntary yelp. Not exactly as graceful as he would hope. Starscream’s wings fluttered and twitched in relief from finally being able to move, although it perhaps too could reflect his lingering embarrassment. He quickly picked himself up and dusted his servos with an air of disinterest. “I will never understand the choice to travel by way of wheels.” 

Arcee had the audacity to laugh. “Aww, someone’s cranky.” 

He glared at her, up until he noticed Elita-1 staring him down in turn. A rather malicious grin came upon her faceplate as she approached him. “Have fun at con daycare. Don’t make me come pick you up early.” She hit her shoulder against his as she forced herself past. “C’mon Cee.” Arcee shrugged and they made their oddly hasty retreat, as if they had something better to do.

Starscream flapped his servo in a mocking gesture as he muttered their words in a perfect imitation of what they sounded like. Then flinched to rigid attention when the Prime called his designation. Who was followed by the bug trailing behind him with a pouty squint to his optics. 

“Starscream. Will you follow us to the barn please?” The Prime was apparently quite fond of phrasing his orders as if they were requests. 

“You talk as if I have a choice in the matter.” Starscream tossed his servo at the absurdity before making his way by their side.

“Tough Screamer. We aren’t exactly thrilled about this either.” Bumblebee kept pace if only to point a digit at Starscream to display his clear frustration at the seeker’s intrusion on his human hideout. “But Optimus is trusting me with this assignment–so just know that we’re not here to mess around. This is very serious.” 

“I’m sure he’s aware, Bumblebee.” The Prime was standing right at Starscream’s wing opposite to the bug. Great. Boxed in between two bots to be chaperoned away to a different wooden box. He was thrilled. 

So much so in fact that he began to ignore them in favor of scanning his surroundings. They looked to be in a patch of wilderness cleared out for an organic farm of some sort. Beside the “barn” was assumedly where the humans took residence. The Malto’s human femme guardian, he couldn’t quite recall her designation, was loitering at the entrance. Talking with Megatron. 

Starscream stopped walking. 

What were they conspiring about over there? That human was the leader of their odd family if he remembered correctly. Was that the “Dorothy” Megatron had referenced in the brig? The buckethead already had an inside agent with full control over the operation! She’d report any measly thing Starscream would do–to him. Of course they would put Megatron in charge of this little scheme of theirs. They were probably discussing all of what he should be notified about. Starscream could vent incorrectly. Or tip over one of those fences. Or get one of their designations wrong. Or not stand right. Talk too much. Or not enough. What other things might he be able to do wrong? Megatron would surely be sent to rip his wings off if he didn’t behave how they wanted. But Starscream didn’t know how these mechs thought he was supposed to act! Even when he’d thought he’d known how to navigate the Decepticons, he always had found a way to anger Megatron! 

Primus, he was doomed.

“Are you alright?”

Starscream jerked and shuttered his optics. “W-what?”

It was the Prime. Had they been trying to get his attention and realized he had started to ignore them? Scrap–he’d been ignoring them! And Megatron had certainly seen him shove the femme aside earlier… He was so, so fragged.

“I asked if you’re alright.” The Prime repeated, and Bumblebee was looking at him weird.

Megatron was looking at him.

“YES–never better–in here, you said? So sorry for the delay.” Starscream was trying his oh so innocent tone on the mechs who hadn’t given a single slag back at the Titan; but hey, maybe it’d work this time. He quickly ducked inside the door, and only the bug followed him. He supposed the Prime was breaking away to meet up with Megatron and that Dorothy human. To report Starscream's obvious insubordination no doubt.

He hated it here already.

Red lightning flickered between his wings, and the cracks running from his optics began to burn. When had those gotten there? He suddenly became very aware of how flammable this structure was. 

“You know, I zapped myself with one of the chaos clouds once to beat Breakdown. How come I didn’t get some perma-buff? What, ‘cause I didn’t slap the whole artifact itself on my arm?” Bumblebee complained casually as he hovered his ped above a particular portion of the floor. 

“Trust me, you don’t want this curse.” Starscream absentmindedly responded in a far away whisper. 

“Riiiight. Well, get ready for the drop.”

“The wha– AAh!” The ground beneath his peds pulled apart in a smooth yet abrupt motion that tripped him off his peds and into the opening. Apparently that was what the bug had been up to. He stumbled down the stairs until he fell on his tailpipe with a metallic thunk, which made Bumblebee burst out laughing. Starscream’s wings flicked and his optics flickered red. “Don’t laugh at me! You did that on purpose, you slagging glitch!” 

“Pff– I did warn you, fly boy. But, yeah. Mmmaybe a little bit.” The damn bug looked so smug as his doors fluttered with lingering amusement. “And make sure to watch your language ‘round the kids will ya? Already have to worry about human curse words as is.”

Starscream growled with a roll of his optics, “No promises,” and shakily stood to follow him down the short, newly visible hallway. It quickly opened up into an artificial cavern, which looked like a rudimentary undercity. Well, an extremely small one in comparison to Cybertron’s. And with far too many silly nicknacks strewn about with questionable use. Even so, at least he actually wasn’t going to be staying in the horrible shack above them. And the Terrans apparently did have their own stylized residence that wasn’t falling apart. Perhaps that is why they actually liked their humans. Although a reliance on the creatures would always prove precarious regardless. 

“Here comes his highness.” Bumblebee announced flatly like it was some form of satire, as he entered in front of Starscream to join the others. There were so many of them. That dinobot brat, the avian beastformer, the three wheeler, Sprite’s twin, Hashtag, and those two blasted human twerps. They were all staring at him with varying levels of contempt or apprehension. 

Starscream’s optics flitted across the crowd and hesitated far longer than he should have as his vocalizer betrayed him. “Uh, yes… right, hello.” That displayed too much anxiety, try again. He straightened his posture to exude more confidence and attempted a friendly smile that might have looked a bit more sinister than he intended. “I’m sure you all are absolutely ecstatic to be graced with my presence. So, what redemption inducing activity do we have on the agenda for today?” He couldn’t help but focus his gaze upon Hashtag, who looked too uncomfortably tense. Starscream approached the group carefully with one servo behind him, and acted as though he didn’t notice. 

The human femme brat–it was Mo, he remembered–crossed her arms. “We’re just settling in right now.”

Her brother, Robb something, seemed to finish her thought as he stepped in front of her defensively. “Yeah. Hold your horses Decepticreep.” 

Starscream looked down at him with a twinge of confusion and annoyance. What on Cybertron was a horse? And why in this context would he need to hold them? Regardless, he forcefully kept a smile on his faceplate as the others continued with their own comments. 

The dinobot trotted up with a hunger in his optics that made Starscream inadvertently centihic away from him. “If he tries anything, I can bite ‘im! I’m good at that–”

Bee patted his head with a fond grin, “Cool your core there J.B., remember, a good scout needs to be patient.” Yes, conspire their bloodlust right in front of him why don’t they. Certainly feeling the love around here.

The three wheeler Trash–no, Thrash–stepped up beside the dinobot, “Optimus wants us to give you a chance, Starscream, but don’t think for a second that we’ll fall for any of your sweet talk or poor me con business.”

Starscream put a servo to his chassis in faux surprise at such an accusation. “I would never dream of doing such a thing! I agreed to y–our glorious leader’s generous offer, in a true aspiration towards change!”

“...Not just to get out of the brig?” Hashtag asked skeptically with a tipped servo. 

Starscream’s optic twitched red for a split nano-klik. “Of course not! Our conversation really made me realize my wrong doings, my dear Hashtag.” When he tried to step closer to her, Spitfire’s red clone Twitch inserted herself between them. 

“Give her space Starscream.” The little drone had a stern glare that reminded him of the scowl Sprite so often gave him in the Titan. “Whatever reason you wanna give us, you’ll have to prove it.” The rest of them nodded in agreement.

Except the beastformer–Nightshade was the designation, Starscream was nailing this–who interjected with an effort to diffuse the tension. They raised a servo and put it on Hashtag’s shoulder, while looking at Starscream with a strange…indifference, in their optics. “Come now siblings, let us engage in more friendly conversation. For instance, we can display the room we constructed for our new house guest!” They broke away to begin walking toward a corner extending from one of the structures.

“A room, you say? How exciting.” Starscream’s vocalizer slipped a twinge of sarcasm, although he could admit he did harbor some surprise at the idea. They were providing him with his own whole in the wall where he could potentially keep things from them in? Why would they trust such a thing? There was certainly something sinister lurking within this ruse of hospitality. 

He began to follow them, with Bumblebee doing the same, while the others lingered a bit further behind. Whispers prodded at Starscream’s audials, but those were of no use to him. Let them scheme or complain all they want. He was used to bots talking behind his back.

“I do hope you like it.” Nightshade said earnestly as they gestured a servo in an invitation for Starscream to enter, while they stood to the side. “I did not have as much reference in terms of personability as I did my siblings. So, the decor is primarily influenced by us having a bit of fun with it, admittedly.”

The door was actually constructed perfectly for Starscream’s height. He hesitantly took a step inside with a servo gripping the doorframe, in case a forcefield decided to shut him in immediately. There was a berth fixed against the corner wall, with a couple odd panels that could be distinguished across it. One even seemed like there was an attempt at hiding it with the odd array of colorful, plush squares littering the berth. The walls were painted in accordance with Starscream's own colors, although tainted by a horrendous assortment of human transformers propaganda. Including one that was an offensive illustration of him plastered to a “hang in there” poster. The black ceiling speckled with glowing star decals, barely made up for it. Even if they weren’t arranged to resemble favorable constellations as one would expect from such an effort. The only attempt he could make out was a string lined in a way that vaguely resembled a valve wrench. Although the strangest addition was a human sized lamp that could resemble Bumblebee placed in a corner. Which was backdropped by a sign that read in bold letters: “No evil allowed” with an X’ed out Decepticon emblem. How subtle. 

“So…what do you think?” Nightshade asked hopefully after a stint of silence. 

“They didn’t rig the place to explode, the kids actually tried to put some thought into this thing. So how about maybe a thank you, or something?” Bumblebee had become far too close to Starscream’s wings, and was obviously gearing to shove him inside to make a point. 

Starscream forced himself to release the doorframe from his hold to gain some distance from the looming mech, and made his way over to a different poster. The least disgusting of the bunch, which displayed three familiar seekers soaring through the sky with a burning city below. “Yes, well, it is certainly far more lively than my most recent arrangements.” A groveling thank you at such a ridiculous thing, seemed hardly appropriate. Still, he should probably sound more enthused than that to appease them. “And I appreciate that so much, my sweet little Terran friend!” He tipped his helm to the side with a grin aimed toward Nightshade and ignoring the bug. Then dropped it as soon as he turned away from them again, although still made certain to control his tone. “I see you all have quite the humor about you.” He commented in a vague gesture towards one of the more absurd posters displaying a Decepticon defeat. They’d obviously gone for some acute air of irony in their approach. 

“Ah yes, the others did enjoy adding a couple playful jabs, as one could say, when it came to the posters.” Nightshade shrugged with a grin at the memory. “The stars were my idea. Do you like them? I simply assumed, with star being in your name and all, that it might be something that could appeal to you.”

Starscream could simply say that he did, with some exuberant air of elation. It wouldn’t be a complete lie, after all, the stars were indeed the room’s best feature. Yet his curiosity got the better of him as he hesitated, glancing back at them discreetly. “Why do you care whether I like it?” The whole thing was rather excessive despite their clear disdain for his presence. Why had they bothered? 

“I want to make certain that I did a satisfactory job in making you feel welcome.” Nightshade fiddled with their servo’s anxiously. “This is a rather… odd situation we have come upon. I wish it to go well.”

“That so?” Starscream brought his servos behind him, turning to fully face the Terran again with a smile. “I assure you, your addition trumps all others! Well, except perhaps that poster displaying Megatron getting blasted across a ravine.” As he gestured to it, Starscream threw his ped backward to knock the Bumblebee lamp to the floor with a satisfying clunk. “That is certainly my type of humor.” He succeeded in distracting the Terran from his petty action, yet not the bug, who glared at him from the sideline. Good. He flashed him a sparring glance and a smirk before smoothly shifting attention back to Nightshade, approaching the door again to make his exit. “You and your siblings did a wonderful job, Nightshade.”

The Terran lit up at the praise and clapped their servos together. “I am glad! Perhaps as we all get better acquainted in the effort at becoming allies, we can add upon it with your own input! I promise to not take offense to any changes you wish to make.”

Starscream came up beside the Terran, then began to trace the perimeter of the cavern as he was followed. The other children seemed to have taken to their own perches while still keeping watch of his movements. Did they really have nothing else explicitly planned? The loosely structured nature laid before him made Starscream uneasy. 

“You seem more hopeful than the others.” He began while entertaining his optics with every little detail of his surroundings. “Does… Hashtag share such a sentiment?” Her focus seemed to only be hard locked with whatever was on her datapad. Perhaps it was foolish of him to yearn for some sort of connection with the kid now. She too did think him worse than Megatron, after all…

“Yes. I believe she does.” Nightshade responded decisively with a nod. “Although if I were to disclose further, I fear it would cross a line of privacy for her feelings on the matter.”

“You can’t expect her to be jumping with joy right after you blatantly threatened her back at the brig.” Bumblebee added snarkily as he continued to be a diligent little shadow. “Get a grip on reality, why don’tcha.” 

As if Starscream wasn’t already quite aware. As if he didn’t remember. As if the damned bug thought he was stupid. Why did these bots keep acting as though he couldn’t understand the situation they’ve thrusted upon him? Did they really think so low of his competency? Starscream had a perfect grip on reality! His processor never deleted things without his knowledge. Or bent his perception in any way. He knew exactly what was happening–

Starscream in-vented sharply as the crimson lightning sent a surge through his frame that shot pain through his spark, and stopped him in his tracks. He felt a sudden urge to purge his tank–which had apparently obtained a higher energon level at some point–as the cracks from his optics burned. Why had it flared up so much?! Nightshade had given him a positive response hadn’t they? Frag the bug, he needed to focus on what the kid said. Which was…?

That, maybe, Hashtag didn’t hate him after all. Right? That was good.

But he still couldn’t move.

Quintus’ curse was intent on imbueding him with an intense desire to strangle that Autobrat until his smartaft voice box broke. Or whip around and snap at him with a verbal assault that would no doubt lead to a larger altercation. But he knew he couldn’t. Even as it was increasingly difficult to discern the difference between the curse’s power over his processor, or if it actually was what he wanted to do. 

When the bug decided to kneel down in some attempt at gaining his attention, Starscream couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he was too close. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” Starscream threw his servo at Bumblebee, which the lightning empowered to send them both stumbling backwards. Starscream gripped his helm and furiously struggled to will the blasted power to stop shaking every centihic of his frame, and force it back into whatever crevice it’d made for itself. “J-Just–GIVE me a nano-klik to– AUGH COME ON!” He needed control. If he couldn’t even trust his own frame to work with him–

“Dude, Starscream, buddy, you need to chill– just sit down and uh…take deep breaths or something?” Bumblebee sounded as though he were trying to help, but all he seemed to be able to do was state the obvious.

“Don’t you think I’m trying, you slagging fool!? This is your fault! I am NOT delusional, or crazy, or any of those things you idiots want to think!” Starscream growled while throwing his servos around wildly in his sudden burst of anger. The others were coming upon them after having sprung to their peds at his outburst. For once, a large crowd of optics on him was the last thing he wanted. This was bad. If Megatron wasn’t going to be sent to blast him into next week, he certainly was now. They’d stick him with that needle again. He needed to get this blasted power under control. But it just kept cycling in on itself. He felt tired. Yet overcharged all at once. 

Bumblebee put his servos up in some form of surrender but his vocalizer betrayed his own frustration, “How is it my fault??”

“Let me try!” It was Hashtag. “Okay, there’s a 5 point countdown grounding thing I found.” She knelt down a couple hics away as she held up her servos. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Starscream stared at her with confusion addled with frustration as his optics flickered, but managed to answer, “...Six.”

“What color’s my paint?”

“Violet.”

“What about yours?”

“Red…blue, yellow–” This seemed stupid.

“Good. How about four things you can feel right now?”

The burning in his spark was slowly beginning to subside. Starscream intentionally scraped his servo down his faceplate to distinctly connect the sensation in his processor. He couldn’t name those things, could he? Not the lingering pain in his patched wing. Or the crick in his knee joint. Those things would surely elicit an awkward reaction.

After his silence, Hashtag continued on with her strange strategy. “What about three things you can hear? Like my voice right now.”

“I suppose…Bumblebee's incessant tapping of his ped. Or perhaps the fact that those lights over there are emitting a ridiculous affront to music.”

Hashtag laughed at his apparent audacity, “Hey, that’s our LED stereo and that music is awesome! I think you could grow to appreciate the glory that is Hatsune Miku. She’s kinda like us! I mean, in a way…”

“What is the point of this…?” Starscream’s wings clicked back into their neutral position as the last traces of lightning retreated from them, and he straightened his posture.

“Well, he stopped tweaking out, so I guess it worked.” Thrash noted with an air of surprise, “Nice work sis.”

Hashtag grinned with a bit of pride as she put her servos on her hips, and kept her focus on Starscream. “To get ya out of your head! See? You don’t have that weird red junk all over you anymore.”

Starscream blinked and realized that he did in fact feel far calmer than he had just moments before. He looked down at his servo and tested the workings of his now only slightly shaking digits. “Hm…” He hummed with the intent of adding something further, but became transfixed with the strangeness of the whole interaction. Thus only continued to blankly stare at his servo, for a long, arduous stint of silence before he found the words. “Thank you. I will keep that in mind.”

“No problem.” Hashtag had a rather sorrowful look in her optics as she brought her servos up to hug her frame again. What was that about?

Starscream narrowed his optics at the group. “Don’t tell Megatron about this.” He phrased it as a stern warning, despite knowing his inability to make threats at the moment.

“Still afraid of ol’ Megs there Screamer?” Bumblebee had a quirk of amusement on his faceplate, even as there was that odd, pitying expression lingering behind it as he crossed his arms. 

Starscream scoffed, but moved on. Any topic but that. He could deal with it at a time that decidedly wasn’t now. “What is this Miku you speak of Hashtag? Perhaps you could attempt to convince me.”

Hashtag’s attention perked and she bounced in place, “Oh that is SUCH the rabbit hole–” She whipped out her datapad and ushered him to follow her to some sort of seating area. “Get ready to be absolutely dazzled by the sickest lore and the most bangin’ of bops!”

Starscream followed and sat by her side as the crowd began to find their own places again. “That could be questionable, but I suppose that is what you will be attempting to convert me into believing.” He grinned at her in a way that encouraged a challenge. “Try me.”

After a surprisingly long and passionate presentation; he couldn’t say that he was wholly convinced of why this Hatsune Miku character deserved to be on such a pedestal with millions of mindless followers. Although he could admit that some of the messages were rather intriguing. And some of the music, not half bad. He might even consider a servoful of them borderline good. Particularly that “Rolling Girl” one. 

Perhaps between Hashtag and that Nightshade Terran, Starscream might actually be able to stay sane in the Autobot’s newest prison. At least there was some semblance of room to move. At least he wouldn’t be alone. 

He could focus on the rest later.

[sunstone-smiles]

Try a Bite, or Else!

Author’s note: It’s a few days after the Hear Me Out Cake event has ended, but I still want to finish these fics! So, for the anon who requested Edgeworth for the event, happy belated Hear Me Out Cake! I hope you enjoy the silly shenanigans I put Phoenix and Edgeworth through for this fic. (I paired them with a cheesecake with triple berry sauce—recipe and original image here!) Enjoy!

Series: Ace Attorney

Characters: Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth

Word count: 1,478

Summary: Phoenix made a cake that he wants Edgeworth to try, but the prosecutor refuses, so Phoenix has to find a way to persuade him to take a bite!

---

“Edgeworth! Get back here!” Phoenix yells from the other room as Edgeworth rushes into the living area of the office. Edgeworth spins on his heels. Phoenix appears from the doorway wearing a pink apron. Plus, he’s holding a slice of cake on a plate in one hand and a fork in the other hand with a bite-sized piece of cake on the edge. “You are going to try this cake whether you like it or not!”

Edgeworth steps behind the arm of the couch for an extra semblance of a shield. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to run with sharp objects!?”

Phoenix rolls his eyes. He places the plate and the fork on top of the desk beside him. He wipes off his hands on his apron and charges at Edgeworth. The prosecutor yelps and dashes around the couch.

Cake is a delicate thing to bake. Too much of one ingredient can make the batter into a soggy soup, and too little of an ingredient can turn it into a crumbly mess. So imagine Edgeworth’s concern when Wright, someone who does not follow the book when it comes to rules, said that he had made a cake. It looked good enough when he saw it, but he knows that with Wright, looks can be deceiving. He wanted to avoid any sickening sweet tastes in his mouth. However, Phoenix caught on that Edgeworth had no faith in his baking ability, leading to their current argument and chase around the office.

“Just try it!” Phoenix shouts from one end of the couch, while Edgeworth stands at the other, making sure that the couch stays between him and Phoenix.

“You can’t make me!” the prosecutor shouts back.

“Just a bite!” Phoenix circles the couch. Edgeworth flees and takes a half-lap around the couch before stopping where Phoenix was before, keeping his eyes on the lawyer the whole time.

“Wright, no! I will not! I refuse!” he stands his ground.

“Edgeworth, you take a bite of this cake, or else I’ll… I’ll…” Phoenix takes a moment to think up a good comeback. He spouts the first thing that randomly comes to his head. “Or else, I’ll tickle you!” he falters on his delivery, not even sounding remotely sure of what he said himself. 

Edgeworth shakes his head to make sure he heard him correctly. “Wright, what kind of threat is that?!”

“A good one, apparently,” Phoenix smirks, seeing the red hints of a blush on Edgeworth's cheeks.

Edgeworth shrinks back. Phoenix inches closer—his smirk growing—while the prosecutor is stunned. Edgeworth grips the arm of the couch and leans on his back leg, ready to sprint at a moment's notice.

“Wright, don’t–!” Edgeworth cuts himself off when Phoenix lunges at him. Edgeworth turns to run, but that loss in momentum allows Phoenix to catch up and wrap an arm around the prosecutor’s waist to stop him. As Edgeworth frantically squirms, Phoenix immediately takes the opportunity to dive his free hand into Edgeworth’s side, earning another yelp from the prosecutor. Edgeworth folds forward and a trickle of giggles sneak their way through, making his belly shake with his light laughter. He curls his head to his chest to hide his silly smile while his hands shove at the arm holding him captive and the fingers wiggling into his side.

“Wrihihihight!” Edgeworth places his palm to his face as a reflex to his growing, flustered expression.

“Come on, Edgeworth. Hear me out! The cake is good!” Phoenix attempts to convince him.

“Sahahays yohohohou!” Edgeworth snaps back. A brow lifts from Phoenix.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Phoenix’s voice rises like a sly grin. He crawls his hand up to Edgeworth’s ribs, nearly making the prosecutor’s knees buckle and crash to the ground as a giggly pancake if it wasn’t for Phoenix holding him up.

Edgeworth regains his footing, then tries twisting away from the lawyer’s sneaky fingers while his arms are snapped to his sides. “Yohohohou think a stahahahale box of crahahackers is good!”

“No, I think a stale box of crackers is edible, not good. There’s a difference,” Phoenix clarifies with a smile.

“Whahahahatever! Just let gohohoho!” Edgeworth tugs himself forward, but Phoenix pulls him back into an even tighter one-armed hug. The prosecutor curls up his head to his chest and his arms fold to his sides again. Phoenix can tell though from his free-flowing giggles and slacked body language that there’s no signs of distress; in fact, the prosecutor finds the situation humorous.

“Edgeworth, I’m going to count to three. If you don’t agree to take a bite of my cake that I put so much heart and effort in, there will be consequences,” Phoenix smirks. Edgeworth’s too preoccupied with his giggles to respond quick enough before Phoenix already starts counting. 

Phoenix teasingly pauses between each number, “One…Two…” 

“Wrihihihight!” Edgeworth exclaims through his laughter.

“Three!” Phoenix declares. He swings his arm out from his hug and furiously uses both hands to scribble into both sets of Edgeworth’s ribs. The prosecutor shrieks and his posture springs straight up like a surprised cat. He clamps his arms to his side as a cascade of robust laughter, deep and wheezy, begins tumbling from Edgeworth’s chest. He curls himself up tighter, his body leans back, and his heels dig into the floor—all results of him sliding down from Phoenix’s grasp to reach the potential safety of the ground. 

Phoenix’s tickles remain strong, however, even through the prosecutor’s escape attempt. Edgeworth feels himself nearly about to fall before giving in. “Ohohohokay! OKAY! Fihihihine! I’ll hahahahave a bihihihite!”

Victorious, Phoenix smiles and releases Edgeworth. The prosecutor crumbles to the ground anyway in a giggly heap. After a few moments, his giggles start to settle and Edgeworth’s breathing returns to normal. Phoenix grabs his hand and assists him to his feet.

The lawyer pats the other man on the back, then Phoenix nudges his head towards the desk. Edgeworth rolls his eyes with a grumble, knowing exactly what the lawyer is insisting on. 

They walk to the desk where the cake awaits. In complete silence, Phoenix leans on the surface, waiting with baited breath for Edgeworth to try his dessert creation. Edgeworth picks up the fork. Reluctant still to try it, he sniffs the piece cake on his fork—it smells good enough to be edible, at least. With Phoenix watching him with big eyes and a smile, Edgworth finally takes a bite of the cake.

To his surprise, and almost utter shock, the cake has a nice vanilla flavor with chopped berries in it, and is quite moist. It’s like the piece dissolved in his mouth, leaving behind a sweet taste that’s not too overpowering with the balanced tartness of the fruit.

“Well, how is it?” Phoenix awaits the answer.

“It’s…good,” Edgeworth says, still stunned at the discovery of a pleasant tasting cake baked by a man who’s plan most of the time is to ‘wing it.��

“See? What did I say? I told you,” Phoenix grins, proud of his creation. “You should have more faith in my baking abilities. You were running away for nothing.”

Edgeworth embarrassingly shrinks his head to his shoulders a little at that last part. He glances at the cake again, thinking of its flavor.

“You know, this would go really well with–”

“Tea? I figured,” Phoenix shows him a soft smile. He lifts himself from the desk. “I’ll go make us some. I have to make sure my number one taste tester is satisfied with their service.” Phoenix starts to walk away.

“Wait, Wright. Allow me to make the tea.”

The lawyer stops and turns. “Oh, now you think I can’t make tea either?” Phoenix jokes.

Edgeworth shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. I just thought that I could help so you’re not doing all the work.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you, Edgeworth.” Phoenix’s eyes glance to the side and he rubs the back of his neck. “But…uh…really, I don’t mind making it.”

The lawyer appears to be saying a kind gesture on the outside, but Edgeworth’s keen sight knows exactly what he means.

Edgeworth gasps and narrows his eyes. “You don’t like the way I make tea, do you?”

Phoenix throws his hands up to look innocent. “Well, I didn’t say that. But, everytime you make it, it smells so bitter,” Phoenix shutters at the thought.

Edgeworth strides towards him. “I tried your cake, Wright. It’s only fair that you try my tea,” the prosecutor provides an uncharacteristic, but playful smile. Edgeworth moves past him and heads to the kitchen. Phoenix’s gaze follows him, amused by the surprise of the prosecutor’s lighthearted demeanor.

“Heh. Touché,” Phoenix chuckles. Then, he joins Edgeworth into the kitchen.

A sweet cake made by a lawyer and a bitter tea made by a prosecutor; even opposites can sometimes complement each other.