#unimaginable fondness in my heart

[artifeast]

some more telesphore :3

[silverzoomies]

Angels

peter maximoff x reader

warnings: peter being a goober, he watches porn for like half a second, it's highkey a stranger things crossover, my dialogue is goofy as hell

word count: 5,240

a/n: had a lot of fun with this one !! a while back, my buddy @quickandsilvers (now deactivated, and i can't find their new acc) requested a fic where he works in a video store and makes a fool of himself. i think i strayed from their prompt a lot, but i hope they don't mind. sorry about the stranger things crossover !! it happened naturally while writing it, and i couldn't stop thinking about steve and peter interacting. lol

Like a responsible adult, Peter spent the span of an entire month “studying” for his GED final. His rapid fire attention span made focusing a tough feat, even past his years of high school age hyperactivity. Which was the very reason he had to study so friggin hard for his GED in the first place. Peter never graduated high school. And because he never graduated high school, he didn’t really know what real studying was. “Studying” for him mostly entailed speed reading, once or twice over. Before he called it quits and bolted away to do…Peter stuff.

He was honestly really proud of himself for sticking it out, though. Much to his mother’s most pleasant surprise. Peter carried a perfect attendance streak through all his classes. A wildly stark contrast to his self proclaimed, unmatched ditch streak back in high school. In hindsight, that wasn’t something worth boasting about.

But all his hard work and bonafide effort proved supremely disappointing…when he flunked the final anyway.

Peter’s chest ached, as though someone tore his heart out, stomped on it, then double tapped for good measure. In a fit of unbridled frustration, Peter raced across the entire planet to burn out his rage. His blood boiled hot in his veins. After circling the globe about a gajillion times, he finally skidded to a stop. Somewhere in Indiana.

His clothes were all tattered and covered in holes. Burned from supersonic force. The soles of his favorite shoes turned to ash, crying smoke like a bonfire. Painful blisters littered his feet. But in his defeated haze, he couldn’t find the energy to care. Barefoot and blistered, Peter walked to the nearest payphone, his head tipped back in shame.

He could only imagine how devastated his mom would be.

It broke Peter’s heart, knowing he’d have to call her and ruin her day. After she promised to take him and his sisters out for a celebratory dinner. All you can eat Chinese! - she said. Being on the receiving end of bad news was one thing. But delivering said news to one’s mother - after an entire lifetime spent letting her down? That sucked unimaginably more.

At the payphone - after tossing his desecrated shoes in the trash - Peter hesitantly brought the handset to his ear. Deep breath in. Now, breathe out. He leaned against the glass of the phone booth. Over the line, his mother’s voice lost all liveliness. And a moment later, Wanda took over instead, sounding majorly peeved off. She threw all kinds of accusations at him - Did you even try, Piet? I thought you were taking this seriously! You said you studied! You totally dashed mom’s hopes!

Peter rolled his finger through one of the holes in his Queen shirt. Mannnn. Friggin sucks. He got that one from the totally sick Hot Space Tour. He even took Wanda with him, and they had the most righteous time. With her so disappointed on the phone like this, it hurt to recall any fond memories. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried cracking a half-assed joke to lighten the mood.

“Soooooo…no Chinese tonight then?”

Yeah, nah. Sis didn’t take to that one too well. Peter hated arguing with her, but the two spat back and forth for about five minutes. Peter bumped his head against the glass as his stress ran up to mach ten. Gathering whatever patience he had left - a microscopic amount, at this point - he apologized, told his sister he loved her, and hung up. Once he stepped outside of the phone booth, he heaved a long groan.

Peter’s fingers twitched at his sides. Taking a quick glance upward, he noticed a nearby video store. A Family Video, nestled in a strip mall next to an arcade. Narrowing his eyes, Peter chewed his lip in contemplation.

And he made a supremely stupid move.

A millenia passed since Peter gave into his klepto compulsions. Maybe old habits die hard, as they say.

At the Hawkins PD, the chief lingered nearby in a rickety, metal chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The night seemed to drag for eons, as Peter paced barefoot in restless circles…within the confines of a lonesome jail cell. Since Hawkins was such a small town, hardly any of the feds were familiar with the X-Men. Mutants were a rare commodity. They sooner thought Peter was a hobo the chief picked up off the street.

Come next morning, Peter got an earful from Chuck. Thankfully, the generous prof forgave Peter for his colossal fuck-ups. He even paid Peter’s bail. And while the speedster felt even more sick with guilt because of it; he was grateful he wouldn’t have to spend another second in nowhere town Indiana.

Tormentous boredom aside; for some reason, the place gave Peter the creeps.

Falling victim to his own compulsions proved a major setback on all fronts. After Chuck chewed Peter out over the phone, he broke even more bad news. Apparently, the Family Video manager made a major stink about Peter’s thievery. Even called in a complaint to Xavier’s school. The guy went so far as to blame mutants for their “dishonesty.” A completely baseless generalization. All because of some dumb knucklehead’s reckless behavior.

Chuck convinced the asshole to let Peter off the hook. Only if the speedster made up for it by working a summer’s job at Family Video. A short-term punishment. At least until Autumn, when Peter got another shot at his GED. The professor basically grounded Peter from X-Men stuff. Awesome. Heck, technically, he grounded him from the mansion altogether. Cool beans. Thumbs up. Hunky dory.

Hell no. Peter was an adult. Not a teenager who needed to be disciplined after disobeying papa’s orders. He didn’t even really have a papa. In fact, papa disappeared off the face of the planet just a few years back.

Peter digressed. Whatever, right? Grown men messed up all the time. So what if he made a few minor missteps on the road to personal development?

And he would’ve argued these points, had something in Chuck’s honest voice not guilted him into silence.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to wear a stupid vest or anything.

The sweltering hot month of June.

Quicksilver should be out kicking ass, causing trouble, stealing hearts (playing video games, tampering with tech, being a total nerd).

Instead, he found himself leaning on the counter of a Family Video register in Indiana.

Peter had never worked an everyman’s retail job in his life. And holy smokes, was it slow. The days ran slower than a sloth in cement shoes. At any given moment, Peter swore he was nanoseconds away from dying of boredom. Literally. Call him melodramatic, but the monotony of day-to-day living sucked the speedy soul out of him. Only a few weeks passed since he “joined the Family Video team.” But all he ever did was idle behind the counter like a chud, gorging on snacks and watching MTV.

Whenever the news reported another X-Men victory, achieved without the help of the team’s one and only speedster; Peter felt the urge to run around the globe again. All he wanted was to shake off his temperament until his legs gave out. But alas. His feet stayed planted on freshly mopped linoleum, in the confines of VHS rental hell.

On the flip side, at least his new shoes were still intact.

Peter spent his days doing mind-numbing activities like reorganizing shelves, sorting movies by genre, and mopping floors. Playing with the label maker was kinda fun. Totally not even a little boring. Nope. Peter never daydreamed some psycho might rob the place, just so he’d have an excuse to be Quicksilver again.

Why would he? When he could play with that sweet label maker.

Yawn.

Thankfully, he wasn’t completely alone. Not that he minded much either way. Solitude and Peter went together like Han Solo and Chewy. But another guy worked the same shift as Peter. Some dude named Steve, with great hair and a metric fuckton of pins all over his vest. He swore up and down, his friend Robin insisted he cover himself head to toe in them. Because something something “chicks totally dig a guy with accessories.”

Peter never met Robin, since her hours were all jacked up. But judging by the Rainbow Brite, Care Bear, and Garbage Pail Kids pins all over Steve’s vest; Peter knew she had to be pulling her pal’s leg.

Which…alright. Cool. He could respect that.

Steve was a decent enough guy and super chill to talk to. He got along great with the group of hellions who always came in, looking for nerdy flicks like Clash of the Titans. Peter once spent a whole afternoon debating Star Wars logistics with them; arguing whether or not Ewoks had any justifiable place in Return of the Jedi. But, come on, those fuzzballs were kinda cool.

And Peter refused to admit he had a few Ewok figures in his collection back in Westchester.

Neither Steve, nor his munchkins seemed to have any qualms about mutants. The only thing he ever bitched about was Peter’s effortless ability to stay in tip-top shape.

“It’s so bullshit, man.” He blatantly complained, “You can pig out on Twinkies all day and still look like that. What does your metabolism run on? Jet fuel?”

Peter’s beady eyes darted swiftly back and forth, across the pages of Lord of the Rings. One of Steve’s little minions gave the speedster a used copy. Worn at the edges. Barely held together by the spine. Peter hadn’t read a real book by choice since middle school. As he skimmed through it at a remarkable pace, he spoke through a creamy bite of Twinkie.

“Flux Capacitor.”

Shame. Sucks for Steve. The dude was obviously good looking. But he somehow fumbled his attempts at flirting with cute chicks. Not to mention, his opportunities came so few and far in between, with Peter there to steal the show. And while some small-town ladies had a tendency to scrunch their noses and sneer at the presence of a mutant - others recognized him as a hero. One of the X-Men. On the rare chance a cutie walked in with her besties following along; they sometimes whispered amongst each other.

"Isn’t he with the X-Men?” “Oh my god, he is!” “Which one is he?” “I think he’s the fast one.” “How fast is he though?” “Oh, he’s, like, so mega fast. Like a speeding bullet on legs.” “Whoa. He’s kinda cute.” “What do you think his calves look like?” “I like his hair.” “What’s he doing here in Hawkins?” “Do you think he’s undercover?” “He looks so ripped.”

Chewing his gum and secretly listening in, Peter cheesed a grin from ear to ear like a doofus. And he soon fell into a shameless habit, letting awestruck girls cop a feel of real, superhero muscles and speedster calves. Hard as vibranium, vascular like Commodore 64 wiring.

What?? Give him a break! Back in Westchester, girls never gave him a second glance.

The endless quiet and steady pace of everyday living drove Peter up a freaking wall after a while. A month in, he felt himself going stir crazy. Peter continuously thought about zipping out for a quick run. One whole second tops. Just to make a break for a slushie at the gas station down the street. Steve even swore he wouldn’t rat Peter out if he bailed and came back. Cuz, like, seriously…who would notice?

But in the back of his mind somewhere, Peter heard Chuck’s voice. A guilty reminder to slow his roll. Stop and smell the roses. The speedster had his impulses, sure. But he wasn’t so weak willed. Peter knew, deep in his heart, he could do better. Hell, he was better. A true master of self control. No problem-o.

Except…he totally wasn’t.

Hand to god, Peter was, and would always be a colossal jackass.

He affirmed this brutally honest fact with himself the first time he met you.

That night, the store seemed like a barren ghost town. Not a customer in sight. Most of the town’s locals were out having fun at a traveling carnival. Steve even took the day off to chaperone his hobbit posse. He stopped by just to give Peter his pin-covered vest, and left his esteemed colleague to stew in his own boredom. Wasting away behind the counter, restless as ever; Peter dreamed of carnival funnel cake.

And why not sneak away for a quick sec? Just to grab himself something sweet. He liked to think he earned it.

Peter zipped to the carnival, paid for some funnel cake, tied Steve’s shoelaces together, and returned to the store in a flash. Leaning comfortably back on a metal stool; he stuffed his gullet with fried delights. Sweet, doughy goodness. Powdered sugar coated his fingers and dusted the corners of his mouth. Peter kept his legs hiked up, dirty sneakers crossed on the countertop. Whatevs. He’d wipe ‘em down before he closed up shop in two hours.

His lidded eyes gaped lazily at one of theTVs hanging from the ceiling. Peter shamelessly watched a wildly inappropriate porno. A filthy flick he snatched from the restricted section and popped in. Partly out of boredom. Mostly out of morbid curiosity. Angels of Passion. Peter sat through an hour of hilariously raunchy scenes - all featuring steamy, angel hanky panky. Talk about divine intervention. He snickered to himself as heat pooled in his cheeks.

A blonde bombshell gyrated her hips in some dude’s lap, rolling her bush, bouncing to the beat of a catchy, unidentifiable song. Her explicit moans echoed lewdly over that earworm of a tune. Jesus, she was really going for it. Looked like she, uh…liked it, actually. Blood in Peter’s cheeks rushed south at warp speed. He felt a familiar tightening in his groin. With funnel cake crammed between his powdery lips, he adjusted himself in his jeans. Smearing powdered sugar carelessly over his crotch.

And he nearly choked to death when a voice he didn’t recognize called his name.

“Wow. Quicksilver? Is that you? Whatcha watchin?”

Oh. Oh, it wasn’t just his name name. But his hero name. Peter whipped his head around, his dark eyes widening as he met yours. Brows raised. Gazing humorously at him as though he were a bozo. Just his luck. A random customer - a very cute customer - picked the most optimal time to walk in. And there he was, the X-Men’s famous speedster; covered in powdered sugar, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk, Care Bear and Rainbow Brite pins all over his vest, a stiffy in his jeans, a nasty porno playing in the background.

What a huge lamebrain, you probably thought.

Peter blinked, and so did you. Time seemed to stretch in a long, awkward moment. Someone should honestly just shoot him and be done with it. From his perspective, an hour passed before he got his shit together. But from your perspective, he was there in a second. Leaning casually over the counter on his elbow, his other hand on his hip. The TV blared reruns of MTV music videos, with Madonna singin’ loud. The very same TV you caught him watching dirty movies on - just for the hell of it. Purely for entertainment’s sake, mind you.

And bizarrely enough, your expression held no judgment.

Furrowing his mercury brows, Peter wiped the last trace of powdered sugar from his lips. He cleared his throat and gave you a careless nod of his head. Stay cool. Stay collected. It wasn’t like his mom caught him with his pants down or something. He put on his best customer service smile. A grin so fake, his dimples vanished into hiding. Time to get the ball rolling before he lost whatever dignity he had left.

Peter hated Indiana. Like, really hated it.

He spoke fast, the words tumbling past his lips at the speed of light.

“That?Thatwasnothing.” Peter blurted out, his mouth running a hundred miles an hour. His fingers tapped anxiously on the countertop. Your curious gaze flicked down to them, before looking into his coke-brown eyes again. His face erupted in flames as he kept rambling, punctuating each sentence with an uneasy laugh, “I wasn’t watching anything. Just some lame religious documentary. Y’know. A real snore fest. I swear, I was this close to takin’ a nap.”

You laughed.

No lie, he wasn’t expecting you to laugh like that. The sound sliced through the tension in the air, catching him off guard. Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His forced smile curled up involuntarily, revealing his dimples for real this time.

“Yeah? Huh. For some lame documentary, you looked pretty into it. I’m surprised you heard me at all.”

“Eh, you’re not wrong. Puts a whole new meaning to goin’ heels to Jesus, doesn’t it?”

You let out another laugh, and your voice cracked. Blush creeped over your face from the neck up. A surge of shyness overtook Peter. Running a hand up through his hair, he searched for any words to say. And then he remembered he had a job to do.

“Anyway. Sorry. Can I help you with something?” Peter smoothed out his (Steve’s) vest, brushing powdered sugar from it like pesky snow.

“No biggie, dude. Just wondering where your horror section is.”

Peter arched his brow, “Horror, huh?”

With a cheeky smirk, he disappeared, leaving a swift gust of wind in his wake. You gasped a small peep. Pressing your hands to the counter, you leaned forward as though you were looking for him. He took the opportunity to admire your ass from where he stood between the aisles. Politely, of course.

“They’re over here.” The speedster called from his spot, keeping himself nonchalantly propped against a stand of horror mags. Your gaze flitted down to the Walkman hanging at his hip. His easy going stance made you laugh yet again - man, you made him feel like the king of comedy. You made your way to the horror section. Peter kept his eyes on you while you glanced over the tapes, “You lookin’ for anything in particular, orrrrr…”

“Nope, just looking.”

“Just looking. Got it.” Peter clicked his tongue, nodding, “Cool. Well, if you need any recs…I mean, I’m kind of a movie aficionado, so…”

“Oh, you are, are you?”

Aw, you actually humored him.

“Pfffbbt. Yeah. My twin sis is, like, super into sitcoms and stuff. But I’m the movie guy of the family.”

“And what kinda movies do you like?”

Peter didn’t miss a beat, “Star Wars, definitely. But I like Bladerunner too. ET. Robocop. Alien. Oh! Rocky’s awesome too. Scarface. I can do a crazy good Tony Montana impression. Clint Eastwood movies are cool. Conan the Barbarian. Can’t get enough of Arnold. And I’m not sayin’ Flash Gordon’s my favorite, but-”

You gaped at Peter like you saw him get hit by a car or something. He stopped himself short, pausing as he named off movies on his fingers.

“What? Not a fan?”

“Not a fan of wh-”

“Flash Gordon?”

“Is that what you said? I didn’t understand a single word of that, dude!”

Oh. Guess he got a little too amped up. The apples of Peter’s cheeks turned pink. Scratching the back of his neck, he sheepishly laughed.

“Sorry, uh…lemme start over…I like Star Wars.”

“So do I! I love Star Wa-”

Peter raised his head, fixing you with a squinty eyed, analytical look - mostly playful. He quickly cut you off again.

“What about Ewoks?”

“They’re like little teddy bears! What’s not to love?”

Points for you, cute, mystery babe.

“Oh, bitchin’. Yeah, uh-”

And like a huge doofus, Peter leaned a little too hard against the magazine stand. It tumbled to the floor as he knocked it over unintentionally. Catching himself, he flashed his teeth in a humiliated smile.

“Uh…I totally meant for that to happen.” He clarified.

Even though you laughed yet again - and sounded so, unfairly cute too - Peter vanished to the restroom to smack himself in the face a few times. Returning only to clean up the fallen magazines. Another microsecond later, he appeared behind the counter. At the register again. His summer hellscape. Purgatory.

And for now, after making such an ass of himself, he’d leave you be. Let you come to him.

You eventually did.

“Just these.” You muttered bashfully, sliding a few tapes across the counter.

Peter glanced up to look at you every few beats. Tapping away at the keypad, his agile fingers danced across the keys with finesse. And despite the speed at which he normally worked, there was an unmistakable lag in his movements. Almost deliberate. He took special care as he typed your information and logged your rentals. It was as if he prolonged the interaction on purpose, drawing out everything at a leisurely pace.

Very unlike Quicksilver.

You eyed the pins all over his (Steve's) vest.

"Nice pins." You said.

"Thanks. Care Bears are the shit."

You held back another giggle, covering your mouth to conceal it.

“Say, uhm…forgive me if I’m being too nosy. But what are you doing all the way out here in Indiana, Quicksil-” You paused, tilting your head innocently to the side. Your eyes squinted into thin slits as you read his nametag, “Peeeter? Peter, yeah.”

Peter flashed a lazy, cat-like grin, snapping his fingers and throwing a finger gun your way.

“Bingo, you got it. But, yeah, everyone else calls me Quicksilver. Except for the oldies who have no clue who I am. It’s insane being recognized sometimes. Cuz I’m just a glorified track-and-field star who ended up a wage monkey, I guess. The job sucks ass, honestly.” He chuckled, leaning against the counter, resting his weight on an elbow, “As for what I’m doin’ here? It’s top secret X-Men business.”

“Ooooh! What, like…some kinda covert op-”

“Covert operation? Yeeeeeaaaaaahhh…nah, I’m totally messin’. Let’s just say I got into some trouble and this is my punishment.” Peter chuckled softly, glancing at the films you picked out. His eyes widened as he scanned the titles, letting out a low whistle, “H’oooh. Some pretty gritty stuff here. These are brutal. Blood, guts, limbs flyin’ all over the place. You tryin’ to give yourself nightmares?”

“Eh, it’s all fake anyway. Just cheesy, dumb fun.” You giggled, taking the horror flicks from him. A jolt of electricity shot through him as your fingers brushed his own. The contact was brief, but it left a flutter in his stomach he couldn’t shake. Parting your pretty lips, you teased, “They’re way more interesting than any lame, religious documentaries.”

Peter raised a brow and gave you a bemused look, your playful comment catching him by surprise. He crossed his strong arms, restlessly tapping his finger against his bicep.

“Mhm. But that “documentary” had some pretty hot angels, not gonna lie.” He joked. Peter smirked, his eyes flickering up and down, giving you a quick once-over. He snapped his fingers again, keeping his tone casual, “Hey, speaking of, are you gonna be wingin’ it back to the pearly gates anytime soon? Or are you stickin’ around for a while?”

Aha! So, you weren’t immune to his natural charm. Your eyes shot open, your blush sending a righteous wave of satisfaction buzzing through him. Peter pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and wiggled his brows. His confidence soared beyond the stars. Shrugging off any remnants of awkwardness, he eased himself back into a state of carelessness. You broke into another cute giggle fit.

You scratched the back of your neck, looking bashfully down at your shoes.

“Nice save. I think that one actually made me blush.”

Peter blinked laxly, drawing out a satisfied hum. 

“Oh, yeah, it did for sure. Looks cute on you. What can I say? I aim to please.”

A warm smile graced his face as he slid you the last tape.

“Flash Gordon?” He asked.

If you blushed any more, you’d probably explode.

“I couldn’t keep up with the way you were talking…but you mentioned that one. You said it was one of your favorites, right?”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat.

The banter between the two of you seemed to flow so naturally. Time lost all meaning. And as the minutes passed and you said your goodbyes, moving towards the doors; Peter’s foot tapped at a frenzied pace. A powerful urge to chase after you swarmed him like a pack of angry bees. He knew he wouldn’t be staying in Indiana for much longer. Only a month more, at the most. But, man…there was something about you.

Ah, screw it. Act now, face the consequences later.

A fwip, and Peter materialized before you at the doors. You stumbled back and erupted in another surprised squeal. His hands instinctively reached out, grabbing your shoulders to steady you before you fell.

“Sorry! Sorry. Uh, any chance you’d wanna stick around for a while longer? It’s just so dead here tonight. We could kick it back, chill, and hang. And fingers crossed, I promise I won’t make you watch any weird, religious docs or nothin’.”

Miraculously, you agreed. Peter couldn’t believe his luck. And he spent the remaining few minutes of his shift, along with the rest of that night, hanging out with some cutie he met on a whim.

Maybe Robin was right. It was the vest, wasn't it? Chicks were totally into guys with accessories.

The impossibly hotter month of July.

Some might call Peter a little irresponsible. And true to form, he was. But you were legit the most fun thing to happen to him in months. Up there with the bitchin’ funnel cake he swiped from the carnival, the same night he met you. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. Both you, and the funnel cake.

Carpe diem or whatever.

In the cramped shadows of a video store supply closet, Peter pulled you oh-so-close against his body. Hot as hellfire. His heartbeat ran on bubbly fumes of anticipation. Peter’s chapped lips confidently claimed yours, a moment after you gave him a bashful peck and confessed the cutest thing ever-

“Pleaaaase don’t go back to Westchester!! I really really like you. I think you totally rock. I’m gonna miss you too much if you leave.”

D’awww. You were all soft on him. Your pouty lips and innocent eyes made his chest warm and tingly. Peter never imagined someone could win him over so easily. But after the front doors chimed, and you walked into the store wearing a Grace Under Pressure shirt - of which you told him you wore only because he got you into Rush; Peter thought he heard wedding bells. But, oh…wait. No. The doors chimed again.

Peter felt his resolve instantly weaken around you. Whatever aloof front of speedster confidence he held onto seemed to melt away. Mostly. Partially.

In the closet, he grinned into the kiss, tasting your giggles on his tongue as he coaxed you into something deeper. You were such an undeniable sweetheart. A ray of sunshine, casting light on the most boring summer of his life. Clinging bashfully to his intense kisses, you followed the motion of his tongue. Your own tongue raveled delicate threads with his. Overzealous, he tangled those threads in frantic knots. Peter breathed the softest groan, running strong hands down your back and just above-

Passionate rock songs rang out love ballad riffs in his head, and the music halted to a disappointing stop when - all at once, a veil of blinding light washed over you both. Moment ruined. What asshole would even dare? You pulled away from his kiss, but an eager Peter chased your lips. He only stopped himself once he noticed a figure looming in the closet doorway. Steve looked unamused, holding a broom and dustpan in hand.

“Can I help you?” Peter sarcastically quipped.

“Really, man? Really?” Steve scoffed, cheeks pinkening. Clearing his throat, his dark eyes shifted. Away from the couple getting a little too cozy. He stated in a matter-of-fact way, “FYI, you’re still on the clock, yanno? Jesus.”

“Jesus? I’m flattered, Harrington, but you can just call me Peter.”

A soft snicker erupted from your swollen lips. Your small hands curled shamefully into Peter’s work vest, narrowly avoiding the band pins stuck in the fabric. Ultimately, you failed to keep your giggles at bay. Peter always had a way of making you laugh til you cried. His own hands rested just above your booty, a centimeter away from some spicy grab action. Damn you, Steve. Damn you. Teasing an indignant sigh, Peter reached out to lazily snag the door handle.

“Ever heard of knocking?” He joked before easing the door closed, sealing your cute chuckles inside.

The icy cold, freeze-your-balls-off month of January. Post New Years.

Bundled up in a warm, turtleneck sweater and matching, black jeans; Peter cozied up next to you on the sofa. At his mom’s place, Wanda was perched comfortably on the floor. She kept her back against the foot of the couch close to Peter. In one of the loveseats, Lorna sat with her legs tucked under her. A blanket draped over her small frame. The faint hum of infomercials in the background went ignored, as Peter fell into a long winded info dump about the Lord of the Rings.

Peter’s mother padded into the room from the kitchen. A hand-made shawl covered her shoulders, knitted by Wanda and given to Magda as a gift. Carrying several glass bottle sodas, she passed one out to each of her kids before delivering the last one to you. Magda breathed a chuckle. She noticed the way you narrowed your eyes, as you struggled to follow Peter’s speedy rambling. His family seemed to have no problem keeping up. They understood every word, without asking him to stop and reiterate.

Lorna rolled her eyes affectionately. Wanda gazed up at her brother like he held all the secrets of the universe - and she wanted the details on every single one.

When Peter’s rambling eventually ceased, his mother asked him if he had any plans for the future. He poked inside his empty box of chow mein with a pair of chopsticks. A bit embarrassed, Peter grinned. Now that he finally scored his GED - he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He just hadn’t told anyone aside from Wanda yet. She patted Peter on the knee. A gesture of encouragement, pushing him to open up. With a timid sigh, he confessed - he wanted to teach at Xavier’s.

He got a big ol’ hug from mom for that one.

When she left for work, Peter snuggled up on the couch with you and his sisters. You were all crammed in like warm penguins on a chilly night. Until Peter randomly pushed himself out of the pile. He stumbled forward, checking his watch. Waving his soda in your face, he winked.

“Babe, hold this for me? I almost forgot I wanted to do something.”

Before you could ask, he zipped away and returned in a nanosecond. Peter threw himself into the cuddle puddle.

“Where’d you even go?” You asked, scooting aside to give him more room.

Peter snatched his soda and shrugged, lazily smirking.

“Dropped by Family Video. Tied Steve’s shoelaces together.”

[apollo1three]

Hello! can I plz request the obey me bros with their children, you can choose if u want them to be their daughter, son or multiple. i just really wanna see them as like dads, like a scenario maybe when they learn to walk or say their first word you dnt have to if you don't want to! and if it's too much can i have just Beel Mammon or Lucifer :3

AHH MY FIRST REQUEST!!! I’m sorry for taking so long! I haven’t checked my dusty musty crusty a$$ inbox in a while ;-; also nonnie u don’t understand how much I love domestic, sappy, fluffy af stuff like this <3<3

Ofc I’ll do all of em, but I’ll do them in parts so you don’t have to wait for me to finish all seven ^^

------

An unimaginable type of love (Lucifer x f!reader)

The demon brothers with their babies (1/7)

Demons are not born, he once told you; they manifest – either as a product of great sin or demonic energy. Demons do not feel the need to procreate, they cannot- they do not get pregnant, and they certainly do not give birth.  

So how is it that the Morningstar finds himself staring down into sparkling crimson eyes, reminiscent of the deep shade of his, with a softness akin to yours? How is it that he cradles a squirming bundle made from the love between him and his human wife?

With a life only ever dedicated to servitude, Lucifer would’ve never dreamt of creating a family of his own. Never in his time in the celestial realm would he have imagined small, fragile little arms, reaching out for him to hold them in his. Never could he have imagined the possibility of a being regarding him in the sentiment with which he had once regarded Him.

He eyes your sleeping form, snuggled into the comfort of the large bed, and he’s overcome with a fondness that words could not explain the level of. To be loved unconditionally by you, and to be given the most precious gift of all. What had he done to deserve such a thing? - something that was once an unfathomable idea - did he deserve it?

He cradles his daughter in his arms, stroking her little face, and the giggle she lets out is so precious, so much like you, and has him nuzzling his nose into her puffed up little cheeks. You had once light-heartedly complained to him about carrying her in your stomach for nine months, only to have her come out identical to him. Though he'd never admit it, your husband was proud of the notion (at the time, you swore you could see puffed up feathers behind his form), but it was irrefutable how the child carried herself with a poise that was undeniably like yours: a mischievous, yet endearing glint in her eyes that surely meant trouble in the foreseeable future. Lucifer didn’t mind, though.

He mutters, “my darling, what are you doing up so late at night?”, to which his only response is a squeal and few kicks of tiny feet. He tuts back, playfully. “So noisy, my love. Won’t you let your mother sleep?”

There’s a slight breeze from the open balcony, and he gets up from his side of the bed with your daughter rocking gently in his grasp. “Let’s go outside for a bit, come now.”

The way he carries her is careful, protective, and much more assured than the way he had first carried her after her birth. He wasn’t used to dealing with humans, let alone any living thing, in their infancy. Angels and demons did not have an infantile period, and it shook him inwardly the first time he held her, so small and breakable. You, a fully grown human woman, were fragile enough as is – but a human infant? It took some stern reassurance that the child he considered so small and breakable was his just as much as she was yours for his paranoia to waver.

‘She’s ours, Lu.’

(Fatherhood. Such a human experience, and he had only you to thank for it.)

Ushering to the Devildom fireflies, she blows raspberries that makes him want to litter his daughter in even more kisses. So he does, far more unreserved than if it were in front of you (while he loved you and trusted you with his heart and soul, showcasing such unabashed doting was still awkward for new to him). So disgustingly affectionate; the past him would’ve laughed at the notion of such outwards display of emotion directed towards anyone or anything – a hit to his pride, to the very thing he embodied. But to the him right now, such a thought never even crossed his mind.

“Do you see that, my love? Aren’t they pretty?”, he smiles softly, tenderly, eyes creasing at the corners. He pokes at her mouth, now endlessly razzing. “Alright, who taught you to do that? Was it Uncle Mammon? Belphie?"

To the him right now, his pride was in the form of his beautiful wife, and his darling little girl.

“Daddy will always protect you two, I swear on it.”

Absentmindedly stroking her head, a thousand thoughts run through his head. He contemplates heading back inside as the wind picks up, worried you might be getting cold. You’ve been all over the baby since she arrived (and even before then, too), insisting that her crib be placed in the both of your bedroom (much to Asmodeus’s chagrin, adamant that your old room would make the most beautiful human-realm-esque nursery) – while your motherliness was extremely attractive (or rather, all of you), and despite your daughter being an unusually well-behaved little thing, you deserved some quality rest.

He heads back, moving to lower her into her pink-embellished, Avatar of Lust™, crib, but freezes.

“Da..da!”

His movements are miniscule, microscopic, as he looks down at the cooing and giggling tot.

“Say- say that again, darling.”

“Dada!”

Time seems to slow, and he’s overcome with so much fondness, so much love.

“Haha! That’s right, here’s Dada..!” He practically throws her up into the air, accompanied by more squeaky giggles, and if anyone asks: no- his eyes don’t water (it’s merely the brightness of the Devildom moon).

Amidst childish laughter, she says it once more.

He lets out a shaky laugh of disbelief. His eyebrows are furrowed, and there's an uncharacteristically toothy grin on his face. Slowly, trembling hands (a fault of the temperature, obviously, despite him once mentioning the immunity of demons to things as 'trivial' as the weather) press his daughter's small body to his chest.

His daughter. His. His daughter. His wife. His brothers. His family.

It was then that he realised, although perhaps he had always known, that the love he felt for you and the life the two of you had created was different from His love. It was unconditional. The sort of love that allowed him to understand Lilith, the sort of love that he would gladly die for, kill for, be destroyed for. The sort of love that was once unattainable, unimaginable, was now closer than ever.

Lucifer wanted to share this moment with you.

“M-MC!”

[writesick-lover]

Just One Date

Finnick x reader!

A/N: I honestly REALLY like this prompt and felt like it could work for Finnick! It's a bit too sudden, but I think that's kind of the charm of this whole idea, sudden, unexcpected but exciting ;) I might make a part two cause I think I built too good of a background for reader (at least in my mind) so please let me know how you like it!

Warning: a bit of swearing and mention of killing if you squint

Prompt: “I need just one date.”

“You think you can woo me with just one date?”

“Absolutely.”

➷ ➷ ➷ ➷

It has been years since the perfectly arranged hell for Finnick Odair had started. But who would have thought about it? That the Capitol's sweetheart, the youngest victor who stole thousands of hearts across the whole country, now suffered in the wealthiest part of Panem?  Unimaginable. To be drowned in gold and washed in blessings, to wake up every day and have his plate filled with food and enough water to drink and bathe in, even for the whole day if he wanted but hate every single minute of it.

And though it was hard to grasp, that was Finnick Odair's case. Because Finnick dreaded every upcoming moment of his life since he was brought from his games as the victor, the survivor. The bloodthirsty drive to live, once warming his heart that followed him through each step in the arena, has now subsided, trapped by an iron fist of fear and desperation.

He could vaguely remember the first time those feelings had settled in, spreading through his veins like poison as he left his firts customer's bedroom, making him loathe every breath taken in and out by his body ever since. That's when he knew he would have thrown everything beautiful about his victorious survival just so he could live again. But that just wasn't the case for Finnick Odair, it simply wasn't his fate. And while his life was partially in his hands, he mostly felt like the blood of whatever part of himself he had killed was preventing him from moving on, from fighting. Maybe he grew tired of it. Maybe he thought he had enough of fighting for his whole lifetime.

He watched from afar, how fond the Capitol had become of District 12's star-crossed lovers, Katniss and Peeta. And for the first time ever since he was 16, something had awakened in him, a hope, that maybe this could be the end of his show. That maybe the citizens of Capitol had found someone else to watch and obsess about and he could finally be free. But that thing, that hope, was killed before it could even be aflame.

As he turned around from the glamorous couple, his eyes fell on the darkened blue ones, hidden like snakes in the snow made of white hair. The disgust, the abomination, the darkness screaming nothing but death brought Finnick to the harsh reality, once his gaze was met with Snow's. He was never getting out of this train. Not alive.

Until the spark inside him ignited again.

It was the meeting of the previous victors, one to which the new love-struck victors were not invited, yet they still happened to be the centre of its talks. Thankfully, the space was filled with only the comfort of people Finnick had known for a while and who had known him. There was a certain silent alliance the victors had built over the years. As he passed the familiar faces, sending polite smiles here and there, he caught a face that was very unfamiliar to him. You were new there, you have won only two years prior to Katniss and Peeta, the 72nd hunger games, which happened to be the opposite of the 74th year's sensation.

Finnick could remember meeting you in the Capitol, you're terrified tearfilled eyes meeting his, billions of questions behind them making his stomach turn there and then. But now you seemed just stiff, your guard high up. He would even go to the lenghts of saying you had an intimidating aura around you.

You could feel his stare burning your skin, so you turned around to face him, your mouth shaping into a genuine smile as soon as you saw him, your eyes sparkling in recognition. That's what he was talking about. All that pressuring shell fell right apart when you smiled or opened your mouth, earning you tons of sponsors back in your games. When you sent him your smile through your tears back then, Finnick could feel the butterflies rummaging through his guts. "Who are you staring at, Finnick Odair," Johanna's low voice beisde his ear made Finnick jump. "Johanna," he groaned, rolling his eyes as his right hand fell on his heart.

"The deceitful seemed to have caught you're eye, hm?" That was your nickname. The deceitful victor. Finnick remembered the talks once your games were over. You were called two-faced, a liar, and while some of the Capitol's people found this feature of yours absolutely unacceptable, others found it intruiging. After all it was thanks to your deceit, that you had won.

"They just seem rather... lost," he hummed, shrugging it off and turning to face Johanna fully. "Didn't expect you to come here,"

"Neither did I myself," she snapped back, looking behind her. "Blight dragged me here," Her piercing eyes slowly turned back, burning a hole in Finnick's face, the sole proof of the little affection the woman had towards him. "Charming. Make sure to say hi from me," Finnick grinned as Johanna scoffed, placing her hand on her hip and rolling her eyes dramatically. He could only nod, leaving the victor from the 7th District be as he made his way through the party again.

"They just did it right," one of the men in the group behind Finnick stated loudly, alcohol audible on his tongue by the volume of his voice. "Getting Capitol into their story, creating a perfect ballad except both of them survived to live the happily ever after," Finnick stopped in his tracks, the glass full of liquid spilling a bit on the grass under him, as he halted too quickly, not entirely sober either. He groaned as some of the drink got on his shoes but it didn't stop him from listening closely. "Do you get it? They are not harrassed by Snow or anyone, except the Capitol's undying obssession. They just continued to live in District 12, leaving as if nothing happened, as if they haven't just dismissed the whole history of the hunger games," a woman shrieked. Finnick smirked. Imagine leaving like nothing happened. That would be nice.

"That would be nice," another boy voiced the same thought. "To leave and spend your life with someone like that. They survive the games with you so you have someone to lean on, support, love, Capitol doesn't bother you that much, just to see what you already do naturally, it's-"

Freedom, was the word on Finnick's tongue. He didn't hear the rest of the sentence as it was drowned out by the sound of Finnick's blood flowing, his heart beating out of his chest as his eyes widened. Freedom, support, protection- no more abuse, no more hell, just peace. Finally, a bit of peace for Finnick Odair. His head spinned, his stomach turning from the sudden imagination, a certain heat spreading through his body, coming from his chest. The flame burned, burned in his eyes as he looked around, his eyes falling on you.

You were perfect. Capitol didn't have an exact opinion on you which was hurting your reputation as one of the victors. You could use some of those blessings Finnick was showered with daily. And he could use you. As his freedom.

His fast loud steps made you turn just before he stopped inches away from you, his feet rocking him back and forth for a while until he stabilised himself. You smirked as you thought about whether he was drunk, wanting to talk with you, but you were sure he had to be when his words hit your ears.

"Come on a date with me,"

You couldn't help but let out a loud snort, immediately clasping your hand over your mouth, the noise still audible. "What the fuck," your eyes landed back on his, the dark browns burning like two coals. "You're serious?" you stopped laughing, your eyes widening at him. "Yes," he nodded, falling silent again, waiting for your answer. "Why?" was another question that slipped out of your mind. You seemed to have caught him off guard, his right leg now tapping nervously. It was a good question. He didn't know himself, why, he just knew he was drunk enough to come up with such idea and sober enough to make it work. But he didn't think of you're answer taking so long. And you partially enjoyed it, finally seeing that confident Finnick Odair uneasy, his state suddenly depending on your answer. It made you wonder what was in it for him.

"Why not?" he finally spoke, voice raspy.

"Why yes?" you retorted back, making him roll his eyes. "We barely know each other, and correct me if I'm wrong, but this is actually about fifth time in our lives we even acknowledged each other,"

"So? Please, Y/n. I need just one date," he groaned, taking a step closer, you refusing to back away. It was always games, everywhere you went, the play never stopped.

"You think you can woo me with just one date?" you lifted your eyebrow in disbelief.

"Absolutely."

➷ ➷ ➷

>>part 2

⤞ My masterlist ⤝

[anonymousewrites]

Pearl of the Sea Chapter Twenty-Three

Found Family! PoTC Cast x Teen! Reader

Platonic! Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow, Tia Dalma x Reader

Chapter Twenty-Three: Calling the Brethren Court

Summary: (Y/N), Jack, Barbossa, and the pirates arrive for the Brethren Court. Meanwhile, multiple enemies begin to circle.

            (Y/N) watched the vibrant coast of Shipwreck Island grow closer as they sailed towards it. The green trees of the island hung over the cliffs, and the blue waters felt alive.

            “Look alive and keep a weather eye,” said Gibbs. “Not for naught it’s called Shipwreck Island. Where lies Shipwreck Cove and the town of Shipwreck.”

            “Not very creative people, the founders of the town,” observed (Y/N).

            Jack grinned. “You heard them, step lively.” He watched the crew prepare for heading towards the cove itself. “For all that pirates are clever clogs, we are unimaginative when it comes to naming things,” said Jack to (Y/N), completely agreeing with them.

            “Aye,” said (Y/N).

            “I once sailed with a geezer who lost both his arms and part of his eye,” said Jack.

            “What’d you call him?” asked (Y/N).

            “Larry,” said Jack.

            “He went through all that and didn’t even get a fun nickname, what a disappointment,” said (Y/N), turning to watch the crew prepare to make port. They frowned when they saw Barbossa call Pintel and Ragetti to his side.

            “Take this fishwife to the brig,” said Barbossa, looking at Tia Dalma.

            (Y/N) moved towards her as she was guided towards the stairs. “What are you doing? She’s our friend.”

            “She is a witch who wants her own goals to be met,” said Barbossa.

            “I am so much more,” said Tia Dalma, narrowing her eyes. (Y/N) felt the sea pull around them, and their skin itched. She looked at (Y/N). “But I am your friend. Remember that, dear child of the sea.” She disappeared belowdecks.

            Barbossa didn’t like that. Tia Dalma was dangerous enough trapped in this form. Once she was released…her fury would be unleashed on them. And yet she seemed fond of (Y/N). So what was her plan with them?

l

            “I believe you are familiar with a person called Calypso,” said Beckett, pouring another glass of tea for himself and Will while Jones stiffened.

            “Not a person,” said Jones, fearful for the first time in his existence. “A heathen god. Who delights in cursing men with their wildest dreams and then revealing them to be hollow and naught by ash. The world is well ride of her.”

            “Not quite so well, actually,” said Will. He had heard from Jack all he needed to. “The Brethren Court intends to release her.”

            “No! They cannot!” said Jones. “The First Court promised to imprison her forever! That was our agreement.”

            “Your agreement?” remarked Beckett.

            Jones was caught and had to answer. “I…showed them how to bind her. She could not be trusted. I-She gave me no choice. We must act before they release her.”

            “You loved her.” Will saw the truth plainly. “She’s the one. And then you betrayed her.”

            “She pretended to love me,” seethed Jones. “She betrayed me.”

            Will rose and faced Jones. “And after which betrayal did you cut out your heart, I wonder.”

            Jones shoved the teacup out of Will’s hand, and it smashed on the ground. “Do not test me,” he said slowly.

            “I hadn’t finished that,” said Will. “You will free my father.” He faced Beckett. “And you will guarantee Elizabeth and (Y/N)’s safety. Along with my own.”

            “Your terms are steep, Mr. Turner. The nereid…I had my own plans for them,” said Beckett. However, if he wanted Will to give him the information he desired, then he’d…pretend to go along with his terms. It wasn’t as if he needed to go along with a bargain with a pirate in the end, anyways. “We will expect fair value in return.”

            “There is only one price I will expect: Calypso murdered,” said Jones.

            “Calypso’s aboard the Black Pearl,” said Will. “Jack has sailed the Black Pearl to Shipwreck Cove.”

            “And with you no longer aboard her, how do you propose to lead us there?” said Beckett.

            Will held up the compass he’d gotten from the Pearl. “What is it you want most?”

l

            Tia Dalma sat in her cell and listened to the waves around her. She could hear the vibrations of the pirates of Shipwreck town cheering running through her, and she knew the Court would begin any moment now. Her freedom as Calypso would be on the line. But until then, she would sit with the waves and her candles and pray to the pantheon gods she was once a part of.

            A soft music box chimed, and the sound echoed through the brig. Tia Dalma’s eyes opened, and she stood. From the shadows, Davy Jones approached. He held his music box locket and gazed into her eyes.

            “My sweet,” said Tia Dalma. “You come for me.”

            “You were expecting me,” said Jones.

            “It has been torture,” said Tia Dalma. “Trapped in this single form. Cut off from the sea. From all that I love. From the sirens, the mermaids, the nereids, my dear family. From you.”

            “Ten years I devoted to the duty you charged to me,” said Jones. “Ten years I looked after those who died at sea. And, finally, when we could be together again, you weren’t there.” He snapped the locket closed, and the music cut out. “Why weren’t you there?”

            Tia Dalma smiled sadly. “It’s my nature. Would you love me if I was anything but what I am?”

            Jones turned away as if struck. “I do not love you.”

            “Many things you were, Davy Jones,” said Tia Dalma. “But never cruel. You have corrupted your purpose and so yourself. And you did hide away what should always have been mine.” She reached through the bars and touched his chest, right above the empty space where his heart should have been.

            Jones gasped. Upon her touch, all his monstrous, cephalopod-like characteristics faded to reveal a simple, human man. Tia Dalma smiled and reached up to touch his face. Jones reached through the bars and touched her face gently as if afraid she’d disappeared upon his touch.

            “Calypso,” he breathed reverently, lovingly.

            “I will be free,” said Tia Dalma softly. “And when I am, I would give you my heart. And we would be together always.” She drew her hand back. “If only you had a heart to give.” Without her touch, Jones’s monstrous features returned.

            He reached through the bars with a claw-like hand and grabbed her neck.

            “Why did you come?” said Tia Dalma, refusing to cower.

            Jones stared at his claw and withdrew it. He melted through the bars of the cell and advanced on Tia Dalma. She took several steps back.

            “And what fate have you planned for your captors?” Jones didn’t answer her question and gave her one of his own.

            “The Brethren Court?” said Tia Dalma savagely. “All of them, the last thing they will learn in this life is how cruel I can be.” She paused. “And I will release the nereid. They are trapped by magic meant to have them assimilate with humans. I will give their sea spirit the freedom it deserves.”

            “Beckett will kill them,” said Jones.

            “You mean he will order you to kill them,” said Tia Dalma. She sneered. “Because they will not be tamed.” She stared at Jones. “Know one thing—they are blessed by the sea. They are born from it just as I am.” She raised her chin. “Just as I deserve my power returned, they will have all of theirs.”

l

            (Y/N) was amazed by the countless amounts of pirates gathered at Shipwreck Cove, a group that hadn’t gathered for years, but they were not amazed or surprised at the chaos of it all. The town towered above them with rickety buildings built haphazardly on top of one another. Still, (Y/N) could feel the waters thrumming with energy and the freedom in the air.

            “There has not been a gathering like this in our lifetime,” said Barbossa, looking at the town as they approached.

            “And I owe them all money,” said Jack, wincing.

            Oh boy.

            Barbossa groaned and ignored Jack for the rest of the trip to the “courtroom.” At it, as many pirates as possible had crowded into the small room while the nine pirate lords took their places around the table. Sao Feng was still missing, but Barbossa didn’t have a care for it and banged a makeshift gavel made of a cannonball. The murmurs of the crowd died down, and everyone faced him.

            “As he who issued summons, I convene this, the Fourth Brethren Court,” said Barbossa. Everyone sat in their places. “To confirm your lordship and right to be heard, present now your pieces of eight, my fellow cap’ns.”

            Ragetti walked around with a bowl and collected the “pieces of eight.” In reality, they were just small trinkets, almost junk—a pipe, a playing card, a broken bottle top, tongs, spectacles, and a cup made up seven of the pieces.

            “Those are the pieces of eight?” said (Y/N), not judging but curious.

            “Aye,” said Gibbs. “The original plan was to use nine pieces of eight to bind Calypso. But when the First Court met, they were to a one skint broke.”

            “Calypso is the goddess of the sea, right?” said (Y/N)

            Gibbs nodded. “Aye. And she was bound to a human form so that the seas could be tamed and sailed.”

            (Y/N) frowned. They believed the ocean should be free, so even if it was a dangerous goddess they were discussing, they weren’t sure about keeping her trapped. It felt wrong to deny a force of nature freedom.

            “Master Ragetti, if you will,” said Barbossa once Ragetti got to him.

            “I kept it safe, just like you said when you gave it to me,” said Ragetti.

            “Aye, you have. But now I need it back,” said Barbossa. He knocked Ragetti on the back of the head and caught his wooden eye as it popped out. He put it in the bowl, another piece of eight.

            “Sparrow,” called one of the lords.

            Jack touched a bead and coin tied into his hair before walking forward. “Might I point out that we are still short one pirate lord, and I’m content as a cucumber to wait until Sao Feng joins us.”

            Why does he want to wait? Don’t be playing any more tricks, Jack, thought (Y/N). They never ended well for anyone.

            “Sao Feng’s dead.”

            All heads turned to a pirate walking into the room. Elizabeth, dressed in Singaporean clothes and a pirate’s hat, stood before a group of pirates that seemed to be following her lead.

            “He fell to the Flying Dutchman,” said Elizabeth.

            “Lizzie!” said (Y/N) in relief. Despite how angry they’d been at Elizabeth, they were relieved she was alive. Now, how to tell her Will was stuck in the brig of the Pearl and they hadn’t visited him at all was another matter…Not for now, though.

            “The plagued ship!” said a pirate lord, the woman from China. Murmurs went up in fear of the Dutchman.

            Elizabeth stabbed her sword into the globe to mark herself as present. She sent a quick smile to (Y/N) to assure them that, despite her acting serious to get the pirates to listen her, she was glad to see them.

            “He made you captain?” exclaimed Jack. “They’re giving the bloody title away now.”

            “Que lo manden al diablo!” cursed a pirate lord.

            “Listen. Listen to me,” said Elizabeth. “Our location has been betrayed.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes went to Jack, and he avoided their gaze. He had sworn not to lie to them, and he hadn’t, and he fully intended betray Beckett and protect them and piracy, but things, as in the past, had gone a bit pear-shaped so far.

            Plus, it had really been Will to betray everyone. Hopefully he hadn’t signed away (Y/N)’s fate in any bargain he made (not that Jack even considered the possibility. If one pirate present was safe, it was (Y/N). They had too many powerful people trying to help them. Jack had a soft spot for them, Elizabeth was now a lord and was their family, Will had helped raise them, Barbossa even seemed amused by the teenager and was fond of them, and even Tia Dalma liked them).

            “Jones is under the command of Lord Beckett. They’re on their way here,” said Elizabeth.

            “Who is this betrayer?!” said the African pirate lord.

            “Not likely anyone among us,” said Barbossa, keeping everyone from turning their weapons on one another.

            “Where’s Will?” asked Elizabeth.

            “Not among us,” said Jack. “And he does know how to escape cells.”

            (Y/N) groaned. Will and Jack were terrible at making deals and double-crossing people since it always backfired. If they survived Beckett, (Y/N) was kicking both their asses and going to be a way better negotiator at sea.

            “It matters now how they found us,” said Barbossa. “The question now is, what will they do now that they have?”

            “We fight,” said Elizabeth.

            (Y/N) nodded in fervent agreement. They weren’t going to cower. If they were going down, it would be showing Beckett that the seas weren’t to be controlled.

            The other pirates scoffed and laughed at her suggestion. (Y/N)’s skin itched at their derision, and they took a deep breath as they felt a pull from the water outside. They were, apparently, full of magic, and they would prefer to not accidentally flood the town.

            “Shipwreck Cove is a fortress,” said the Chinese representative. “A well-supplied fortress. There is no need to fight if they cannot get to us.”

            “There be a third course,” said Barbossa. All heads turned to him. “In another age, at this very spot, the First Brethren Court captured the sea goddess and bound her in her bones.” The pirates nodded. “That was a mistake. Oh, we tamed the seas for ourselves, aye. But opened the door to Beckett and his ilk.” (Y/N) nodded approvingly. “Better were the days when mastery of the seas came not from bargains struck with eldritch creatures but from the sweat of a person’s brow and the strength of their back alone. You all know this to be true.” A murmur of assent rippled through the lords. “Gentlemen. Ladies. Honored guests. We must free Calypso.”

            Shock silenced the entire court. Then, chaos broke out. People were shouting in English, Mandarin, Spanish, various African dialects, and every other present nationality’s language. All were outraged, shocked, and fearful of the suggestion to free Calypso.

            So we have Calypso with us? Who— (Y/N) paused. Ah. Tia Dalma.

            It made sense. She told (Y/N) she was a part of the sea in a similar way to them. She was the goddess of the sea, like they were a spirit of it. (Y/N) suddenly felt very nervous at how candid they always were around Tia Dalma—should they call her Calypso while in human form or not?—despite her truly a goddess. Hopefully, (Y/N) hadn’t made a fool of themself and gotten on a goddess’s bad side.

            “Shoot him!” said the Spanish lord.

            “Cut out his tongue!” demanded the African lord.

            “Shoot him, cut out his tongue, then shoot his tongue. And trim that beard,” said Jack.

            “Sao Feng would have agreed with Barbossa!” said one of the Singaporean pirates.

            “Calypso was our enemy then, she will be our enemy now!” said the African lord.

            “It’s unlikely her mood’s improved,” said the French lord.

            “I would still agree with Sao Feng. We release Calypso.” The Spanish lord pulled out his pistol as he spoke.

            “You threaten me?” said the French lord, walking towards the Spanish lord.

            “I silence you,” spat the Spanish lord.

            He raised his pistol, and the French lord punched him in the face. The pistol went off into the air as he fell back. Everyone shouted, and the fight began properly. The French and Spanish launched at each other, and it wasn’t long before everyone else joined in the fray.

            (Y/N) crossed their arms and tapped their foot. They knew they shouldn’t join the fight, and it was only because they were so annoyed they hadn’t yet. They wanted everyone to settle down and handle the issue instead of squabbling. As much as (Y/N) itched to let out their energy, they wanted to use it against Beckett.

            “This is madness,” said Elizabeth.

            “This is politics,” said Jack, shrugging.

            “Meanwhile, our enemies are bearing down upon us,” said Elizabeth.

            “If they not be here already,” said Barbossa grimly.

            (Y/N) sighed. “We need to focus.”

            “How do you get this lot to focus?” grumbled Elizabeth.

            (Y/N) grabbed their pistol and stepped onto the table.

            “Uh, laddie?” said Jack.

            Bang!

Taglist:

@slytherinroyalty16

@aew-kun-age-regression

@grippleback-galaxy

@andsoigotabutterfly

@insomniacneedssleep

@painstakingly-juno

@kitkatlover015

@chronicallybubbly

@froggyisfriend

@elliottheidiot2007

@paastaboi

@urlocalsabito

@speckle-meow-meow

@dmitrytherat

@vanessa-boo

@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

@snowy-violet

@ceridwyn3

@heil-nah

@idonthaveanameforthisacc

@roo024

[fictoculus]

౨ৎ sew me a sweater, dear...

send a request!┊masterlist┊taglist applications

FEAT... your favs ♡

A/N... this is a repost from my very temporary old blog (sorryyy)... i decided to 'rebrand' this blog (once i finally figured out the login details), so we've gone from typing-ptera to fictoculus! i'm working on getting all my posts cleaned up too, but my masterlist broke so please bear with me ♡ thank you and enjoy!

soft and gentle; delicate touches lingering on your warm skin as his fingertips kiss you all over. your limbs tangled with his like the wires left unorganised in your shared home. you were knotted together tightly; so tightly that it would take an unimaginable amount of time and force to rip the two of you apart.

the love you shared was messy and untamed. threads of adoration, devotion, and intimacy twisting together as one, a string with which you sew together the pieces of the lives you live together - the lives you share.

soon, with those threads, will come a new life. one so delicate and innocent that he's afraid to touch it. he's afraid that he'll chip away at it as if it were porcelain, each touch from his calloused hands cracking it's fragile skin. he's afraid everything he lives for will shatter in his arms, a thousand fragments of fond memories scattered around him with their corners curved, as the love was too forgiving and kind to ever hurt him.

but even if the stitches come undone, you'll still love him.

you'll still love his cold demeanour, and the way he shuts himself out when he's struggling, but always leaves a gap in the door for you. you'll still love his trusting and loyal nature, despite being betrayed too many times for hands to count. you'll still love him, regardless of his fears, his anxieties, his habits. you'll still love him when he's unsure, you'll still love him when he's wrong.

which is why you stood by him when he feared that fatherhood wouldn't purify him the way he thought it would. it's why you stood by him until he reached the very end of his string; until you could follow him no longer.

now, the two of you lie side by side, still and quiet, a darkness weighing you down, leaving your hearts heavy with desire.

a man clad in black stands before you, and from his lips fall a poem embroidered on silk, laid gently upon your casket as earth envelops you in her soiled embrace:

"soft and gentle, messy and untamed, delicate and innocent, forgiving and kind, trusting and loyal, still and quiet: threads of our love which knows no bounds sew me a sweater, dear, for a sweater will keep me warm when your heart is no longer near"

thanks for reading ♡ want to read more? my requests are OPEN, so please feel free to let me know what you'd like me to write next!

© FICTOCULUS 2024; please do not steal, translate, or repost any of my works as your own

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

#𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒.

anon asked ↺ Chong yue: 🥵 Me: PLEASE FUCK ME PLEASE FUCK ME PLEASE FUCK ME PLEASE F-

cw. sub!reader, soft dom!chong yue, cumming inside (use condoms irl!!), size difference, double dragon dicks, overstimulation, big cocks, messy sex, riding, dp 1 hole, slight cumflation & tummy bulge. MINORS DNI!!

lati. i tried to write some feral chong yue smut but i ended up with some soft boy moments so that's what you're getting instead. also yes, i wrote him with two dragon dicks, enjoy the meal lol,,

art credit.

"Fill me up tonight, please?" It's a simple request, really, but the implications behind it render Chong Yue momentarily speechless. He regains his composure, coughing into his fist with a faint red on his cheeks. But who is he to deny you, to not fill you up so sweetly until you're clinging onto him in sensual drunkenness? You don't have to even ask him anymore, since he was just as willing to fill you with him to his heart's content.

It should be impossible for anyone to be this big, to be able to fill you up in ways otherwise thought unimaginable, but Chong Yue does. Somehow, in some strange way, he manages to slide in his impossibly fat cocks into your tiny hole with minor issue and fit himself perfectly inside your fluttering walls. Sure, it had taken so long just to be accustomed to being fucked so full, but the payoff was well worth it. The stretch of both of his cocks would always uncomfortably sting — of course it would, that was to be expected — but you were getting the hang of ignoring the pain in favor of filling your mind with lewd fantasies that would ease you into relaxing.

Such as it was right now, your hole being filled once more and stretched out widely as you grind down on his pelvis, chasing orgasm after orgasm even when your muscles are sore beyond belief. Chong Yue doesn't mind — he never does — having seemingly gained a sort of fascination with watching you bounce on his cocks even when you wring an orgasm from him. He's a gentle-hearted sort of romantic, rubbing your back soothingly when your front is pressed against his, gentle sucks and kisses against your neck, sweet nothings whispered into your ears; those sorts of affections. You're rather fond of the gentle way he touches you, so you welcome it with happy open arms.

Though you do wish for him to be much rougher — to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you senseless on his lengths until your belly is all swollen from his cum and you've passed out from the sheer overstimulation — but it's alright. You can convince him to do it another time.

"Chong Yue, Chong Yue, Chong Yue..." Over and over you whine his name like a prayer, small palms digging into his muscular chest as your orgasm approaches closer. He pants and grunts, big hands holding your waist steady amidst your frantic humping as your walls spasm wildly around him. His cheeks flush, and his soft brown locks become wet with perspiration and cling to his moist skin. Even at his most vulnerable, he still looks so damn hot. "You're all the way in my stomach, 'm so full.."

"(name), slow down, you'll hurt yourself like that." He rasped, tightening his hold in his attempt to slow down your messily rapid movements, though his effort was in vain. You're so close, so close to release, and you're not wasting even a second. You can vaguely hear him calling out to you again, but you're far too focused on the way his cocks push right up against your belly from the inside to even really notice or care.

"But ish feels good, your dicks make me feel s'wo good.." And it's true. He makes you feel so good, so much better than you could have ever thought possible. And you have a feeling that Chong Yue likes it too, even if he doesn't seem to notice it himself. You can feel his lengths twitching rapidly, seemingly growing bigger with each moan that leaves your lips. Or maybe you're just so close to bursting that your jumbled mind is simply playing tricks on you.

"Chong Yue.. inside.. cum inside, please.." Had you any shred of your dignity, you would've been a bit embarrassed by your words, but given how lost you are in your own pleasure, it did not matter. He chokes as you tense your pelvis muscles, squeezing yourself down around him almost painfully so. Sucking in breaths through his teeth, Chong Yue builds up the pace of his hips, pulsing cocks sliding you open with each movement, causing previous release to spill out onto your inner thighs with wet squelches. All the while, he maintains a firm gaze with you, watching and memorizing each expression you make with painstaking determination.

You look drunk.

The only warnings that Chong Yue offers you is the rutting of his hips speeding up and his hands squeezing tighter before he finally cums, drawing a shriek from your throat. His thick seed shoots deep inside your body, coating your walls in white and filling you until you can feel your belly swelling up ever so slightly. It takes all of your remaining energy and willpower to not collapse right then and there, the sensation of your belly stuffed full of cum throwing your mind into perverse disarray. Thankfully, Chong Yue still has a sturdy grip on you, even within the throes of his orgasm. You sometimes forget just how useful his martial arts can be, even if that usefulness extended to an intimate setting.

It's only when you feel his cocks slide out of you with a lecherous pop! that you finally collapse against his chest, sucking much-needed oxygen into your lungs like you had run an entire marathon. The two of you share a collective shudder as the copious globs of his release ooze out of you. Your entire body feels horribly sore and exhausted, and you're sure the man beneath you shares the same feelings, though to less of an extent than you. But the feel of bare skin, the way his body moves as he inhales and exhales, and just the way the two of you bask in each other's presence is enough to bring you down from your high rather quickly.

A part of you wishes that you could melt into Chong Yue, melt into him like ice cream when he embraces you in this way. Become one with him so that the two of you can never be apart from each other, and you could simply bask in the comfort that he always provides you. But you know that it's an impossible daydream, one that can never be fulfilled, at least not in the way that you want.

But at the very least, you could always be greedy and ask for more, for Chong Yue to fill you so until your body can no longer take it. He'd give anything to make you feel nothing but ecstasy.

"Fill me up again, please?"

© latimeriafellfromheaven

[lonelychicago]

"if you love me, you don't love me in a way i understand" pretty please?<3

my hand slipped and this ended up being a little longer than i hoped.

buck/eddie | 1k words | getting together

Buck is not dumb. He's not stupid. He's not oblivious.

Against popular belief, Buck knows that what Eddie and he have is not just friendship— he knows the way Eddie looks at him is not platonic.

He knows what Eddie's feelings are.

Buck knows they both have been dancing around this for a long time, too scared to make the first move, take the first step.

And he thinks he knows why Eddie hasn't done or said anything yet— he thinks he might, at least.

And Buck, well, he knows why himself hasn't done anything.

He doesn't understand what Eddie sees in him. He doesn't understand the way Eddie loves him.

Buck thinks relationships and love are meant to be fast paced; a wildfire that grows and burns until there's nothing but ashes. That’s what he’s had all his life. The rush. The adrenaline. The fire that burns him from inside out and consumes him until he can't breathe. The fast paced emotions and desires that burn hot and then burn out like what he does everyday at work. Something that’s meant to be short-lived with a flash of ecstasy. Something that gives him a thrill but then leaves him alone, feeling empty and hollow and used.

Buck is not used to the kind of love Eddie seems to give him sl freely, so naturally— as if Buck deserved it.

He doesn't.

Buck is hard to love— he's too loud sometimes, he can't shut the fuck up. He's selfish and annoying and—

People leave.

People always leave him.

So Buck is not used to that soft, tender kind of love that Eddie offers without even thinking about it. He's not used to being trusted so fully with the most precious of things (like Eddie's heart), he's not used to knowing looks and fond smiles that are reserved only for him. He's not used to the domesticity of hanging in the kitchen, cooking a meal for his family and laughing at stupid inside jokes while Chris does his homework and roasts them at the same time.

He's not used to late night talks with beers in their hands and longing in their eyes.

Buck doesn't think he'll ever fully get used to any of that— to something so precious and amazing.

He can barely believe he gets to have it on the best of days.

So asking for more? Reaching out and taking more?

That's just unimaginable.

But then it's one of those nights.

Christopher is asleep and they're in the kitchen. Buck has a cold beer in his hand, the droplets of condensation sliding down the bottle and into the back of his hand.

And Eddie is looking at him, just a few steps away and leaning against the kitchen counter. The light above them casts a golden orange glow that softens his features and Buck thinks he could look at him forever and never get tired.

He thinks Eddie is the most beautiful sight his eyes have ever seen (and he's seen a lot, alright. He's been through Peru and Argentina and Brazil, Chicago and San Francisco. He's been to Montana and he even briefly made a stop in Colorado. Yet— None of the most beautiful of spots in those places could ever compare to Eddie. To what Eddie makes him feel.)

Eddie is looking at him and Buck's heart clenches in his chest, because he knows he doesn't deserve that look.

He's hard to love on the best of days, a mess and someone not enough to stay for on the worst.

Somehow, Eddie doesn't seem to care about that. He loves Buck anyway.

And Buck doesn't, can't, won't—

He doesn't want Eddie to get caught up in the fire that is his life. He doesn't want Eddie to burn until he's nothing but ashes in Buck's hands.

But Eddie keeps looking at him and then he's stepping closer and closer until Buck can see every freckle in his nose and that beauty mark under his eye. He can see the honey gold sprinkles on Eddie's eyes, surrounded by the warmest of browns.

And he can see when those eyes flutter down to Buck's lips, his gaze feeling heavy and intense on them.

“It's getting late. I should—” Buck starts, trailing off when Eddie takes Buck's beer and leaves him on the counter before stepping closer until he's pinning Buck against the counter.

It digs uncomfortably against his lower back and his eyes go wide.

“Eddie,” Buck says, his breath catching on the word.

"Tell me I'm not reading this wrong, Buck." Eddie pleads. "Tell me— Tell me I'm not the only one feeling this." He whispers and his voice is low, quiet, but so full of hope and love and patience.

Buck doesn't deserve that.

"I'm— I don't—" He stutters and he can't help it when his eyes dart down to where Eddie is licking his lips.

So tempting. So inviting.

"Eddie, I'm scared."

Eddie's eyes are wide and open, vulnerable, as he searches for something in Buck's face. It reminds him of the look he gave him after the tsunami, or when he reveleaved that Buck was part of the will.

This time, he must find what he's looking for because he doesn't say anything else. Eddie just leans in, slowly, slow enough that Buck can still stop him if he wants to.

And he should, before they both get burned. Before Buck ruins them.

He doesn't.

From the first touch, it’s like kissing Buck is what Eddie was put on this planet to do. It's soft and exploring, it makes this fuzzy sirupy feeling pool inside his stomach.

And it's— warm, tender. A slow kind of fire spreading through his veins. Not burning or turning everything to ashes, but igniting a spark that Buck thought long gone.

Buck still doesn't get it. But he thinks he might not need to.

He has time to figure it out anyway.

He thinks he might have forever, by the way Eddie's kissing him so delicately but yet hungry like he wants to devour him.

Buck is alright with that.

[pluppsauthor]

OC Questionnaire

I'm hoping in on this open tag from @melpomene-grey.

For this one, I let the wheel decide my fate today. And today it said... Karve, from Frequency: Wounded Reflection! (I'll be honest, I don't think I've mentioned him before, except when listing every(ish) character from Wounded Reflection)

What would you want the last thing you ever saw to be?

Hmm, that's a bit of a morbid question. Perhaps something beautiful, or comforting. I guess it would depend on how I died. If I died of old age, for instance, I would want to see the faces of those I love. But if it were sudden, say, on a mission to fight a strong ghast or an unforeseen accident, then maybe I'd like to see the world in a different way in those last moments. Perhaps, on the ground, I saw the way bugs moved, or staring up I saw the stars. Something like that.

What's your dream superpower?

*Chuckle* Well, my Frequency has allowed me to do normally unimaginable things. I can move through shadows, enter unseen worlds, and influence the lightlessness around me to some extent. Is that not already a power to be considered "super"? But, to indulge the question. The only thing I think about, that I lack, is perhaps a way of divining knowledge in some exact manner. There are a great deal of questions I constantly grasp for the answers to, having closure on them would bring me great peace.

What do you wish you didn't regret?

I wish I didn't have any regret or remorse for killing my father. He was an awful man, and I knew he had tried to kill me in that moment to. But despite having no good memories of him, and having no fondness for him, he is still my father. Some part of my heart still holds... love? Empathy? Forgiveness? Kindness? I'm not sure. But I wish that remorse didn't exist.

- - - - -

I should explore more of the Hunters in posts like these. Of course, I know their characters well enough as is, but I rarely talk about them. Karve isn't my favourite character, but I love writing him. He might be my favourite character to write dialogue for.

Anyway, onto tags! No pressure, @illarian-rambling, @tildeathiwillwrite, @the-letterbox-archives, @the-golden-comet, @kaylinalexanderbooks, and open tag for anyone who wants to hop in! :)

Your questions are:

What memory could you never forget and why? If you had to choose between forgetting everyone or being forgotten, which would you choose? Does your name have any meaning, self-given or otherwise?

[nanomooselet]

My Brother's Keeper (VI)

You may have noticed that I didn't extensively discuss Rollo, Livio, or Legato, which is maybe odd considering they are (and pretty blatantly so) parallels or foils to Wolfwood and the twins. And it's mostly because I'm trying not to let this damn thing become even longer (it was supposed to be three parts. Three. It's clocked out at seven, and that's after I took a machete to it to stop it becoming eight. Goddamnit) and I did already go on about all of them in the episodes they appeared.

It's also because at this point, Wolfwood's story (for the moment) is done. When he makes the choice to leave July and Vash behind, that's the end, and the reason he returns actually isn't about him at all. The narrative focus is instead on Meryl and Zazie, making sure we know what both have to say about this. It's good to know Zazie's displeased by this turn of events and very unlikely to ever again believe a word Knives says. (Humans will eat your planet just like they did their own and real quick Imma use Vash to eat the planet myself first sorry-not-sorry BYE WORMS.) It's sweet that Meryl's love of Vash didn't result in her death by Knives's jealousy, as it did for Rem and nearly did for Luida.

Nick's concerns, however, have always been limited to the orphanage and Livio, and their fates are both now out of his hands.

Everything always comes back to the twins, in the end. I think in this analysis I've come to understand the key to Stampede, which is that almost nothing in it is only about the thing it seems to be about. It's always also in some way about the twins.

Wolfwood's part in Stampede is about how he was Knives's weapon and became Vash's follower. He goes from being Nicholas the Punisher full time, a walking dead man carrying his own tombstone, to being Nicholas D. Wolfwood, the awkward, scruffy, snarky dweeb who cares for his family with his whole heart and lives to see a kinder world. Inevitably he has been scarred and stained with blood - he remains the one who killed all those people on the cult's orders, and he'll bear the cross for them. But he's no longer limited to killing in order to save. There's a new path for him to follow.

It starts with doing what Vash would do: getting out of there while he still can before everything explodes. He just happens to scoop Meryl up as he's fleeing. When the twin angels ascend to do battle, the best place for mortals to be is anywhere but nearby.

He wasn't going to rescue Vash, and he never could have. Protecting Vash was the task Knives gave him, and that was out of an complete absence of respect for Vash as a person, a competent adult, a being of unimaginable power, an independent-thinking-individual-who-isn't-exactly-like-Knives etc. The very last fucking thing Vash needs is to wake up in the care of another paternalistic "older" brother - not that I believe Wolfwood would ever treat him the way Knives does, but frankly I can see why neither would want to take the risk.

(Also increasingly sure Knives is bsing about being the older twin. It's like how Wolfwood really is still a kid, and he acts like one, and honestly I think Vash treats him like one. Those startlingly fond, adoring expressions that blow you away a little bit? They're What Vash Is Like Always About Everyone. But especially kids. He's like that about Meryl, too, just less overtly.)

If anything, Vash saved Wolfwood. So Nick realises he has to survive, when before he kinda just wanted to die. He's no longer permitted some dumbfuck last stand. Fighting Knives is crazy and impossible, so let the impossible crazy man take care of it. It's his field of expertise. Love and peace ya'll. Woowoo's out.

Two things, however. The reason, in the manga, that Wolfwood didn't return to Hopeland (until he did), and the reason, in the manga, Chapel has none of the narrative's sympathy (not even Vash really gives a fuck when Wolfwood snaps his neck, and Chapel was already in a wheelchair at the time. I remember a bookclub post that declared God hates Chapel. I'm a layperson, but I'd call that theologically sound).

I mean, there are multiple reasons, but the most relevant is that in the manga, this evil-minded wrinkly fuck trained Wolfwood to kill. Wolfwood believed that being a killer rendered him unfit to ever again return home, until the day Chapel launched a direct assault on the orphanage using Razlo and Livio, revenge upon Wolfwood for taking up another cause - being Vash's friend - when his sole loyalty and purpose was supposed to be in death. He's disgusted that Wolfwood let Vash's ideals blunt his edge when previously he was near-"perfect".

I can't tell you what shape these events will take. But I can tell you they're still in the future. Stampede is a prologue, and the final phase has not arrived. Wolfwood's beginning is complete. His real story is yet to come. And I don't think he's forgiven himself for fulfilling the contract, even if Vash has.

The angel's eye, the Eye of Michael, still watches.

(And only the angel's? We'll see.)

Anyway, back to the twins.

(Part I)

(Part II)

(Part III)

(Part IV)

(Part V)

(Part VII)

[happyandticklish]

The Gift of Your Laughter

Notes: I literally pulled this fic out of my ass last night for the holiday so be kind to it ;-; This fic doesn’t technically have a ton of tickling actually in it but you know what I don’t care because anticipation is more than half the fun anyway~ Happy Valentine’s Day, and enjoy a heavily flustered Levi with me~ 

Summary: Erwin knows Levi a little too well. Normally, Levi appreciates this, until it comes to a certain shared interest of theirs. 

It started with a feather, which is what clued Levi in that he wasn’t overthinking it. A brown feather with white spots speckled throughout it and black streaks curving up the inside. It glistened in the sunlight coming in from the window, perfectly innocent on his desk. Erwin—the only person it could be, the only person who had access to his office—had made sure it was placed directly in the center, not wanting Levi to be able to miss it.

He hesitated, as though something was going to pop out of it and attack him, but after a moment Levi picked it up. He pinched the stem gingerly between his fingers holding it up to the light.

Soft. Beautiful. Rare. He brushed a fingertip over the edge of it, allowing the downy tufts to kiss his skin. He wasn’t sure where Erwin would have gotten something like this. He wasn’t even aware there were birds with such elaborate designs still around. 

He looked around for a note, some sign of what it could possibly mean, but there was nothing. Just a feather and a world of questions. Levi grimaced in annoyance. He wasn’t fond of antics or surprises, and Erwin knew that. Whatever game he was playing, he wasn’t in the mood for it and he would be sure to let Erwin know the next time he saw him.

He kept the feather, though. He felt too bad not to. It was too delicate of a thing to simply throw away.

The second one came at lunch, nearly crushed by Levi before he noticed it. It was sitting on a chair, his chair, the chair he always sat at because it was isolated and far away from the noise of the cadets. This one was blue and Levi sucked in his breath helplessly. Blue. It was such an unimaginable color nowadays as the ink was far too expensive to ship in. To see it so blatantly in nature…

He picked it up, placing it carefully beside his lunch tray before continuing to eat with a growing sense of unease. He felt ridiculous for putting so much thought into it, but the gesture was so un-Erwin-like that he couldn’t help but dwell on it. There was yellow in the blue too. Probably, these were collected items from the olden years, before the Titans. It didn’t surprise him that Erwin had them, but this strange scavenger hunt method of gifting them was weird and suspicious all at once.

Finally, at feather number three, he put the pieces together.

The room was mostly Hange’s domain, part of their perverted scientific ‘experiments’ that they liked to execute. It had become less of an office at this point and more of some mad scientist lab mixed with a torture chamber. Levi was supposed to pick up some paperwork from them, but he paused when he entered the room and noticed them..

It wasn’t just feather number three. It was feather number four, five, and six as well, all four of them tied with a string that was dangling out of one of the holes in a pair of rustic stocks. The rush of air from the doorway ruffled them gently, causing them to twist and buffet in the air. Realization hit Levi at the same time that a flush crept its way up his neck and out to his ears.

Oh.

Oh. 

Thankfully Hange was absent, otherwise, Levi would have killed the both of them right then and there to cover up his oncoming embarrassment. He marched forward and snatched the feathers out of the stocks, crushing them in his hands and trying to ignore the way his heart was racing.

He tried to act casual as he made his way back to his office, one hand shoved in his pocket where he fiddled with the feathers. They felt soft. Really, really fucking soft. Anger and humiliation and something else that Levi didn’t want to put a name to rose inside of him at the ploy.

More than anything, however, he tried to stifle the creeping anticipation growing inside him. If he was right, and he sincerely doubted that he wasn’t, Erwin had planned this. Which meant Erwin was waiting, somewhere, to ambush him with this. Which meant that Levi had to choose whether or not to confront him or hide like a coward.

It really wasn’t a fair decision.

By the time he reached the door he felt jittery like he’d just pulled an all-nighter, his body tense with nervous energy.

It’s just tickling, he told himself, hand wavering over the knob. It’s just fucking tickling so get a hold of yourself. At least in your office, you’ll be safe so stop freaking out.

He pushed open the door determinedly and froze when he saw Erwin casually sitting in his chair.

“Levi.” He looked unfairly calm for how rattled Levi felt. “I see you got my message.”

He hadn’t realized he was still messing with the feathers. He stopped, pulling his hand out and glaring at him. “You’re in my spot.”

An arched brow. “You want to trade places?”

The implications of it sent a thrill running down Levi’s spine. Sitting down, strong arms wrapping around him, fingers crawling ever so softly up his sides, a voice whispering in his ear—

Instinctually, he glanced towards the open door and Erwin followed his gaze. “I’ll just catch you, you know. It would serve no purpose but to draw this out and make things worse for yourself.”

He was being so unbearably smug about this and Levi wanted to punch him for it. Instead, he settled on trying to shove down the smile begging to make itself known on his features, and focused his efforts towards survival. Erwin was right. There was no way he could outrun him even if he wanted to and right now Levi didn’t trust his body not to betray him into Erwin’s awaiting hands.

Still.

There was no way he was just gonna take this gift disguised as punishment.

Erwin’s chuckle rang out behind him as Levi bolted, an affectionate, amused sound that sent goosebumps prickling up the back of his neck. He slid around a corner, years of training kicking into gear as he expertly navigated his way through the building. He could hear Erwin pounding behind him and panic sent him flying down the stairs, skipping half a dozen steps in the process.

He knew he looked stupid as he raced past the barracks, a grown man running for his life and probably alerting half the camp while doing so, but he didn’t care. He could feel Erwin right behind him and his thoughts were betraying him as he imagined what it would be like to be caught, to be grabbed, to have his arms forced over his head—

Nope, no, not going there, not right now, now he needed to focus. Left or right. Dining hall or living quarters. Both public, both dead ends. He cursed under his breath, hesitating a bit too long as he weighed out the decision. Voices of confusion murmured behind him as soldiers recovered from the shock of their captain running for his life, and, more importantly, the last of Erwin’s boot falls landed on the stairs indicating he was catching up.

Levi flung open the bedroom door haphazardly, just barely managing to get inside before the door was shoved open once more. Levi flinched, stumbling back against the wall as Erwin calmly closed and locked the door behind him. Levi silently thanked any deity that was still be remaining that this particular room was absent at the moment.

“You shouldn’t have run.” Erwin looked more amused than annoyed, which wasn’t helping matters. “It’s impolite to turn down a gift.”

“A gift?” Levi scoffed, hating how out of breath he sounded. His gaze darted anxiously about the room, looking for any path of escape. “Is that what you’re calling this?”

Erwin arched a brow. He was taking slow, steady steps towards him that set Levi on edge. “Are you saying you don’t want it?”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Levi thinned his lips together in irritation. He could feel the heat crawling over his features and prayed that Erwin didn’t notice. He didn’t move when Erwin approached him, glaring up into his eyes as he pressed him against the wall.

Stop looking so goddamn helpless already.

“Wrists?”

Levi didn’t move, stubbornness rooting him to the spot.

“Should I make it an order?”

Levi’s gaze snapped up at him before slanting off to the side. “Cheater.”

“As if you didn’t cheat first.”

He felt positively giddy and he hated how much he loved it. Erwin had grabbed his wrists anyway, tugging them firmly up and against the wall. Levi pulled at them to check their hold—breakable, if he wanted. Which only made this worse because now Levi was forced to stand there and just endure it until Erwin had had his fill.

Levi tensed when fingers came to rest at his sides. “Erwin, the cadets.”

“What about them?” A twitch to his sides.

“They’ll hear,” Levi hissed, trying not to squirm already because god would that be embarrassing if one touch of Erwin’s hands was all it took to get to him. “They’ll hear and they’ll talk and the last thing I need is to deal with rumors about us spreading through the whole garrison.”

“Well then…” Erwin’s fingers jumped into action now, skritching and digging into Levi’s sides in a manner that made him want to crawl out of his skin. “I guess you’d better be quiet.”

Levi bit his lip, something that was horrendously close to a giggle nearly slipping past his lips. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this was not happening, this was not happening right here, right now, not when there’s a bunch of nosy soldiers standing right outside that room forcing Levi to keep silent despite how ungodly ticklish Erwin’s nails felt against his shirt.

He kind of hated it.

He kind of loved it.

“Oh, and Levi?”

Erwin’s voice was close, his breath hitting the shell of Levi’s ears and making him scrunch his shoulders in defense. Nails slipped under his shirt to get at bare skin as a shiver rippled down Levi’s spine.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

[totaldramafan-lauri]

I wanna yap about something..

About Monzarella and Golden cookie? Yeah...

I love Monzarella cookie, But not to the extent that I love her like I'do to golden cheese..

Monzarella is sometimes caring in the story, showing a little bit of emotion or worry for the reader if something bad is about to happen.. Their relationship was cute in a kind of way I'm implying reminded me of my best friend. So I'm happy I get to read your chapters.. Monzarella thinking about not saving us due to causing more panic and solving it in a much more professional way, It was very astonishing.. The writings, the plot.. it's all so majestic, it feels like an unimaginable emotion that I can't quite get what it is myself... Happiness? Or something that makes me immerse myself more in golden cheese..

I'm fond of Golden cheese too, she reminds me of a caring person who is always there for you.. even in hard times.. It only increases after she saves us from the Colosseum. It made me smile.. I'm just happy and sad at the same time..

A person so kind can never be real, so I immerse myself in goldencheese.. a fiction that I can never see or touch, but happy that I can get to read her in fics.. so when I found you're ao3, I was deeply happy.. more happy then I expected though.. it brings a smile to my face if it's reminds me about it.. so I just wanted to thank you.. that's all... Sorry for talking about all that.. I just wanna vent out what I feel about golden cheese and monzarella cookie.. I'm just sincerely happy.. :)

First ask about Mozzarella! Cool! Fun fact: Mozzarella is one of THE most fun characters to write for me. XD Something about getting to write a "troll with a heart of gold" character just....it ended up being something really enjoyable! She loves having fun, loves dancing to her own beat, and isn't very empathetic, but she really DOES care, and is a good friend....I also liked writing her as Reader's secret wingwoman who was pushing them towards understanding their feelings for Golden Cheese all along (not to mention, setting them up to get closer to her in multiple ways), yet they were always so oblivious.....It's a really fun dynamic, and her dialogue is usually stuff I'm proud of! I'm glad she reminds you of your friend, cuz I sometimes wish I had a friendship like Reader and Mozzarella's....even if she trolls them, it's all in good fun....XD

(Altho, I'm not sure if "wingwoman" is the right word....it was more like, her throwing Reader at Golden Cheese for the fun of it and watching to see what happens. She didn't really ship them seriously....I don't think she really EXPECTED Golden Cheese to r-reciprocate....I-if Reader had been rejected, I'm sure Mozzarella would've still had fun. That's who she IS XD)

I-I'm glad that you're getting so much enjoyment outta my fic....TBH, I'm feeling really insecure right now, cuz of the lack of feedback I've gotten on my new chapter even over a week after I posted it....I-I've been going through it today (doublechecking for typos), and while there are parts I'm proud of, there are other scenes I can now totally see being boring to people, and that's why it's a struggle for them to finish it....I-I'm really glad that the previous chapters still bring joy to my fellow simps, and it makes me feel a lot better.....! ^/////^

I-I'm glad I can provide you the kind of content of Her Radiance that you want.....>///////<

O-oh, and, think of it this way....because it's fiction, it can't hurt you....There's no risk of getting your heart stomped on....You're free to indulge yourself.....Th-that's what I tell myself. I HAVE had crushes on real people, but the vast majority have been fictional, so I speak from experience.....E-even if she's not real, your feelings for her are, and she can be as real as you want in your head....Y-you can think of her being with you all you want, without any c-consequences.....^//////^

[khruschevshoe]

Femi Boodhari

'Сause you are loved

You are loved more than you know

I hereby pledge all of my days

To prove it so

Though your heart is far too young to realize

The unimaginable light you hold inside

-Sleeping at Last, Light

Femi leans against the wall next to her son. “I like those two,” Femi says, “I do hope you treat them well.”

When her son first left Tobago, she has to admit that she worried about him. Though strong and clever, he has always been a little too kind to survive. A little too willing to trust, to look for the best in people, to hope beyond hope.

But right now, he seems far more settled in himself, far more confident, far more assured, and those qualities seemed to have served him well. She'd always hoped they would, even while being pragmatic enough to worry that they wouldn't.

Her son’s smile is bright, soft, fond. “I’ll love them until the end of time, Màmá. And I learned how to love from the best of them."

Femi's smile mirrors her son's. “I’m proud of you, you know?”

“I do,” Olu says, and it’s not arrogance- it’s just the kind of easy confidence she tried her best to raise him with. When the world tries to tear you down, to make you something that you are not, you have to learn how to make your own place within it. She taught him that. And now, it seems, he's teaching others the same lesson.

Did Femi picture that her son would grow up to become a pirate captain? No, she did not. She’s not even sure how he got himself a ship.

But it is clear that he has not only carved himself a place out of a world that seeks to tear boys like him down, he has found people that love him as much as she does. 

And for that, she will host a crew of boisterous, excited, cacophonous pirates any day. 

-aletterinthenameofsanity, let me introduce you to the featherweight queen

Welcome to the world my new favorite mom, Femi Boodhari! She deserves the absolute grandest of introductions, but I have the feeling she'd prefer something more simple, so let's just say that I loved everything about her, from how she's a blacksmith with a kickass forge and business to how much she loves her son and his spouses to the fact that she moves on from being disappointed in not getting grandkids to immediately making Jim and Archie weapons with the Boodhari family name so that way they can carry her name with them to the fact that she is completely willing to adopt her son's entire found family into her own. No one is doing it like our queen Femi Boodhari!

@yuenity @possumsmushroom @bricksbloggyplace @ruecrown @polikate

[junglefurytrash]

🖤 " I can't undo the past actions I have committed. The pain I've caused, and those who I have hurt.. I closed myself off, repressed the pain of it all, so I could protect what little I had left.. And that made me lose you, if only for a little while. . . . But the pain of that loss was unimaginable. I never want to lose sight of you again. It takes so, so much trust to give my heart to another Cookie after all I've been put through.. But I want to try again. I want to give it to you. You, who are my Little Flower, and my Faithful Seamaiden, forevermore.. If you'll have me. " 🖤

💜" Of course I will, my love. My Beautiful Gem, my Radiant Eclipse.. For all eternity. " 💜

----

HELLO CRK TUMBLR, I BRING YOU SOME MORE :)

After the recent Beast Yeast chapter 3 and 4, I decided to complete this little costume duo set with this sprite edit!

Black Pearl always enjoyed following around Lavender on their escapades and adventures; Originally, it was for amusement, watching the land cookie with the others running around like a school of fish. But as Pearl started to bond to Lavender, and a genuine connection began forming, Pearl began to follow the little flower to watch over her as additional protection - She knew better than anybody how fragile land cookies were. And Lavender was.. Always grateful, for that protection, thanking the gem mermaid genuinely for their help.

One such fateful adventure was one day to Beast Yeast, as Lavender was chosen to come with the King of her home's Kingdom - Pearl again followed, much to Dark Cacao's disliking. He wasn't fond of this monster of a sea creature that had magnetised itself to one of his people and didn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. But he had other worries to attend to. He'd deal with making her shoo another time.

Such a time never came, as Mystic Flour's apathy was unleashed on the world, and all was ripped from him. And while he watched his warriors seemingly disappear into nothing, the King witnessed the siren monster hold her little flower in her arms and sing to her as Lavender evaporated like the others. Pearl held on, contesting Mystic Flour's power through a combination of sheer willpower and the legendary magic she held within from absorbing the Sea Fairy Tear.. And so began Pearl and Cacao's climb, an unlikely duo, seeking to reclaim their people, and understanding both each other and themselves along the way. Cacao saw the damaged heart Pearl held in her.. and Pearl saw it in herself, too.

Of course, there was no people to reclaim; All was well, their people unharmed and at the ship they arrived on this entire time upon the defeat of Mystic Flour. Black Pearl's relief was tenfold as she reunited with Lavender, both of them having been worried sick about one another this entire time. The two Cookies held each other and embraced on the ship, and as they did.. Both their hearts let go a little of the pain once burdening their shoulders, and found themselves able to express their love.

The road to healing from trauma is a long and rocky one, and scary even for the likes of the powerful gem mermaid. But that first step has to be made eventually.. If not for herself, then for her Faithful Seamaiden. To be the Radiant Eclipse that shines in the darkness and guides her love to safety.. She will take that step.

Black Pearl Cookie Sprite Weapon Inspo/Ref Lavender Cookie & Faithful Seamaiden Costume

[too-destiny-panda]

Wyllvember Day 19: OTS/BroTP

A/N: My favourite hellish duo! I don't take Karlach with me nearly as much as I should. Anywho, as usual credits go to @sagscrib, and I'm additionally tagging @commander-yinello WC: 527

Wyll made friends easily. Even in his youth where many children were intimidated by his father’s status, he still managed to befriend people from various backgrounds. Of course, the quantity and quality of friends diminished as he grew older, but he still had some peers to make fond memories with. Still, his closest friendship would blossom during unimaginable dangers.

When he first met Karlach he was dead set on killing her, his view of her skewed due to Mizora’s words. But her memories overall attitude suggested other wise and turned his world askew. Once they had taken care of the so-called paladins, he witnessed the remnants of her rage, and understood that the state she was in was in no way her own choice. Who would wish to burn so hot they were practically unable to touc anyone or anything? He personally couldn’t imagine not patting someone on the shoulder for a job well-done or grasping it for support as he laughed.

After that, they quickly grew closer, bonding over their home as Karlach had an infinite number of questions about how much Baldur’s Gate had changed since she was traded off. Her sense of humour and overall energy, almost puppy-like at its core, made proverbial warmth radiate from her. She was always excited over the small things, and though she sometimes veered into ‘fuck around and find out’ territory that was mostly just encouragement for Tav to do stupidly absurd things, she wasn’t naïve. She simply learned to derive happiness from whatever scraps she could gather in the Hells, and Wyll supposes he wasn’t so different when he was exiled and trying to find himself.

 They became extremely good friends, their humours so similar in nature it almost seemed like they were constantly laughing while in each other’s presence. When Dammon gave Karlach her second engine upgrade, the second person she hugged after Tav was of course Wyll. And although it was clear it has been a while since she had to control her strength while hugging someone, shown by the minor bruising she left him with, he wouldn’t have her hugs any other way. Because her physical touch embodied her. The way she is both eager, sometimes too rash but always making sure everyone she cared for was comfortable. It warmed his heart to see her slowly gaining back her old self she locked away for her safety for over ten years. It warmed everyone’s heart to watch them interact with each other.

When the final battle was over, the tadpoles expelled from their eye sockets as they perished, the remnants of the mind flayer forces gradually being destroyed, there was only a split moment of happiness and relief before concern came back full force as Karlach groaned in agony at the docks. She was fully ready to die, but her friends were not. So, in only a few moments and understanding glances from his lover, the trio set off into the Hells, determined to find a way to help the fiery tiefling back to normalcy. And she was certain that with the Blade of Avernus and the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, they would succeed.

[breitzbachbea]

Here is a belated birthday gift for @hetaari, based on a post they made about Sadık loving Herakles' strays once <3

Some people were crazy for cats. Would want to be reborn as a feline if only they could. The day Fabio had been gifted a tiny white kitten, the man must have been out of his mind with bliss and love for it.

Sadık wasn’t one of them, but he still had a lot of fondness for the furballs. His mother would have never allowed him any pet but a dog, because while she herself was wily, she wasn’t as volatile as cats felt. In a world full of men and their rules, one had to bark as well as bite.

And yet, his father fed the stray cats in his village and Sadık, so much like his mother, was attracted to opposites.

At least that would perhaps explain his own indulgence. Some stray cats at Herakles’ place had a bad memory of him, some just didn’t like him, but many were indifferent and even curious about him. As much as he sometimes played the strict father –  A kitchen was no place for a cat, Iraklis – he loved to lavish them with attention. More often than not, he’d fall asleep and wake up next to one or more cats and pet them mindlessly while calling them loving pet names and other compliments.

The black kitten that he had dubbed kömür and Herakles, out of spite, kárbuono, who didn’t listen to either nickname but without a fail to Kedi, Kedicik and Kedicikim – She was his whole pride. Perhaps that anything from the Greek’s own care could love him more than Herakles himself did the trick, some unconditional Greek love was what he craved and would never achieve.

But perhaps it was also the mundanity of it all. That his broad shoulders and wide chest weren’t just for a regal appearance, but simply the playground for a creature he could easily hold in one hand. The cat loved to sit on his shoulders while he walked around the house and sat beside him when he read or watched TV.

There was a mundanity he wasn’t raised to deal with – If a cat had wreaked havoc on one of the countless rugs in their homes! Unimaginable!

It was a mundanity he wasn’t raised to idealize. But the older he grew, the more he admired his father, who stayed out of the world his wife had pulled him into and instead fed the stray cats.

“You said you hate them,” Herakles said, pissed off and drunk and indulging his worst instincts, as they sat on the porch and Sadık had brought a bag of expensive cat food earlier.

On his lap was a calico cat, a spring young thing that had the body tension of a wet sack of flour as he caressed her. Next to him was a tabby that had curled up against his hip.

Sadık wasn’t drunk and, more importantly, that kind of tired that hollowed out one’s bones. Not the one that weighed them down - the one that pettiness couldn’t vent.

So unlike Herakles, he bit back the truth that he only hated them when he was upset with him. He was the problem, never the cats. Unfortunate bystanders in their war of hearts.

Of course never the cats. How could one hate these ratcatchers? They were a perfect representation of Herakles’ nature, down to the deep love they expressed in their own peculiar ways.

“They remind me of you,” he said and hoped it would be diplomatic.

Suddenly, Herakles sounded tired as well. Still bitter, still containing a heaviness only a ceaseless overthinker like him could achieve, but no longer out to only hurt Sadık. “Their love is bought easier, isn’t it? They’re more grateful.” Now he was out to hurt himself as well.

Sadık clicked his tongue, because that wasn’t true.

“They don’t see ulterior motives in my gifts, though,” he said. “I think that makes it easier to spoil them, because I can’t make them unhappy like this.”

There was silence and warmth and Herakles leant his head against his shoulder, so he had to switch hands to caress both his hair and the calico. He almost wanted to call him Kedicik, but refrained.

He did mean it fondly, though. He loved cats, after all.