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awritesthings1 · 5 months

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Gone with the Leaves

Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Wife Reader

Summary: Despite your happy marriage to Tommy, you feel an undeniable jealousy towards Lizzie. Perhaps a day in the forest will do you some good.

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A/N: I'm starting a tag list, comment if you want to be added :)

“You write like you’re running out of time,” mused Lizzie Stark, former prostitute, now Tommy’s secretary. “They have typewriters for those types of things, y’know?”

You saw the volley of cannonballs that launched and subsequently landed on Tommy’s desk as the words left her mouth. It wasn’t that you expected more of poor old plain Lizzie, but you thought that the time she had spent lying on her back staring past the shoulder of a customer at the ceiling would have taught her to read a room. Nevertheless, she stood there, quite amused with herself, smiling stupidly at your husband.

Tommy, who had been sitting at his desk all afternoon attending to letters, the ledger, and god knows what else, peered up from the paper. “What did you say?”

This time, it was your turn to be amused. He pointed accusingly at Lizzie, who by then had realised her impetuous mistake. Her wide eyes fluttered to you desperately, like a bee that had indulged itself in so much pollen that it became stuck in its own honey. No, that was putting it lightly. She looked to you like a frightened child who knew exactly what kind of trouble they were in.

You made sure you looked the other way.

“It was only a silly joke,” came her spluttering apology.

Tommy squinted, and his mouth curled into a frown. Smoke chased the deep exhale from the cigarette hanging between his lips. Your husband carried this terrifying look to him that many feared. Without the peaky cap to cover his striking blue eyes, you saw his glare cut away the cords in Lizzie’s throat with just one look. How could poor Lizzie defend herself from eyes that had witnessed nightmarish things?

“I’m not clear. Is it funny that I sign my letters by hand, or are you above using ink now that you have graduated from the bed to the desk?”

Lizzie’s mouth wormed into a thin line, yet she still looked to you for help. Of what help she thought you would possibly spare, you weren’t sure. For once, Lizzie used initiative and showed herself out.

Your heels clacked across the wooden threshold of your husband’s office. Now that no one was there to disturb you both, you sat down on Tommy’s lap. By then, he was leaning back on his chair, work abandoned for the time being until he could wash the sour sight of Lizzie Stark from his eyes.

“You know I don’t like her,” you said plainly.

There was no need for fake smiles or lies with Tommy. You knew him, and he knew you.

Tommy exhaled loudly, stubbing out the last of his cigarette on his ashtray and taking a swig of whiskey before his calloused hand found your waist.

He clears his throat. “It’s only business with her.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I like her any less.”

Tommy loved you, not Lizzie Stark, yet you couldn’t stomach the undeniable jealousy that arose with her presence. Perhaps it was a natural inclination women had toward their lovers. Lizzie had never done anything outwardly wrong to you. So, what was it then that turned your plain teeth into hissing fangs?

Everyone knew that Tommy was one of her paying customers before you met him, but so were all of Small Heath. You never felt insecure in your relationship with Tommy; there was no need to feel threatened by a prostitute. Yet that wouldn’t stop the catty feline that emerged from its slumber when Lizzie’s wandering eyes battered at your husband.

No. Lizzie Stark would never know what it felt like to be loved by a man like Tommy. What you held in your hands each night was a transcendental, unconditional type of love—one that surpassed the heart and soul, which drew two beings together in the most unconventional yet fitting way. The way that covers kept you warm at night, Tommy watched over your hearth and kept the fire burning, even if he were on the other side of the country.

You closed your eyes, leaning into the valley between Tommy’s neck and shoulder as you listened for the bah-dum-bah-dum of his heart. They sat together in silence, cherishing each other’s presence, while Tommy rested his cheek on your head. Outside, the world waited, barking at their front door and scratching at the delicately carved wood. Even the rain lashed at the windowpanes, playing together like one elemental orchestra.

The hand not resting on your waist rose to gently stroke up and down your arm. You shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.

“I think you have some work to attend to in the bedroom,” you mumbled into his neck.

Your nose searched for the spot where he applied his aftershave.

“Eh?” Came his gruff response.

Your hand wandered down his suit in answer.

The sheets were bundled around Tommy’s naked waist when you sauntered back over to the bed with his case of cigarettes in hand. Gratefully, he took the case from your hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into the warmth of his chest. Then he began the usual routine. He fished out a cigarette to offer, but you shook your head no, so he slid it once, then twice, across his bottom lip. On the bedside table, he grabbed the half-empty matchbox to light the cigarette.

Tommy was the resident chain smoker in your house. With an appetite for tobacco and whiskey, you often wondered just how he sustained himself throughout the day. Of course, there were the home-cooked meals at Arrow House waiting for his return, although that didn’t stop you from worrying any less. It was pathetic, really, sitting all alone in his study, twiddling your fingers, and sitting beneath his portrait like you were praying to him. Tommy was no god, no matter how much he tried to convince everyone else. Yet whenever headlights passed the window and lit up the office momentarily, you would stand up and peer out, hoping to spot your husband exiting the car.

He cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the present. You loved watching the way the cigarette shifted between his lips when he spoke, even more when his hooded eyes looked over at you. Tommy was a man of few words, simply because he didn’t need language to communicate. His body spoke for him in tongues for all his enemies to understand. And more importantly, in a way your body understood.

Your hand abandoned his tattoo to stroke a thumb across his full bottom lip. Lust swelled there, eager to chase the rest of the night away into a haze of pleasure until the sun rose. As tempting as it was, you sighed at the thought. You would rather spend this time taking in your husband, remembering the fine details across his face and body, from the scar in the hollow of his cheek to the rough texture beneath his shoulder blade where a bullet was once lodged. You wanted to trace the sockets of his eyes the way a blind person would, treasuring each valley, mountain, and cut of skin as if it were to disappear the second you stopped touching him.

“You’re beautiful,” you decided, bathed in candlelight, tangled up between the sheets and Tommy’s arms.

Tommy’s brows furrowed, and the cigarette hung dangerously loose from where his lips curled into a frown. He grunted, clearly dissatisfied with your words. Tommy wasn’t beautiful. He was hard, ambitious, and unmovable force.

Beautiful was a conventional word savored for the finest women. To you? It meant so much more. Crafted in a way that would cause people to stare, sure, but there was also a poetic sense to the word. The type of beauty you would use to describe a well-written novel or heart-wrenching poem. Thomas Shelby stood for something, and that was beautiful.

“Then what are you, eh?”

A lazy smile floated onto your face, so much so that you had to bite your lip to refrain from looking devastatingly pleased at his answer.

A woman, a dreamer, a friend, a reader, an achiever. “A wife.”

He huffed, raising his eyebrows playfully.

Why was it that most women felt like they could only fit the frame of one? With Tommy, you were never limited to the endless possibilities. You treasured being a wife the same way you treasured your other roles. Marriage wasn’t the end all be all. Perhaps that’s another lie men spun—that perfectly capable women stopped existing as soon as a diamond ring slid onto their finger. How sad, you thought, to waste away all that potential when men were still free to pursue stupid ideas like war and dog fights.

Tommy was unbothered by traditional ideas like that. Change powered his ambition; he had no time for parallel lines. You could be his wife, a writer, a singer, or a mother—whatever you wanted—and he wouldn’t think of you any less.

You hummed, chasing that cigarette from his lips and stubbing it out in the ash tray by his bedside table. Tommy didn’t seem too heartbroken about it. In fact, there was some mirth in his gaze. His hands traced up your naked spine, pulling your body further into his until you could smell the smoke in his breath.

“Yes,” he breathed in loudly through his nose, “my wife.”

The following day, you were invited to the Basnett's hunting party. You would’ve been more enthusiastic to write about your excitement to attend if the whole ordeal hadn’t been so troublesome. Because a few days prior, when you were visiting your husband’s office, you had caught sight of the letter on Lizzie’s desk, a letter that was supposed to reach you days earlier.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“Oh, nothing interesting,” Lizzie had said, too occupied with filing her nails while on the clock.

You kept your composure for the sake of keeping the peace. You didn’t wish to disturb Tommy if he were to walk by.

“This is a letter addressed to me,” you pressed.

“Oh.” She stopped for a moment, then leaned over to read the letter you had pulled from the messy pile. “No, it’s addressed to Tommy.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Shelby,” you hissed quietly, with emphasis on the missus.

“Hm, I didn’t notice.”

“You are paid to notice.” You fought the urge to comment that she was paid for other things not long ago. “How long has this been sitting here?”

Lizzie tapped her cigarette ash into the tray. “The post boy dropped that lot off yesterday.”

Even if it was only two days late to reach your hand, by society’s standards, that may have well been taken as you snubbing the invitation. Frustratingly, you had to cancel your plans that day and personally deliver your letter to the Basnett’s door, citing some excuse of it having been lost in the post.

“That woman is up to no good.” You said glumly that night into Tommy’s chest.

“I’ll speak to her,” he promised in that stoic tone of his.

Whether he had been true to his words, you weren’t sure because Lizzie made an effort to avoid you when possible.

“Oh! Mrs. Shelby! How wonderful for you to join us! Come in, come in. The men are readying their rifles for the hunt outside. How exciting!” Gushed Lady Basnett, shooing you into the atrium of her lavish mansion.

Your riding boots clacked across the floor before being muffled by an intricately woven rug. You stared up at the chandelier, childishly wondering if it would hit you if it were to fall at that moment.

“Right this way, Mrs. Shelby!” Lady Basnett ushered excitably.

You debated if all her energy was for show—to please her husband and be the good wife he expected of her. After she showed you through to the veranda and down to the circle of wives who had gathered under the trees while their husbands readied for the hunt, you decided that no, she must truly enjoy planning social occasions like this, as evidenced by the way she kissed Sarah’s cheek in greeting with a wide grin.

It pleased you to know that Lady Basnett found joy in something. Ever since her eldest died in the war, she has been known to be a bit of a recluse.

“Oh, what a beautiful ring! May we see it?” Doe-eyed Catherine asked.

She was one of the younger wives, like yourself. Catherine married an older man, twice her senior. Many of the wives here faulted her for it behind her back, but not you. You saw more of yourself in her than you did in any of the other women. Because, despite the age gap, the girl seemed to be utterly head-over-heels in love with a man society deemed old-fashioned for her. And how could you blame her when you swore an oath to a gangster of all people?

You obliged and let the wives twist and turn your hand to better inspect the diamonds on your ring finger.

“It’s perfect!”

“How many carats?”

��My Mary would be so jealous!”

After dutifully showing your wedding ring, you noticed the men beginning to mount their horses.

Catherine hooked her arm around yours. “Come on, we are going to be left behind!”

She jovially pulled you along the stone tiles at a speed that made you grateful for wearing riding boots. The backyard was grand in the sense that the acres they owned stretched vastly into the nearby forest. Although there were impressive features, like the hedge they had grown into a maze and the trees that were shaped into birds.

“Lady Basnett owned an aviary of budgies. Dear little things they were, she was devastated when they all escaped one night after the groundskeeper forgot to close the door,” Catherine commented, having noticed the way your head was turned.

You laughed, because you could precisely picture Lady Basnett as the type to fawn over little budgies.

Catherine led you to the horses, where some of the wives were already perched, waiting for the party to leave. None of them carried rifles, but rather wicker baskets strapped to the saddle for the picnic they planned to have at the top of the hill while they waited for their husbands to finish hunting.

Together, you set off, having mounted the back of Catherine’s mare. Deeper into the forest you went, the black mare trotting over loose dirt and rocks. Both of you remained at the end of the pack, preferring to keep to yourselves in light conversation.

Then it all happened so suddenly. One of the rifles went off up ahead, and a flock of birds rushed at you from the break in the foliage, startling your mare. You gasped in shock and reached for Catherine’s jacket to hold on, but only skimmed her. She went face first into the dirt while you were swept into the air like a leaf and fell with the grace of a rock. The ground thundered as the mare galloped into the distance.

“Fuck!” Catherine spat.

(On her fall she had taken a mouthful of soil and leaves.)

“They’ll come back,” you tried to reassure her.

Hours later, the two of you still had not been found.

“I was a prostitute before George found me, y’know.”

No, you didn’t know.

“That’s why I’m so young and he so old,” she smiled fondly, laughing as if it were the most normal thing.

You couldn’t find it in your heart to dislike her because of her circumstances. She was your friend, and a true one at that.

What was it that Tommy said? The past is the past.

The sun began to set when one of the men from the hunting party found you both huddled together under a tree. Kindly, he let the two of you ride the rest of the way back despite your hesitance to mount another horse.

When you returned to Lady Basnett’s, with Catherine in arm, the sun had been set for at least two hours. You hadn’t realized what trouble you had gotten yourself into until you noticed Tommy’s Bentley parked in the crowded driveway of the mansion. Men stood at the gate, armed and waiting. Catherine opened her mouth to remark how ridiculous it was, but you kept your lips sealed after recognizing the guards to be Peaky Blinders.

Tommy had to be beside himself.

A young boy who was playing between the cars popped his head out when the gates squealed open. His ears perked up, and he ran inside, clutching his peaky cap, to probably inform the adults inside of your arrival. People pooled out onto the front steps, the women covering their hearts and sighing with relief, and the men holding their hats to their chests. But when your husband, Tommy, came storming out, they parted like the red sea.

He stalked across the gravel like a predator, his eyes trained on you with an unblinking stare.

“Are you hurt?” He ignored Catherine, cupping your face and frantically looking between both your eyes as if you would disappear.

Upon further inspection, his eyes were bloodshot, and the white sleeves of his blouse were bundled into the golden garters. Your hands itched to muse his disheveled hair into place, but with all the curious onlookers, you thought better of it.

“No.”

George, Catherine’s husband, was quick to whisk her away inside. You heard Lady Basnett’s voice trailing after them: “Oh my, what a terrible thing. Come now, let me pour you some tea.”

Unfortunately, tea wouldn’t make up for any lost ground with Tommy.

“We’re going.”

You knew better to open your mouth to disagree. This was Tommy being afraid and carrying on. He retreated into himself. It didn’t look pretty or like he cared, but he cared; you knew he cared. It was only that no one else was allowed to know that the great Thomas Shelby felt any emotion.

At Arrow House, he swallowed two glasses of whiskey before saying a word. You were pulling at the hem of the overcoat that Tommy had shook off his shoulders to give you for the ride home. Your fingers just couldn’t stand the anxious silence that rang throughout the room.

“What the fuck happened?”

He stood in front of you, stoic as a soldier but cracking around the exterior thanks to his hand, which itched for the cigarette case inside his pocket. (A nervous tick of his.) You grab his hand between your own before he can fish out the case.

“The horse got spooked. It bucked Catherine and me off, but we’re fine.”

His thumb rubs across your knuckles as he looks past your shoulder out the window.

“Do you know where I was when I got the call? Eh? I was handling some business when Lizzie came in and told me some posh old woman was on the line, saying you were missing.”

He exhaled sharply, dropping his gaze to you, where you noticed his eyes soften.

“I thought…” He broke off.

His chin dropped, and he went to itch his nose with his other hand.

“What did you think happened? Is there something I should know about?” Concern leaked into your voice.

“No,” he huffed, clearing his throat. “It doesn’t matter. You’re home, and you’re safe.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from saying anything that might push him over the edge. He was fragile in a state like this in the sense that he pushed the stronger, more vivid feelings to the side because you were his wife, not a Peaky Blinder. No, you would never be, even though you married one.

Often, you would wish you could turn into the leaves that swept off the pavement and into the air. Imagine then how much easier life would be for you both—to forget the animosity of life and rise above it all, breathe in that crystal air, and then finally exclaim the truth because up there no one could hear them or cared enough to try anyway.

Cautiously, you let go of his hand and traced your fingertips up to knead away the tension in his jaw.

“Thomas… Do you remember what you asked of me? To help you with the whole fucking thing—”

“From now on—”

“Thomas—”

“From now on, let me know where you are going. I will organize a guard to watch over you.”

‘You write like you’re running out of time,’ Lizzie’s poorly placed joke from the start of the week reverberated in your skull.

Was he?

“I need you,” he breathed, the smell of whiskey fanning over your senses.

You nodded, pressing up on your toes to kiss him. A soft breath escaped him when you pulled away.

“You have me.”

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roguelov · 10 months

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Let Me Help

Summary: On a mission with Miguel to stop a variant of Doc Ock, you accidentally inhale something you shouldn’t have. You actively try to ignore these burning desires raging through you. However when Miguel notices your odd behavior, he finally confronts you. A confrontation that leads to this thing you need most: him.

Word Count: ~6.6k

Reader: Afab (no fem pronouns used)

Warnings: SMUT (sex pollen, fem!masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex, riding, oral (fem!receiving), doggy style, multiple orgasms, slight praise kink, voyeurism, cockwarming, switch!reader, switch!Miguel), smut with some feelings, unestablished relationship, mutual pining

MINORS DNI/ 18+ ONLY

The salty harbor water splashed against the algae covered docks of the warehouse district. Smog of the city filtered into the already cloudy night sky. The sea and city - cars and boat horns - clashed together in an odd cacophony. Your nose wrinkled as the sting of salt mixed with newly poured asphalt.

On top of a warehouse, you and Miguel stood side by side overlooking the massive, old and rundown, area. Another anomaly was plucked and dropped off in a universe where they shouldn’t be. The Spider-Man, Peter W. Parker, of this world was unfortunately and temporarily subdued by the anomaly, a variant of Doc Ock. Peter was completely paralyzed from his encounter and was resting back at HQ as a team tirelessly tried to work on an antidote for him.

“Be careful,” Miguel warned.

“Always am,” you smirked under your mask, before leaping off the building to search the west end of the docks.

Miguel scoffed. Yet, his eyes watched you intently as you landed on another building. You slipped inside one of the broken windows and disappeared from view.

He paused, hesitating for a second, then turned away.

Searching through your area, the anomaly wasn’t in the first building. Or the second. You hoped, sending out a small prayer to the universe he was in the last building. If not, maybe Miguel had more luck than you.

The last warehouse was filled with wrecked boats strewn up on lifts, scattered repair parts, and half broken shipping crates. Moving around, your footsteps were light, and unheard. Nothing creaked, and dust barely moved. You tried a few office doors only to find them locked, or rusted shut. Sighing, you knew of another way to enter and luckily they all lined the edge of the warehouse.

Outside once again, you carefully scaled the building approaching the first set of windows. Brown paper covered most of the dirty glass, yet one window had no covers. The paper was luckily torn back. Peering inside, it was a packed room.

A manager's office was reinvented. The desk was pushed to the far wall. Crates piled into the room, acting as other workstations. Old and battered scientific equipment, some even haphazardly thrown together, filled the desk and crates. Cracked glass - cups, beakers, and vials - were scattered about. Scraps of tarp were laid across the floor and hung from the walls as if for protection. A harsh pungent smell soon assaulted your nose. Your face scrunched up in disgust. Chemicals, any and all so it seemed, were carefully placed into rows on the floor and on top of crates. While vials lined a chipped wooden shelf, poorly screwed into the wall. Each one a different color, and labeled with a system you didn’t comprehend or care to understand.

It was crowded, an office turned into a makeshift lab.

Yet, your eyes fell back to the obvious man taking up the cramped space.

If you could call him that.

He was an experiment, a genetic splicing, gone wrong. He was a human on top while stormy blue grey tentacles were his legs. Strangely, he moved so easily. The appendages carried him with perfect posture, and also effortlessly reached for material around the homemade lab. As a tentacle slithered past your view, you quickly noted the tips had black barbs.

You carefully pushed on the window to thankfully find it unlocked. You crawled through and softly dropped in. But, he was somehow alerted to you.

He whipped around, beakers and vials with unknown liquid swayed in his hands. Massive goggles were strapped around his bulging inky black eyes. Tubes of water wrapped around the side of his neck over gills. A torn, stained lab coat hung off his bare torso. Yet, despite his somewhat menacing appearance, he cowarded at your presence. A whine, a bubbling of water, erupted from him.

You raised your hands, hoping to calm him, “Hey, hey, there’s no need to be scared. We’re just going to get you back home, okay?”

As if proving your point, he glitched. He groaned, leaning into a wooden crate. His massive eyes locked with yours. He violently shook his head. “No, I’m not going back.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to. If you don’t you’ll destroy yourself and possibly this universe.”

“No!” He immediately threw whatever vial he had in his hand.

You easily dodged it, but it splattered into the wall behind your head. A sickly sweet aroma filled your nose. You coughed, waving it away. While you were distracted, he fled. He moved with surprising agility, and squeezed through a small air vent.

“Shit.” You coughed one last time. You pressed your watch, calling Miguel. Clearing your throat, you said, “Miguel, I found him. Far west end of the docks, and he’s on the move.”

“Understood.”

You stepped forward and the world tilted. You quickly stumbled into the crates. You grunted as a dull ache rolled through you. Clenching your jaw, you shoved down the pain.

Not now. We will deal with this later.

You dove through the window to catch Doc Ock who was scrambling down an alleyway. His tentacles made a distinct ‘thwap’ as he ran away. For a moment, your vision blurred. Your grip loosened as you slid down a few inches down the brick wall. Gritting your teeth, you shook your head. Everything cleared again. Ignoring the obvious signs, you fired a web and swung down into the alley.

Miguel, however, beat you to it.

Landing in the alleyway, Miguel stood over the now unconscious Doc Ock. The red glowing webs secured around his torso and tentacles. You let out a silent thanks.

Miguel turned around, and approached you. “Are you okay?”

His voice reverberated throughout your body. Your heart leapt into your throat. You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself. “Yeah, I’m good.”

His eyes trailed over you. You were breathing heavily, why? Did the two of you fight? How did this anomaly slip past you?

“Ready?” You asked, already opening up a portal.

“Yeah,” he muttered, grabbing the anomaly.

After dropping off the anomaly at HQ, you said your quickest farewells and practically ran back home to your universe, to your apartment. Your chest started to constrict horribly when Miguel was nearby. It wasn’t the giddy childhood crush you were already accustomed too, but this deep heart wrenching ache of desire.

It frightened you.

You had to get away from him.

Returning home, you found your city basking in the moonlight. Neon signs and billboards flickered in the distance. And the usual rush of cars quieted down just enough for most of the city to fall asleep. However, sleep would not come tonight for you.

You tossed and turned endlessly. Your heart raced, like a hummingbird in flight trapped in a cage. Sweat beaded over your forehead. The dull ache from before started to move farther south of your body. You groaned and arched your back.

What … what the hell is this?

You rolled over, burying your face into the pillow.

We’re fine. It’s fine. It’ll pass.

It didn’t.

The moon, with its siblings of stars, fell and the soon burning and bright sun rose over the horizon. Yet, these sensations never wavered. Dare you say, they intensified. Your sheets were kicked off the bed, pillows tossed across the floor in fits of rage, and your clothes skewed and damped with sweat.

Fuck.

Your body ached horribly.

Hot flashes surged through you in intense waves. You groaned, curling into a tight ball. However, it was the growing heat between your legs that was becoming unbearable. You unconsciously rubbed your thighs together. The minimal friction, basically nothing, caused you to moan.

“Fuck,” you whimpered.

Shower. A cold shower might help.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you. You turned on the show to the coolest, and still comfortable, temperature. This should help, hopefully. Stripping out of your sweaty clothes, you hopped in. You hissed slightly. The water was a shock to your overheated, clammy skin. Pressing your palms into the shower wall, you dunked your head under the water like a poorly done baptism. You needed to cleanse yourself and your unholy thoughts.

You forced yourself to stay there. You gritted your teeth, and squeezed your eyes shut. The water pounded over you. Each drop were needles: sharp, quick, and irksome. But, standing under the water, you were still unbelievably hot, still painfully aroused.

Screw it.

One hand skimmed down your body between your legs. One swipe over your soaking folds and your knees nearly buckled. Still holding yourself up with one hand, and hunched under the running water, you slowly dipped your fingers inside yourself.

And immediately, his face appeared behind your closed eyes.

You could easily conjure up a scenario, and you happily indulged in your fantasy.

He was in the shower with you. Still bent over, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you up. His chest pressed firmly into your back. His skin was so warm compared to the cool water. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear. His thick fingers were inside you, it was his fingers bringing you to your release.

You moaned, pumping yourself faster.

“That’s it,” his voice whispered in your ear. “Just like that.”

“Shit,” you hissed.

“Come on,” he encouraged with a light chuckle. His hand brushed up your sides to your breasts. He gently pinched and played with your nipples. “Come on, cum around my fingers.”

You curled your fingers, making your walls flatter. You whimpered. The sinfully wet sounds mixed with the water rushing over you. You were close, far closer than you expected.

His lips skimmed down your neck. “That’s it, almost there.”

You bit your lip. You quickly flipped yourself around, supporting yourself with your back to the shower wall. Your other hand played with your clit, swirling around, as your fingers worked faster. It was messy, it was desperate. A whine rumbled in the back of your throat.

“Oh, please, cum for me. You’re so close, I can feel it.” His fingers curled, beckoning you towards your end.

It built and built, then it all snapped so suddenly and forcibly. You came hard around your fingers. “Fuck,” you hissed out.

He hummed, working you through your orgasm. “There it is.”

You leaned heavily into the wall, panting and dizzy from your rapid orgasm. You closed your eyes for a second, and let the water wash everything away.

Meanwhile, a familiar looking portal opened up in your bedroom. Miguel stepped out with a tension wrought into his shoulders. His mask retracted and his crimson eyes slid over your room, your messy room. He raised an eyebrow, surveying your room. The one thing that concerned him the most was you weren’t here.

Where were you?

“Fuck.”

Miguel’s head whipped over to the closed bathroom door. He heard you so clearly. He almost moved, almost burst through the door, but he stayed rooted in place.

Why couldn’t he move? What if you were in trouble, what if -

The shower turned off. He heard you move around, and he saw your shadow flash under the door. If you were moving, then maybe nothing was wrong. Then without warning, the bathroom door swung open with a resounding bang.

Miguel flinched, startled by the sudden noise.

Water still dripped down from your hair and down your face. Hunched forward, you propped yourself up with one hand on the doorframe. Your chest heaved. You gulped down air as if you ran a marathon. You wore only a baggy shirt which clung to your still wet skin. Your eyes swiveled over, instantly clocking Miguel’s unexpected presence.

Miguel’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, ignoring his initial question.

“You haven’t responded to my calls.”

You glanced over to your watch, blinking on your nightstand. “Sorry, I was busy.”

His eyes trailed over your body. Concern filled him. He repeated, “Are you okay?”

“Just dandy.”

His lips thinned. Why were you like this? So goddamn stubborn sometimes. “You don’t seem fine, especially since our mission last night.”

“I’m just tired,” you huffed. “And a little sore.”

God, even now your body was still aroused. And with Miguel being here, it was making everything so much worse. Your fantasy from only moments ago was seared heavily into your mind.

He needed to leave before you did something you regretted.

Miguel sighed, crossing his arms. “Are you sure? Did -“

“I said I’m fine.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever.” So be it. He pressed a button on his watch, opening up a portal back to HQ. He paused. He clearly wanted to say something, but didn’t. He stepped through without uttering another word.

You wanted to call him back, you wanted to shove him onto the bed, you wanted to him and happily bounce on his -

You groaned loudly, rubbing your hands over your face.

Dear god - universe, whatever - just someone save me from myself.

You reluctantly crawled back into bed. Maybe, the shower helped. Maybe, with Miguel gone you could rest. Maybe, this was all over.

Maybe, you were just delusional.

Tonight was no better than last night. In fact, it was probably worse. Fantasies of Miguel flooded your mind, and you couldn’t satisfy yourself no matter what you did.

You will find a solution tomorrow.

There had to be one.

The next morning, before the sun properly greeted the world, you pushed yourself up and out of bed. You had an idea on where to start. Not bothering with your suit, you kept your baggy shirt and pulled on an old pair of sweatpants. You slipped on your watch and opened up a portal to HQ. You marched directly towards the area where all the anomalies were being contained. Containers lined the area as their chorus of voices begged to be released. Your eyes swiveled around, trying to locate the one anomaly who had any possible explanation to your current endeavor. But, you couldn’t find him in the sea of people. Getting frustrated, you turned your attention towards the person operating the ‘Go Home’ machine.

“Spider-Byte.”

Margo, the purple holographic girl, whirled around. She smiled only for it to falter given your appearance. You were obviously and very plainly pissed. You glared icily, unable to calm yourself. Worst of all, every time you moved, pain and pleasure rolled through you.

“Whoa, are you -“

You cut her off, “The Doc Ock, the one Miguel and I brought in yesterday, is he still here?”

“Uh.” She brought up a screen and tapped on it. “Yeah, he’s still here but not for long. I’ll have him back home in a few hours.”

“I only need a few minutes. Just point me in the direction where he is.”

Margo did so without question, she gestured down a row of anomalies. Mumbling your thanks, you spun around weaving down the aisle until you finally saw him. You stomped over and pounded on the container.

“What the hell did you do to me,” you gritted your teeth.

The man blinked owlishly. “I’m sorry - oh, oh! You! Oh, this is fantastic! I’ve been hoping to see -“

You slammed your fist again. “Answer me! What the hell did I inhale!”

He shrank, and squeaked. “Oh, uh, that’s … that’s complicated.”

“How so?” You sneered.

“Well,” he fidgeted, his tentacles squirming around. “I don’t know exactly what I gave you.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I … I was experimenting with my toxin and - and I was constantly adding new compounds to it or trying to rewrite it.”

You clicked your tongue, and raised an eyebrow.

“And well, I was trying to make it stronger, more of a deadly venom than a paralyzing agent.”

“And so you don’t know what you gave me or what was in it?”

“… no … I needed more time to study it.”

“Fantastic.”

“Well, what are your symptoms? Tell me, what are you feeling? Any discomfort? Any pain? What about hallucinations?”

He was like a giddy child.

“Oh, yeah definitely some discomforts,” you sarcastically replied. You shook your head and turned away. He shouted after you, but you simply ignored him. It took all of your strength and willpower to not break through the containment and pummel him.

Taking calming breaths, you swiftly left the area. Passing by all the anomalies, each of them shouted at you as you tried to think of a way to make this suffering end. Peter W. Parker apparently was still in the medical wing dealing with his paralysis. So, time seemed to be the only reasonable solution you could think of. And it had been a day, surely it would wear off by now.

Even if you felt worse every hour.

“(Y/N).”

A hand curled around your wrist.

A fire unfurled in the pit of your stomach by such a delicate touch. You shuddered. You kept your head trained forward, and your back to the last person you wanted to see. He couldn’t see you like this.

Not now, not after yesterday.

“What’s wrong?” Miguel asked, then took in your disgruntled appearance. “You look like …”

Horrible? Like shit?

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” you quickly answered, tugging your wrist out of his grasp.

“Clearly,” he sarcastically replied.

You bit your tongue. Dear god, his voice. So smooth, so rich. “I’m tired, okay? So, I’m just going home.”

“Wait -“

“Good day, Miguel.” You pressed a button and stepped through the portal.

Miguel clenched his fists. He was about to chase after you when Lyla appeared saying others needed him. Begrudgingly, he left. But, this wasn’t the end for him. He will get a proper answer from you.

You sighed deeply, standing back in your room alone. You collapsed forward onto the bed. A muffled groan erupted from you.

I can get through this, I’ll be fine.

An hour passed.

An ice pack, barely cold anymore, laid across your forehead. Your pants and underwear were discarded. You constantly tugged on the collar of your shirt and fanned yourself. Your body ached. You wanted to claw at your skin, you wanted to rip your hair out, you wanted -

You wanted Miguel. God, you wanted him terribly. You wanted him to bend you over.

“Just like that,” you imagined he would coo as he slipped his cock inside of you.

You tried pleasuring yourself, but nothing helped. Nothing satiated you. This swelling sensation only became more and more intense.

You hissed and curled up onto your side. The ice pack slid off your forehead. You lazily picked it up, tossing it onto your nightstand. Your eyes blinked slowly. You stared blankly at the wall, trying to focus on something - anything. Anything but the dampness between your legs, anything but your spiraling perverted thoughts.

Move.

Do something.

Call for help.

You languidly pushed yourself up, and hunched forward. Your head fell into your hands. Your chest continued to heave and tighten. Your heart pounded and rang in your ears. “Fuck me,” you muttered under your breath.

“Only if you ask nicely,” Miguel chuckled.

You shivered.

Almost summoned by your thoughts, yellow and orange lights burst to life behind you. You twisted around. A portal opened up, and a familiar hulking figure walked through: Miguel. Seeing his face, your heart sank. You whipped back around, unable and unwilling to face him.

Why? Why the hell was he here?

He squinted, seeing your decrepit posture on the edge of your bed. “Still fine I see.”

You rolled your eyes. “What do you want? I’m trying to rest.”

Miguel shuffled over. “I came here to see why you’ve been acting weird.”

“It’s nothing.”

He sighed, a short disappointed sigh. He lowered himself onto your bed. A notable gap was between the two of you. Yet, you could feel the heat roll off of him. You unconsciously leaned slightly towards him, desperately seeking him out.

“Talk to me.”

I’m worried about you, he thought.

He hadn’t stopped worrying. You were constantly on the forefront of his mind. Most of all, he wondered why you were avoiding him. Why were you locking yourself away in your room? What happened?

You stayed silent.

Miguel gently rested his hand on your shoulder. “Look -“

You flinched. You leapt away and hastily took a few steps away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

One touch and your body nearly crumbled.

His hand fell. Shock evident on his typically stoic face. His fist clenched. Anger was now getting the better part of him. “I’m trying to help you.”

You hugged yourself, keeping your back to him. “I’m - I'm fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He stood up. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” you repeated harshly.

Miguel clicked his tongue. He had enough of your constant dismissal. He grabbed your shoulders and whirled you around to finally face him. You gasped. He stared intently down at you, dissecting and analyzing you. You were panting, your skin glistened with sweat, and notably your pupils were completely dilated.

“What -“

You jerked away from him. And you unconsciously rubbed your thighs together.

Oh. Oh.

Miguel’s cheeks darkened faintly. He placed his hands on his hips, and glanced away. He cleared his throat, “How … how long have you been like … like that?”

You crossed your arms, and sighed. There was no use hiding it anymore. “Since our encounter with Doc Ock.”

His eyes flickered up. “So, he did do something to you.”

“… yes.”

“Which was?”

“He … he threw some substance at me and I accidentally inhaled it.”

He rubbed the spot between his brows, a common place for his headaches to start. “And why did you tell me?”

You tsked and sneered, “Oh sorry, boss, I can’t come in today. I can’t focus or do anything because I am unbelievably and painfully horny.”

God, this is humiliating.

Miguel sighed deeply, dropped his shoulders. “Well, maybe Doc Ock can -“

“He can’t help. I already confronted him, he was just a mad scientist who didn’t know what he created.”

He shifted his weight side to side. “Well, have you … you know …”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Miguel, we are not having this conversation.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes scanned over you again. God, he couldn’t deny that you were absolutely delectable right now. His mind ran rampant with impure thoughts. It was the way your lips parted as you breathed heavily, it was the way your body squirmed, it was the way you desperately tried to bury the noises ready to jump out, it was the way you adamantly avoided his gaze, it was the way your hardened nipples poke through your shirt, it was the way how he could smell you and your arousal.

He wasn’t blind to your beauty. He was simply ignorant to his feelings and attraction. He buried it deep within him, unwilling to acknowledge any of it. But, seeing you now, seeing the discomfort you were in, seeing you in such a needy state, he wanted to help. He took a cautious step forward, “Maybe I can help.”

You snapped your head up, staring wide eyed at him. “What?”

“I said maybe I can -“

You shook your head and backed yourself away from him until your back bumped into the wall. “No, no, what needs to happen is that you need to leave.” Swallowing down such desire, you closed your eyes and muttered, “Just go.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Fucking hell.

You shouted, “Just get the hell out of here!”

Miguel didn’t respond. Cracking open your eyes, his gaze bore directly into you. It was a searing gaze. Your knees nearly buckled under the intensity. He stepped closer.

“Please,” you whispered, practically begging. “I - I … just … just not like this, not because of my dumb mistake.”

He froze, and his eyebrows knitted together.

Your gaze dropped to the ground. You couldn’t - and wouldn’t - look at him.

He slowly continued to walk towards you. You forced down a whimper. Sandwiched between the wall and him, he gently grabbed your chin. You flinched and squeezed your eyes shut. It pained you immensely to fight so fiercely against your desires and needs. He tipped your chin up. “Look at me.”

You kept your eyes closed, and your face scrunched up.

“Por favor, cariño. Please, look at me.”

Your heart flipped at his unusually sweet tone. You opened up your eyes, and was immediately greeted by his strangely, endearing, rosy crimson eyes.

“Good,” he murmured.

Oh, fuck.

Biting down on your tongue, you forced down any noises that almost dared to crawl out. You dug your nails into your palms. You wouldn’t dare touch him because if you did you wouldn’t let go.

“If I didn’t care for you in this way, I wouldn’t be here. I would be back at HQ working on a cure, on some antidote.” His other hand reached out and rested on your hip. He drew you close, flushing you to his chest. “But, am I at HQ right now?”

You didn’t trust your voice. You simply shook your head, a small twitch.

“You’re right, I’m not. I’m right here asking - begging - to let me help you.” He bent his head down, brushing his lips over yours. “Please, I want to help … I’ve … I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Miguel.”

“Please.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t … I don’t know what’ll do. I don’t know if I can control myself.”

He slowly pulled up the hem of your shirt. His hand skimmed across your lower back. He laughed once, “I can handle it. Please, let me help.”

His fingers lightly touched your skin. A groan rumbled in the back of your throat. “I don’t want you to think differently of me,” you whispered as your eyes dropped to his lips.

Your excuses were hollow now.

He moved his head, letting his lips brush over your neck. His hands snaked further up your back, and his talons gently scraped down. You moaned, arching your back into his touch. Your hands latched onto his biceps, squeezing them.

“My opinion of you won’t change,” he muttered into your neck. His leg slid between yours. Your swollen clit rubbed against his massive thigh.

“Fuck,” you hissed, clinging onto him.

“Just say yes, cariño.” He nuzzled his face into your neck. “I want to help.”

You cupped his face, looking directly into his eyes. His eyes were begging, pleading, for you. You brought him down, giving him a sweet, loving kiss. He hummed, wrapping his arms around you. However, you quickly broke the kiss before he could truly enjoy it.

Miguel didn’t understand. How would he know? He inadvertently poured gasoline over the already raging fire inside of you. Your eyes darkened. You pushed Miguel backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he flopped backward. He held himself up on his forearms, stunned by your sudden change.

A smirk curled over your lips. A beast, one you had been holding back for more than a day, was finally unleashed. Locking eyes with him, you slowly stripped out of your shirt - your only article of clothing - letting it dramatically drop to the floor.

Miguel’s eyes greedily drank in your naked figure.

You crawled onto his lap, straddling him. You pushed him down so he laid flat against the bed. His hands instantly rested on your waist. You hovered over him, planting your hands on either side of his head.

He looked up at you with absolute adoration. He could not describe how thrilled he was right now.

You bent down, kissing him passionately. As you took the lead, you opened your mouth, deepening the kiss. Miguel hummed. He brought your hips down, making you grind down on him. You moaned into the kiss. Breaking apart, you muttered, “Fuck.”

You peppered kisses all over his face, and across his jaw. You desperately wanted to trail your lips all over him. It was such a ravenous feeling. You needed to mark him, to bite him, to taste him.

“Take the suit off,” you murmured, kissing the corner of his jaw.

He let out a pleased sigh. The digital suit retracted with a whirl of colors, revealing himself to you. You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt the tip of his cock brush against your inner thigh. Your lips brushed down his neck. He tilted his head, allowing you better access to do whatever you wished. Your heart soared. You slowly - teasingly so - kissed the crook of his neck. His grip on your hips tightened. Like a switch, you attacked his neck. Your teeth scraped across his sensitive skin. You nipped all along his neck needing to mark his skin. Oh, it excited you to know that these bruises would be under his suit tomorrow. Your tongue swirled over soothing any pains.

Miguel moaned.

What a beautiful sound.

Stopping your attack on his now blemished neck, your lips trailed further down his body. You kissed over his chest, occasionally biting his skin. Your eyes flickered up, seeing his head tilt back. You ran your teeth over his nipples. He groaned. You licked up his chest, tasting the saltiness of his sweat. You kissed up his jaw to his ear, and gently nibbled on his lope.

Miguel clenched his jaw. His heart flipped in his chest. He didn’t expect this, he didn’t expect to ever be here like this with you. He surely didn’t expect the control you quickly had over him.

And oh, he loved it.

Lifting yourself up, you teasingly rubbed his tip across your dripping folds. He groaned, almost whimpering.

“Fuck, Miguel,” you moaned.

At such a simple movement, you were seeing stars. You weren’t sure how long you would last. You wanted to draw this out longer, you wanted to have more fun with him, but you couldn’t.

You needed him. And you were nearly insatiable.

You slowly sank down on his cock. Miguel hissed. You placed your hands on his chest, panting. Miguel soothingly rubbed his thumbs over your hips. You moaned, feeling how he stretched and filled you. No one made you feel this full or good. As you bottomed out, you swore under your breath.

Miguel chuckled to himself.

But, his amusement was cut short when you started to move. Lust flooded back into his veins. He moaned out your name. His talons popped out and dug into your hips.

You set the pace, a nearly brutal but wondrous pace.

And Miguel thought you looked divine.

Your head tilted back to the heavens. Your lips parted as you whispered his name like a prayer. Your body arched like an angel soaring up, like a renaissance painting. Your hands traced up your hypnotic body, playing with your breasts. He wanted to draw you back down, he wanted to shower you in kisses, he wanted to flip you over and pound into you. But, this was all for you. You were the one who was affected by something strange, you were the one to take the lead. You rolled your head, glancing down at him. A soft smile tugged on your lips.

Oh, the way you looked at him, the way you bounced on his cock, the way your eyes softened with affection, he felt his heart was going to explode.

His cock twitched inside of you.

You hummed.

You rolled your hips, and he swore in Spanish. Smirking, you changed the pace. It was slow and easy - just to have your fun, no matter how short lived it might be - then flipped to hard and fast - desperate to reach your end. And your end was coming quickly.

You happily split yourself and continuously moaned out his name. “Miguel,” you moaned, dropping your hands back on his chest. “I - I won’t last much longer.”

Miguel felt your walls clench around you. He gritted his teeth, and moaned. “That’s okay, that’s okay,” he whispered.

He helped you, lifting your hips along with your movements. He slammed you back down right as he bucked his hips up, grinding you further onto him. You gasped and swore.

“Fuck, Miguel, keep doing that,” you whimpered.

He smirked, enjoying your sounds. Moving you faster, you pounded on his cock. Your nails scratched across his chest in red ribbons. The coil tightened and tightened in the pit of your stomach.

You whined.

Miguel wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and lose himself in the feeling of you. But, he also wanted to watch you come undone. So, he watched hungrily.

It was getting sloppy and erratic.

You closed your eyes. You dropped your head, tucking your chin to your chest. But, fingers gently guided your chin back up. “Eyes on me,” Miguel murmured. “Please, I want to see it.”

You melted into his touch, then he bucked his hips right as you went down. The coil snapped. Your walls clamped down around him as your orgasm crashed through you. You moaned out his name as you stared down at him with hooded eyes.

Miguel clenched his jaw. Oh, what a sight. His cock jumped.

Your movements, however, didn’t slow down. You wanted Miguel to cum, you wanted to feel it. You grabbed Miguel’s face and forced him to sit up. You kissed him heatedly as you still rode him. Miguel hummed. Your fingers threaded into his dark curls, and yanked on them.

He whined.

Your eyes sparkled. “Come on, Miguel. Cum for me.”

Miguel shivered. Your words, your body, it was so wondrous. He bucked his hips up, cumming inside of you.

Finally stopping your relentless movement, you dropped your head onto his shoulder. Both of you were gasping for air. Your eyes flickered down, seeing the mess you both created.

You shivered.

Miguel, however, surprised you. He flipped you over, landing you on your back. You gasped. Before you could do or say anything, Miguel dropped to his knees onto the floor, yanked your body down the bed, then nestled his face between your legs.

He devoured you like a starved man.

Your lips parted in a silent moan as your eyes rolled back. You arched your back, and tangled your fingers into his hair.

He wanted to taste you. God, he dreamt of this so many times. Although, he didn’t dare admit it out loud. He groaned. He lifted one of your legs, tossing it over his shoulder. His hands fiercely grabbed your thighs. His talons scraped along your inner thigh. He buried his face deeper. His nose brushed over your already sensitive clit and you cried out. He growled, the taste of you and him on his tongue was divine.

“Miguel,” you gasped.

He forcibly pulled himself away, panting. His chin and lips were covered in mixed juices. His eyes were lit with primal desires. He smirked, flashing his fangs. You scrambled up. You grabbed the back of his neck, smashing your lips to his. You easily slipped your tongue inside his mouth, swirling it around. You hummed in delight, tasting him and yourself.

You still wanted more.

Needed more.

The residual of whatever affected you still lingered.

You pulled away from him. Your combined hot breaths filled the minimal space between the two of you. With you still on the bed on your knees, you finally had some height over Miguel. You cupped his face, and tilted his chin up. His arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you into him. You smiled then brushed your thumb over his lip. Without hesitation, he parted his lips and you slipped your thumb into his mouth. His tongue ran over the pad of your thumb, and the tip of his fang grazed over it.

You shivered, causing him to smirk.

You removed your thumb. You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned down, kissing him sweetly again. It was a confession, and a thank you. He sighed into the kiss. You slowly parted, lingering for a second. It was so tender, despite the cum and saliva coating his chin and your lips. And your following words reminded Miguel how and why he got into this bizarre, surreal situation.

“I want you to fuck me from behind,” you whispered.

Miguel’s eyebrows shot up for a moment, then he chuckled. “Of course,” he purred. Whatever you wanted, he was happy to do. “Can you get on your hands and knees for me?”

You bit back a smile. Your fingers skimmed along his jaw as you backed away and got into position. Miguel watched, transfixed. His eyes trailed down. Seeing your soaking folds, he moaned softly. He can still taste you on his tongue. He licked his lips. Crawling onto the bed, he carefully grabbed your hips.

“You’re too good for me,” he confessed quietly.

You sighed under the simple praise.

He lined himself up, just teasing your entrance. You began to fist the sheets in anticipation. He leaned down. His broad chest pressed firmly into your back, and he whispered in your ear, “But now, let me be good for you.”

He easily pushed himself in.

You moaned unabashedly.

“That’s it, let me hear you,” he grunted.

This round was hot and fast. There wasn’t adoration or love this time, this was solely desires and sins. This was using each other’s bodies.

And Miguel was animalistic. God, it was utter bliss.

You grinded back, meeting his thrusts. You dropped down onto your forearms unable to support yourself fully. Your face buried into the sheets as you cried out. His cock was kissing spots you didn’t think was possible.

Miguel smiled, enjoying your muffled sounds and how you squirmed. His fingers reached around and began to play with your clit. You swore as your body shuddered. Your walls fluttered around him.

He rolled his head back at the sensation. It was as if you were made perfectly for him.

“Miguel,” you whined.

You wanted this so badly. You moved your hips feverishly in tune with his. Skin slapped together, wet noises echoed, and voices cried out. Miguel gasped. His talons buried into your hips, drawing out small specs of blood. He gritted his teeth, almost baring his fangs.

“Ay dios mío,” he grumbled.

Neither of you would last long.

You were begging under your breath. You needed it, you needed him. “Fuck, Miguel, please.”

“I know, I got you,” he groaned, pounding into you. “Let go, cum for me.”

You moaned.

With his fingers, his pace, and your already stimulated body, you came. You gushed around his cock, and slumped heavily into the bed. As your walls clamped down again, Miguel hissed as he spilled himself inside of you. He continued to gently rocked his hips as you both came back down to reality.

The air buzzed with the aftermath.

Your grip on the sheets loosened. You turned your head, glancing back at him: his chest covered in new bruises, his sweat covered forehead, and his fangs and talons were still out. You shivered at the sight. His eyes flickered over, connecting with yours. He gave you a tired smile. He bent down and kissed the spot between your shoulder blades.

You hummed softly.

Miguel rolled onto the bed. His arms wrapped around your waist as flushed your back to his chest. His now softened cock still buried inside.

“Better?” He murmured into your ear.

You nodded.

“Good,” he sighed. “Just … just stay like this with me, please.”

To be fair, you had no energy to argue or care. A day of exhaustion finally caught up to you. You relaxed into his embrace, enjoying the comfort as well as the fullness of him still inside of you. You placed a hand over top of his and intertwined your fingers with his. You squeezed his hand.

“Thank you,” you muttered.

He kissed your shoulder. “You’re welcome. Now rest, cariño, I got you.”

I always will, he thought as you drifted off in his arms completely satisfied.

#across the spiderverse #spiderverse #atsv #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x afab!reader #miguel x reader #miguel x afab!reader #afab!reader #smut

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animasola86 · 1 month

Note

I had the idea of facesitting with professor sharp but reader (or mc idk what you prefer) is hesitant

Thank you for the ask! I went a little overboard with this (as I often do), and I apologize for whatever I made this fine gentleman do, but I hope you still enjoy! (If anyone would like to request me with anything as well, please go on ahead! My asks are open!)

Fountain of Youth

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!mc

Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 4.2k // [READ ON AO3]

Synopsis: Aesop Sharp has tried everything to soothe the aches of his battered body, and nothing seems to work, but then he comes across a well of youth in the form of a young lover who is willing to feed him everything he's ever wanted, and more.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Established student/teacher relationship. Size difference. Age gap. Oral sex. Facesitting. Fingering.

Fountain of Youth

They say having a young lover is good for body and soul, and he couldn't agree more. When Aesop Sharp decided to throw caution to the wind and indulge in a rather unusual and certainly forbidden kind of affair, he knew he'd do anything to keep his girl entertained. Not that she ever demanded it, no, she was far from requesting anything, she was the most selfless person he had ever met, and most of the time she was doing everything to keep him happy.

And how happy he was when she would indulge him. It had taken him a while to accept her generous offers, but now he couldn't live without them, without her, be it bouncing on his lap, hidden between his thighs under his desk, or simply pressed against him in bed, deeply connected.

And he wanted to give back, but the state of his body often forbade any activity that was more than sliding his cock into her tight heat. It pained him, literally and mentally, that he couldn't indulge her the same way she did him.

She didn't mind, of course. And she never complained, not even when she left his office or bedroom with a limp because her body had struggled to accommodate the immense size difference between them. She was so tiny in his arms, to be fair he was a giant amongst humans, figuratively, and still she seemed to thrive on it, embrace it and him whenever she could, no matter how much pain he caused her.

Then again she must be some sort of masochist if she spent her time with him rather than with the other seventh-years. He was still a grumpy old man most of the time, even though he wasn't that old, but next to her he did feel his age sometimes.

And yet they connected somehow, not just physically. He felt drawn to her, felt his heart beat faster when he saw her, when she smiled at him. When she'd touch him, his skin would tingle and his sore muscles warmed in anticipation, whether her small hands would massage them or not.

She radiated warmth, inside and out, and while he was very fond of feeling her tight little sheath envelop him in a perfect fit, he also enjoyed holding her small body in his arms, pressed to his chest, breathing in her lovely scent. And it didn't stop there, a smile, a look, a stolen glance across the classroom, and he felt at least five years younger when a strange sensation of heat gathered in his guts.

And somehow, he wanted more, wanted all of her.

One day, she was sitting on a shelf in his hidden hobby room and watched him whittle. She said she loved seeing him work with his hands, and while he knew she also loved having the same hands all over her body and his fingers knuckles deep in her cute little cunt, he also appreciated it when she observed him while he engaged in one of his other hobbies, apart from indulging her. He spent most of his free time sketching landscapes (or more recently her) or doing a little woodwork to keep his hands nimble (for her).

A little sigh escaped her, and he looked up at her, perched on the high ledge of the sturdy shelf, right next to one of those wooden dolls he sometimes made to gift (or scare) his colleagues. At least Abraham seemed to like them, while Mirabel seemed utterly scared by them. And his young lover certainly enjoyed their company too. He'd often catch her re-arranging them behind his back, telling him they must have moved on their own, and to be fair, sometimes he did think they had a mind of their own.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” he asked and put the tools down, patiently smiling up at her.

“Yes, everything's fine,” she said quietly as she shifted on the shelf, her feet dangling off. He noticed that her skirt had ridden up slightly and her blouse was halfway unbuttoned, and by the way she pressed her thighs together, he knew everything was definitely not fine. A knowing smile grazed his lips.

He stood up with a groan, straightened the old bones, and walked closer to her. At his height, his eye level was right between her legs, and he didn't hesitate to push them apart to stand closer to her. Inhaling deeply to take in her scent, and oh the sweet scent she was emanating, he quickly found the cause of it too: she wasn't wearing any underwear. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and watched him, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Her hands found his head, fingers caressing his hairline and scalp, and he tilted it to look up at her.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered gravelly, wiping sawdust from his hands before he hooked his arms around her legs to caress her soft thighs.

She licked her lips, a shy blush blooming on her cheeks. “I...”

“Use your words, darling.”

His deep voice caused her to shiver, and he felt the goosebumps as they rippled over her bare skin. While she still struggled to tell him what she needed (even though he already knew it quite well, but he liked to tease her a little every now and then), he leaned his cheek against the inside of her thigh, his beard rubbing against her flesh, and she keened softly.

He eyed her closely, patiently. When she finally spoke, her words made him shiver for a change.

“I want you to taste me,” she whispered, holding his gaze, and he saw that her pupils were blown with lust.

Giving her a warm smile, he turned his head and pressed his lips to her inner thigh. Then once more, and again, kiss after kiss until he reached her heat, and how warm she was. Warm and wet. His good little girl. He kept his hands on her legs, holding them open while he leaned closer, his eyes still on her flushed face as he took a deep breath, the scent of her arousal filling his nostrils. She shuddered visibly, biting her lip in a way that was both cute and sensual, which she knew drove him crazy.

Breathing a little rougher against her sensitive skin, he planted soft kisses along her lower stomach, moved back to her thighs, teased her by slowly inching closer to her folds. He took his sweet time, leaving a trail of fire along her soft flesh, and while she was squirming slightly on the shelf, growing impatient, he smirked to himself before he put his mouth to the hidden little bundle of nerves – and she gasped and jerked her hips against him.

He held her in a tight grip while he flicked his tongue up and down her nub, feeling it throb against him, while her wetness gathered between her folds. She had her hands on her mouth to muffle her noises, and he only needed to throw her a dark glance, tsking into her heat, and she lowered them, face fully flushed, lips quivering.

Leaning back only a little, he rasped: “I want to hear you, sweetheart.”

She nodded obediently, grabbing the edges of the shelf instead to steady herself. Her arms were shaking. Smiling at her, he focused back on her pretty little pussy. Kissing her mound, he returned to her clit, gently licking it, nibbling on it, and when he pulled it between his lips, she squeaked and squirmed in his hold, her thighs twitching against him.

More mewls escaped her when he started lapping along her lower lips, gathering her wetness on his tongue, tasting her, and he closed his eyes when he took it all in, her scent, her warmth, that sweet, sweet taste. He seldom indulged her like this, eating her out was not the best on his sore joints and muscles, his stiff leg always getting in the way of his enjoyment, but she sometimes found positions to make it easier for him.

He continued moving his tongue through her slit, parting those soft lips, nibbling on them, pulling them into his mouth, while she whimpered softly, her body twitching slightly. When he rubbed his stubbled chin against her soft skin, she gasped and let out a sweet little moan, and his eyes flew open as he watched her arch her head back, neck exposed, hair falling over her shoulders, eyes rolling back in delight.

She loved having his beard all over her, the sound alone, she said, could drive her right over the edge, and she would sometimes just move her fingers over his rough cheeks and mewl quietly while doing so. So he indulged her and scraped his chin along her inner thighs before pressing it to her clit and slowly shaking and nodding his head, feeling the convulsions before the moans left her pretty mouth.

He watched her closely, taking in every single reaction to his ministrations. She was close, he could tell, shivers and shudders and goosebumps rolling over her limbs, and instead of teasing her further, he returned his mouth to her clit, giving it a few hard sucks, and she unravelled right in front of him, shrieking softly when she came. He put his mouth to her folds and lapped at her wetness, gulping it down like a man parched, his tongue moving between her lips and dipping into her quivering cunt, her contractions clenching around the soft muscle as he pushed it deeper into her.

She moaned louder, the feeling of his stubble must be overwhelming for her as he pressed his face to her heat, his hands tightening around her legs as she started convulsing on the shelf. She came again, her noises echoing through the small room, filling his ears as much as her taste filled his mouth. He licked up her slick with long broad strokes, from her clenching hole to her throbbing clit, his own deep groans vibrating through her core, adding to the sensation he was sure.

Her hands gripped his hair then as she bucked her hips against his face, mewling and moaning, barely able to contain herself. He held her in his iron grip, fingers digging into her soft thighs, possibly leaving bruises at this point, but he kept going, addicted to her taste, to her juices, and she was very generous tonight.

Eventually he slowed his ministrations, gently kissing her puffy lips, giving her clit one last lick, before he leaned back, loosening his arms around her legs to bring one hand to her mound, softly rubbing it to calm her.

She was a quietly whimpering mess, her lips parted and quivering, her eyes hooded and exhausted as she finally came down from the highs he had given her. He grabbed her waist and lifted her off the shelf, gently cradling her in his arms as she leaned her head against his shoulder and smiled contently.

“Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely.

He smiled back and brought his wet lips to hers, and despite her spent state, she grabbed his face and returned the kiss in full, tasting herself in his mouth as her tongue slipped between his lips to meet his own. He carried her to the table and sat her down gently, still glued to her mouth, savouring her sweet taste, before he leaned back and sighed deeply. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he hummed softly and whispered: “No, thank you.”

She watched him with her cheeks burning when he returned to his woodworking, feeling rejuvenated and ready to take on anything.

Like with any good, fulfilling beverage, he soon felt its effect dwindling, and after a couple of days, he was lying in bed, cuddled up to his young lover, and felt every sore muscle and strain and ache almost tenfold. He could barely move, and even though he never told her that he was in pain, she seemed to notice it nonetheless and tried her best to keep his body as relaxed as possible.

Right now, she had her small hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it expertly while she planted soft kisses on his broad chest, and he just lay on his back, not even able to raise a hand to return her touches. Clenching his jaw, he watched her, his eyes roaming her beautiful body, every curve and bump and hollow, taking it all in, how her breasts moved with every deep intake of air, how goosebumps rippled over her skin when he would hum or groan under the surprisingly strong grip of her hand.

He felt his stomach tighten when she moved her little mouth to nibble on the bulging veins on his shaft, her warm tongue lapping at his hot skin, cooling and warming it simultaneously. His breaths quickened, and he closed his eyes when he felt her lips closing around his tip, gently sucking on it, her tongue flicking against his slit.

Slowly he moved his hand up, his arm shaking slightly, and put it on her thigh, fingers closing around it almost fully. She leaned back and met his hooded gaze, licking her lips. Her eyes were warm and kind, a soft smile grazing that full, wet mouth. He tilted his chin up, giving her a little nod, and she crawled towards him and kissed his cheek, watching him closely, careful not to put any weight on him.

“Tell me what to do,” she whispered, her fingers rubbing along his stubbled jaw.

“I need to taste you again,” he said gruffly, his voice hoarse and strained.

She looked a little conflicted, wondering what to do. He wasn't capable of moving much, and she knew that. He was also about to ask something of her they had never done before, but he knew she wouldn't shy away from it, she was usually very open with trying anything new with him. She was a great student, and he had taught her well.

“Sit on my face,” he said bluntly and noticed how her eyes widened.

“Are you sure? Won't that hurt you?” she whispered, biting her lip.

“It'll be fine,” he rasped.

“H-how do you w-want me to... sit?” she asked quietly, her voice shaking.

He fought the strain in his arms and raised them to place his hands on her waist and guide her towards him. “Sit on my chest, then lean on your knees, facing the headboard. Grab it if you like, to keep your balance.”

She hesitated, but then slowly did as he told her, swinging her leg over him and positioned her knees on either side of his head, her expression still uncertain. Without him mentioning it, she kept her entire weight off him as she leaned on her knees, her beautiful cunt hovering right over his mouth. Her scent was intoxicating. His eyes roamed every inch of her sex, and by the way she squirmed, her legs trembling, he knew she was a little uncomfortable with him staring at her like that.

“You're beautiful,” he told her, his eyes moving up to meet hers. She leaned back slightly to be able to see him, a shy smile grazing her lips. His hands rested on the curve of her rear, gently pulling her closer, and she strained her thighs and followed the hint, gently pressing her folds to his face. A surprised mewl escaped her when his beard rubbed against her soft skin. He inhaled deeply, feeling her shuddering on top of him as he did so.

Pulling her even closer so he wouldn't have to strain his neck, he pressed his lips to her labia before his tongue darted out and licked along her slit. Her taste immediately filled his mouth, her little whimpers filled his ears, and when he closed his eyes, he lost himself in her completely. Lapping at the wetness gathering between her folds, he felt his body relaxing beneath her, his sore muscles warming, and he was able to really grip her plump arse cheeks, kneading them as he sucked and nibbled on her soft lips, pulling them between his teeth and into his mouth, coaxing all the sweet sounds out of her throat.

While he laved her wet skin, his nose kept brushing against her clit, and instinctively or not, she writhed against him, moving lower until he was able to give that sensitive bundle of nerves the same treatment as her folds. She moaned when he sucked on it, his tongue flicking against it, rolling it, and the more he abused her little nub, the more wetness seeped against his chin.

She was still only hovering above him, straining her thighs, her arms outstretched to hold onto the headboard to steady herself. Always so considerate of him. He adored her for it, but he needed her to really engage here, so he could really engage her.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” he hummed against her clit, licking it gently. She squirmed and moaned quietly, tensing on top of him.

“I don't want to hurt you,” she managed to croak out between breaths.

“You won't,” he assured her, his hand tightening around her bum to push her down on him. She still fought it, shuddering under the exertion. “Come on, darling, indulge me.”

She let out a shuddering breath, then slowly lowered herself. It wasn't that she weighed a lot, she barely weighed anything in his eyes, she was just a soft little creature made of sunshine and smiles after all, but when she finally sat down on his face, he felt it. Her lower lips parted around his mouth, and she shivered when his beard rubbed against her sensitive skin. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with her scent, feeling dizzy for a moment, a sensation that wasn't unpleasant at all, before he let his tongue dart out and lap at her soft skin, her wetness basically seeping into his mouth now.

His grunt against her sex made her squeak softly, and she seemed to really force herself not to move against him, still afraid she might hurt or suffocate him. But he had never felt better. He kissed and licked her inner folds, his tongue teasingly dipping into her clenching hole while his nose rubbed against her clit. Her mewls shuddered through her entire body, and he closed his eyes and pushed deeper, his tongue pressing past her entrance, licking at her soft walls.

She started twitching, her noises tumbling out of her uncontrollably, her wetness gathering on his tongue and his lips, and he barely managed to lap it all up before she gave him more. His fingers dug into her soft bum cheeks, teasing along the cleft between them, before he moved them back and hooked his arms around her thighs, holding her open as she started to clamp her legs together in anticipation of her approaching release.

Her arms fell from the headboard and rested next to his head, fingers clawing at the bedsheets, as her hips bucked against his face, and despite never having done this before, she was as usual a quick learner and despite her initial inhibitions not too shy to engage as well instead of letting him do all the work. While he lapped at her folds, sucking and nibbling, drinking up her juices, his groans mixing with muffled slurping and squelching sounds, she slowly gyrated her pelvis against his face, her moans so soft they soothed the aches in his body almost as much as her wetness running down his throat.

He felt light-headed, nearly delirious when her taste and scent took over everything else, and when her movements on top of him grew harder and faster, he let her ride it out, use his face to get her where she wanted to go, and all he could do was lap up her juices, his tongue alternating between stimulating her clit and dipping into her clenching cunt.

The moment stretched forever, and frankly, he could have lived in it for just as long, but then she gasped, spasmed, and cried out loudly as she forced her heat firmer against his mouth, really suffocating him now, before she arched her back and lifted herself only slightly, allowing him to breathe and get a perfect view of how she came undone right on top of him.

Her clit throbbed visibly, her glistening pussy fluttering, and before she could shower him in her juices, he had pressed her heat against his mouth, holding her closely as she convulsed against him, mewls and moans slipping from her, and he lapped and slurped up every single drop she gave him. She collapsed on top of him, spent and limp, her body heavy on his face, but he felt the effect immediately as her warmth filled his stomach.

Using his elbows to push himself up, he rolled her around, carefully placing her down before he grabbed her thighs and dove between them once more, the soreness of his body gone almost completely. He knew it wouldn't last long, but he wanted to make the best of it. She was sprawled on the bed, arms beside her head, legs twitching, chest heaving with her small breasts quivering, nipples perked up, while he lapped and nibbled at her folds, bent over her small frame.

Her taste was addictive, all-consuming, clouding his mind. He had no idea for how long he had licked her quivering cunt, but when a soft hand dug into his hair, he looked up, his dark eyes glazed over, and saw her watching him, her face flushed, her eyebrows slightly furrowed, her lips trembling. He leaned back reluctantly, but then he noticed how red and puffy her sensitive skin looked, and he could have kicked himself for not seeing it earlier. He had licked her raw.

Giving her mound a soft peck, he crawled up her body, caging her in on his hands and knees, while he looked down at her, licking his moist lips. Her small hands moved up and rubbed his cheeks, wiping her wetness from his face before she pulled him closer and kissed him softly. He shared her taste with her and breathed deeply into her mouth, slowly coming down from the high she had given him. She was dangerously intoxicating. She was his drug.

He rolled off her then, still kissing her softly, pulling her soft body against his while his hand moved along her sides until he dipped it between her thighs. Her skin was burning, radiating heat against his palm, and she winced when he touched her, but didn't fight it when he caressed her mound carefully, hoping his calloused fingers wouldn't make it worse. But her body adjusted by making her wet again, coating his fingers and her oversensitive skin.

She was a miracle.

Sighing contently, he released her mouth for a moment, looking deep into her eyes, almost getting lost in the softness of her gaze. His fingers dipped between her folds, teasing at her entrance, and she mewled quietly, her hands rubbing over his stubbled cheeks, and he could see how much the sound and his ministrations affected her as her eyes rolled back and her lips trembled and her body shuddered in nothing but bliss.

He swallowed her moans by claiming her mouth once more, pushing his tongue deep into it at the same time as he pushed two fingers into her warmth, the wet squelching sound like music in his ears. She bucked against him while he pumped his digits in and out of her, harder and faster and deeper, and when her walls clenched around him, she cried out against his lips, her thighs pressing around his hand as he stroked her through her orgasm.

It took him everything not to lean down again and lap at her juices, instead he let her wetness coat his fingers while he kissed her softly as she spasmed against him. When she relaxed in his hold, he continued to massage her soft flesh and watched her melting into the bed. Pulling his free arm around her, he held her close to his chest, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, her breaths deep and soft before she slipped into unconsciousness.

His fingers remained buried inside her heat, and he was tempted to continue his ministrations, maybe even indulge in something more, use her willing body for his own release, but he refrained, ignoring the throbbing of his cock. Kissing her sweaty forehead, he snuggled against her, holding her in his arm and her cunt with his hand as he soaked his fingers in her wetness. Inhaling deeply to take in as much of her scent as possible, he closed his eyes and leaned into the warmth that radiated from her tiny body.

He might have stiff fingers and a sore wrist tomorrow, but he didn't dare to disconnect from her, from her warmth and those delicious juices, from her well of youth. He felt it rushing through his veins, like liquid fire warming his sore muscles and the aches of his battered body.

It was truly addictive.

End notes: Initially I was hesitant to write this, because I couldn't quite see Daddy Sharp here engaging in oral sex like that... but I guess, in the right positions, sure, why not! And I mean, the beard is an added bonus to that, so who wouldn't like that? XD

You know, I was never into the whole Daddy/little girl kink, I accepted it, I read smut with it, ofc, but I never felt anything but slight cringe for it... but this man, dude, why does it work so well with him? (I still refuse to let my protagonists call him Daddy though, nope, but the dynamic is growing on me!)

So, thank you for reading whatever this was! And thanks again for the request! It was really fun! (Give me more, please!)

MORE SHARP SMUT:

Scars

Peace and Comfort

A Demonstration of Power and Support

A Demonstration of Pride and Pain

[ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

#aesop sharp #aesop sharp smut #aesop sharp x mc #hogwarts legacy smut #professor sharp #professor sharp smut #professor sharp x mc #professor aesop sharp #fluff #smut #mysmut #daddy sharp

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redlegumes · 5 months

Text

Dec 2nd: Came Back Wrong

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles

Summary: A holiday card marked 'return to sender' and Eddie remind Steve who his family is.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

“Looks like one of the cards came back to us babe,” Eddie said, flipping through bills. He handed Steve the battered blue envelope that Steve instantly recognized from their Christmas cards that year.

Steve looked at the neat block lettering the recipient had used to print the words ‘return to sender' above the address, and quickly noticed that the envelope was… altered. It was obvious to Steve that it'd gone through more wear than regular transport could have created.

“Stevie?” Eddie stopped looking through their other mail and set it on the kitchen counter before walking up to Steve. He ran his hands up and down Steve's arms, and began to stare daggers at the offending piece of mail in Steve's hand. “You're a little frozen there. What's wrong?”

Steve cleared his throat to speak, but his own voice still felt a little far away. “It's ‘return to sender,’ but it came back wrong.”

cont. after the cut

“Uh, looks like a letter sweetheart,” Eddie said. His brow furrowed and Steve caught sight of one eyebrow raising slowly. “Which address was it?”

“Yeah, it- it's just a card,” Steve mumbled, his hands clenched the envelope a little tighter. “It was addressed to my parents.”

Eddie softly asked, “can I see?” Steve didn't respond, or fight when Eddie gently tugged it free from his grip. Instead Steve pictured exactly what was in the envelope. A secular, ‘happy holidays’ card with a blanket sort of sentiment on the front. He and Eddie weren't particularly religious, but they enjoyed the holiday season all the same. The cards they’d chosen that year were blank inside and Steve had spent a long time, not just building a list of recipients but on the letters he wrote out in each one.

The best part of the cards that year were the mall portraits Steve and Eddie ordered. They were in matching red long johns with a Christmas themed background. They even managed to get Lucifer (their three year old tortoise shell cat) and Bird (their mystery mutt) posed with them. Wearing bows. Wrangling the pets into the J.C. Penny photo studio alone had been a feat. Steve normally still chuckled even thinking about it, and Eddie's embellished tale of the event had already come up at multiple holiday parties.

He wondered if the photo would still be inside.

“Ah, I see what you mean now.” Eddie had a grimace on his face as his dexterous fingers turned the envelope over and ran along the top edge.

Someone had opened the card, and not in an unintentional way. There was no evidence that someone ripped it open, assuming it was a card for them before realizing the mistake and sending it back through the post. No, the envelope had been carefully slit across the top, something one might be able to do with a very sharp letter opener. Steve pictured such a letter opener in detail: being lifted from a wooden, velvet lined box on a desk, the blade sharp, handle heavy, real silver throughout kept free of tarnish.

Eddie practically growled as his nail picked at the single piece of scotch tape that had re-sealed the top edge. “Assholes.” He pulled it off and took out the card, glancing briefly at the careful script Steve had written inside before plucking out their photo. Eddie marched to the fridge where he moved a large souvenir magnet from their California trip to secure it to the front door, centered over the other holiday cards already collaged over the appliance. He hooked Steve’s fingers when he walked back, heading directly to their small home’s fireplace. “We can always use more kindling,” he said, kneeling to nestle the card and envelope between the logs already placed there to light later that day.

Steve nodded, and Eddie took his face in his hands. His calloused grasp was steady, and Steve let himself become absorbed in the hot chocolate brown gaze holding his own. “You made lovely cards this year and our family photo is in the hands of everyone we care about this year. Everyone who loves us sent us cards too.” He kissed Steve’s nose, and sighed. "Are you going to be okay, knowing there was one that came back wrong?”

“I will be,” Steve replied, kissing Eddie on the lips. The kiss was sweet, but Steve also basked in the knowledge he’d built a loving family. One that chose him in return. One that proved, time and time again, what right looked like.

2023 RedLegumes Steddiemas 1 2 3 4 5 6 10 SteddieHolidayDrabbles 1 2 3 4 6 8 9 10

#Steve Harrington has bad parents #found family #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #i write things #holiday drabbles #drabble #ficlet #steddie ficlet #came back wrong #christmas cards #holiday cards #return to sender

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tozettastone · 4 months

Note

Number 5 with Genjutsu Master/Her Beautiful Hair please !

For #5: "College AU in which exactly none of the characters are undergraduate students at this college. Character A and Character B are coming up with a list of ways that they could fund their research that isn't the competitive grants process. They've settled on organised crime. "

---

She drummed her fingernails on the bench as the cute barista made her coffee.

She didn't have a name, but today the body she'd borrowed was called Chikako. She was a uniformed young lady with subtle makeup and a girlish pout. She was a civilian—a meter reader employed by a utility company by day, and a student by night—and about twenty years younger than the nameless ninja currently borrowing her form.

The real Chikako was across the other side of the city right now, occupied by her actual day job. The one getting her coffee just needed to borrow her student ID and face for a bit. And her credit card, obviously, as it was right there in her wallet next to her ID.

The coffee wasn't great, but she'd anticipated that and gotten three pumps of artificially flavoured syrup in it, which, combined with the milk, disguised a multitude of sins. Today Chikako was not here to stalk anyone or steal anything (although she'd probably steal something anyway. She was only human, after all!) but, rather embarrassingly, to sit in on a seminar introducing researchers to the whole system of competitive grants by which public research lived and died.

Chikako was pretty familiar with the actual research process. Sure, she'd never attended a university or even a regular school herself, but she'd been introduced to field research by way of the gruelling discipline of the shinobi intel machine. She'd been spying on people for fun and profit since she could walk. Her biggest hurdles hadn't been the field work, but rather the experimental design and treatment of her data.

What she really wanted to find out today was if it would be better to apply to one of these big old universities and do her field research through them. There were advantages, she knew: you never had to break into a print shop and create copies of your own publications, and you got invited to conferences rather than having to steal someone's identity and crash, and you got to actually present your own research to other people and talk about it! All of this was very exciting to her.

There were also downsides: people knew who you were, you had to talk to them all the time using the same face and anyone who got mad at you usually knew exactly where to find you. Less exciting. But potentially still workable... especially since there was no reason to expect she would enroll under her own identity.

She slipped soundlessly into the lecture hall. It seated a hundred but it was sparsely populated by ragged looking people, mostly in their mid to late twenties, each more sartorially challenged than the last. As Chikako, she felt she stood out almost uncomfortably simply for being unwrinkled, colour coordinated and awake. She sat down in one of the faded chairs and did not swing the battered wooden slab that was meant to serve as a desk out over her lap. Instead she clutched her sickly sweet coffee and waited for the professor to show up and let them know all about the exciting world of applying for a competitive grant.

This was really what would decide her, she figured. If it was easy money that could support her in fieldwork, she'd swap careers in an instant.

Chikako was well adjusted to the lifestyle, but being a missing-nin was hard, dangerous work. It meant never having a proper home base to stay at, taking dangerous jobs that paid worse than they did at a traditional ninja village, and just... living very precariously. She lived both worse and better than most: she ghosted into accommodation without anyone the wiser, lifted her petty cash from oblivious civilians, and when she did do real shinobi work, her skillset meant she was often doing glorified PI work, enabling blackmail, rooting out embezzling and preparing evidence for the scandals and divorces of the rich and famous.

But she also had to take time out from her research any time she wanted to make any honest money. And that had led her to thinking: didn't people get paid for research? Like, legitimately? And how did they do that?

So now she was here, listening to the ancient and hunched professor wearily explain that a competitive grant application was essentially an instrument of intellectual torture. He was currently halfway through detailing that, for example, you would need to know which conferences you needed to present at and what the travel costs would be three years in advance to prepare your budget for assessment, and then if you were one of the 18% of successful applicants, you would probably be given four fifths of the money you actually needed.

"...after a while you will learn how to tailor your application so your project can be effectively cut down without losing significant value. You can't inflate your costs though, because they won't approve it if you do that."

Someone raised a hand.

"Ah... you," the professor pointed one aged, shaking hand. "Yes."

"What if you, um, like, learn something new? And your project doesn't go how you expect? And the costs... well, you know, change?"

"Heh," said the old professor. "Heh heh heh. The grants committee is not set up to accommodate that. Any costs that exceed—"

"Sorry, forgive my interruption, sir, but the grants committee isn't set up go accommodate research leading to new information?"

"That's correct," he said serenely. "Any costs that exceed your predictions need to come out of central university funds. You will need to explain your needs to your departmental representative." He looked around at their faces. Chikako's was sceptical but she was hardly alone in that. "You get the knack for it eventually," he assured them.

Hmm. You know, she was nearly fifty, and had gotten the knack for many things in her time. But she didn't feel that getting the knack for this was going to be the solution to her problem.

She finished her coffee and draped a secondary genjutsu over herself so nobody would notice her getting up to leave. There was no point being rude to the poor old professor, after all.

Chikako's money was burning a hole in her pocket, so she strolled around the campus, inspecting this and that. It was almost like a little town all on its own, really. The students who could afford university had plenty of family money, even if it seemed like their careers paid shit all more generally, so there were stores and stalls and amenities aplenty, including what seemed to be several charitable organisations recruiting volunteers on campus.

She ghosted through it all, finding little of value to her personally, and fetched up at the library instead. There, she maxed out Chikako's library account by borrowing twelve books to read instead, all with titles like "Shinobi, Crime and the Black Economy," or "Labelling Perspective: The Meaning of 'Missing' Nin."

Once she was off campus, she let her illusions fall in an alley between two residential houses, turning from the twenty-something, dark eyed, dark haired, fresh-faced willowy little Chikako back into her actual, real, flesh and blood self: a flawlessly made up woman who might have been any age between thirty and forty five, with a missing-nin's forehead protector and a wild tumble of red curls.

She pulled the forehead protector off and shoved it in her pocket before she handed Chikako's "lost" wallet in at the nearest police station.

"It was just outside the university campus," she reported, leaning on the bench in the station. "I have no idea how long it's been there."

"Okay, thanks for your report, Miss... We'll make sure she gets it back."

"I'm so glad," she said earnestly. "I know I'd feel just awful if I lost my wallet."

"Well, you did the right thing. Have a good day, Miss."

That was her. Doer of right things. Always.

It was the off season for tourists, so after check-in hours had passed, she simply wandered through a luxury hotel and selected one of the unused honeymoon suites to break into. The bed was huge, with a feather-soft mattress and a multitude of pillows, but enormous bath was the real prize for her.

Fancy hotels like this had all sorts of sample products, and she did love bubbles. Naked and unselfconscious, she peered at herself in the mirror for a while, inspecting her face. It was a lovely face, framed perfectly by her pretty crimson curls. A little angular and aggressive for the tastes of the day, with her high cheekbones and sharp jaw. But beautiful, which was the important thing. If she had nothing else—and she usually had nothing else—she still had her looks.

As the bubble bath filled up, the mirror fogged over, until her face was an indistinct blur with a smear of hard candy red where her mouth was. She turned away from her reflection and slipped into the bath with a full body shiver at the water's blissful heat.

She had her pile of books to read, but with a deep sigh, she supposed it would be best to start thinking about how she was going to fund her next research project instead.

Not by way of the competitive grants process, obviously.

Credit card fraud was a short term solution, useful for buying little treats or paying for a night in the odd hotel when one really wanted room service; it wasn't a lifestyle. Hard currency—cash—was probably the optimal way to go. It was tricky to trace, accepted everywhere and couldn't be tied to anyone's identity if it was wisely spent.

She sighed deeply and dunked her head under the water. Tomorrow she'd just have to quietly rob a bank on her way out of town.

#naruto oc: red #ask #meatiermeatball #my fic

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bombsonboard · 1 year

Text

the day after yesterday: chapter three

Summary: Time travel is volatile, dangerous, playing god. And then sometimes it drops you in just the right place at the perfect time. It’s a matter of perspective. You decide.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 4.4k

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Read it on AO3

A/N: So my scheduled post didnt work! But i’m still uploading this on Wednesday, just a little later than planned lol. Hope you’ve all had a good week and sorry for the lil bit late chaper!

You stood outside ‘Stillman’s Gymnasium’ feeling grateful it was a warm summer’s day and you didn’t have to brave the New York cold without a jacket. Bucky said he’d meet you here, he cleaned the gym after hours in exchange for weekly boxing lessons, promising it would be all theirs so you could work on your escape in peace.

Turns out, jumping the turnstile to get on the subway was a hell of a lot easier in the 1940s, it just took avoiding every man with a conductor hat, which the crowds made easy, and you made it to midtown.

All alone, you let yourself take a breath. Yes, you were stuck in the wrong time, but with the hope of getting home, it was quite an astonishing thing. This place wouldn’t even be here in twenty years, bulldozed for apartments. Having the privilege to be here was something you could hardly fathom but you tried to let yourself enjoy it, at least for the time being.

It was too easy to imagine yourself having a life here, who could be waiting for? Maybe a good girl friend, or maybe some guy was picking you up to go and see a movie, one of those old ones that are only on at Christmas or Sunday afternoons. Your dress would be a bit cleaner, your hair pinned out of your face and you would see him approaching in the distance.

In your mind he had a kind smile on his face, a few roses, not too many and he would walk up to you and say:

“Steve is gonna kill me when he finds out I took his nice sketch paper, this better be worth it.”

You blinked out of your fantasy to see the roses had flattened into a stack of paper and the kind smile you dreamed of was replaced by Bucky’s blank frown. He looked at you curiously.

“What?” He brushed his hair back with his free hand.

“Nothing” You felt caught out.

He shrugged, slowly growing used to your strange looks, and pulled a bunch of keys from out of his trouser pocket and slid them into the door. Unlocking it and pushing the door open with a clunk.

“After you.”

The smell of sweat and floor polish hit you like a wave as you stepped inside and Bucky locked the door behind the two of you. On the bare brick walls hung dozens of pictures of men in boxing gloves, raising their arms in victory. Along the surprisingly clean wooden floor punching bags were lined up, the rich brown leather cracked and beaten from excessive use and just waiting patiently to be used again.

The great big boxing ring was the main event, a square stage of battered cream, held together by rows of red rope. You wondered if it was red on purpose.

You pictured one of the boxing matches happening right there in front of you, the crowd of screaming men, praying for their bet to come clean and bracing for the final take down. The champion raising his godly fists, shirtless, shining and soaking in the sounds of his glory.

So, this is what Bucky wanted to be before the army? You tried to see him there, posing for one of the pictures on the wall with his grin plastered to his face. Though, maybe thinking of him shirtless and sweaty really wasn’t the most efficient thing you could be doing at the time.

“So…” Bucky comes to stand next to you, and offers you the paper

You take it with a quiet thank you.

“Do you have a-”

He hands you a pencil.

You swallow, turn around and begin to lay out the pieces of ‘borrowed’ sketch paper out on the glossy brown wood..

“There’s a desk in the office, y’know” Bucky points out, watching you crouch to the floor.

“That’s okay, I’m fine here.”

He looks at you, confused and waiting for any kind of explanation you would offer.

“I’m gonna need…quite a bit of space.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows, accepting that’s all he was getting, and goes to lean against the wall.

You start your chicken scratches, numbers in the tiniest handwriting you could manage, but the nagging sensation of his presence there itches at you incessantly. You lift your head and notice he’s just standing there, watching you.

“Don’t you have cleaning to do?” It came out a little more spiteful than you intended.

“Looks pretty spotless to me” He kept his eyes trained on you, not bothering to look around at all.

“Okay, so you don’t need to be here then?” You didn’t mind the company really, but why did it have to be him? It was better for you both if he just left you alone.

“I’m responsible for this place, how do I know you won’t mess it up?” Bucky narrowed his eyes at you.

“Christ, I don’t need a chaperone.”

“I’m sure you don’t, spitfire” He scoffs “but I'm not leaving, so…” He gestures for you to get back to your work “Go on.”

Rolling your eyes with maximum effort you go back to work and start to lose yourself in the math. Spread out on the floor with your ass in the air probably wasn’t the most ladylike position but who cared, Bucky didn’t seem to make a comment.

You willed yourself to stop wondering about him for just a moment so you could focus on the task at hand. If you were going to figure out the coordinates to put into the GPS, you needed a start point. It was 1943, that you knew but, the specific date was what you really wanted. There wasn’t anything that showed you today’s date in your immediate vicinity, so your eyes wandered and landed, unfortunately, on Bucky, who had his feet propped up on the front desk, head stuck in a newspaper.

"Is that today’s?” You ask from the floor.

“Yu-huh” He mumbles from his wall of news.

Of course he had the thing you were looking for.

“...What’s the date on it?”

He folds over one corner so you could be victim to his blank stare. “You don’t know what day it is?”

You stare back.

“11th June.” He supersedes.

“Thank you.”

He flips his corner back up and you go back to your work silently.

“11th June 1943.” You mumble quietly as the numbers take over your head again.

Hour One

The silence didn’t last half as long as you hoped it would.

“So, how long does something like this normally take?” Bucky wonders after a while, as if you launched yourself into the wrong time all the time, you felt yourself getting offended until you remembered he had absolutely no idea.

Scribbling down the total days you needed to travel you hid your face from Bucky.

“A while.” You hoped he didn’t hear the small crack in your voice.

“Great. Maybe it’s enough time for me to figure out why you’re so weird.” He chuckled lightly.

Bucky Barnes, ladies man.

“Oh you’ll figure it out…in 29,209 days” You mumble under your breath, you didn’t mean for him to hear, but when you’re the only two people in a room, it’s hard to keep secrets.

Bucky shakes his head in amusement, ignorant of just how truthful you had just been, but he was quiet for a little while longer after that.

Hour Three

Eventually grew restless of the front desk and sauntered over to the back office. You wondered who might usually be found in there, some short and stubby gym manager, dark hair slicked back with wiry eyebrows that look so much like caterpillars they might crawl off his face. A cigar permanently between his lips.

You cracked a smile at the image until you heard exactly what Bucky was doing in there. The crackle of a gramophone interrupts your thoughts and the smile falls from your face. You had no complaints about forties music, really, but you were convinced he was doing this on purpose, taunting you with warbling jazz.

With a frustrated grumble you threw down your pencil, abandoned your work and stalked over to the back office. He was there, leaning back on a chair with his arms crossed, eyes closed and absorbing the music echoing around the room.

Sure, he looked peaceful, but there were bigger stakes here than Bucky Barnes enjoying a record.

You rapped on the door forcefully but he didn’t jump to attention like you wanted.

Bucky slowly opens his eyes and looks up expectedly.

“Could you…turn it down?” You mimicked turning down a volume knob, and he looked at you blankly.

“Please.” It pained you to add.

“Turn it down?” He mimics your action, eyebrows furrowing. “And what’s that?”

“The music” You impatiently pointed it out and walked over to the small gramophone, singing pleasantly in the corner. It would be a relic any other day but right now it was just annoying you.

Shoot, no volume control you realized, it seemed people were just happy to hear music here, nevermind the volume. A little joy in a somewhat bleak time in history.

You needed your peace though, one way or another.

“Could you just turn it off?” You turned to leave.

“If this is gonna take long, I’d like to have something to entertain myself.”

You stopped, breathing in and out to stop yourself from killing him before his inevitable death date.

“You don’t even have to be here” You crossed your arms across your chest.

He smiled at your irritation “Tell you what, I’ll give you a chance.”

While you were occupied with how he just had the audacity to patronize you, Bucky stood from the chair and took the trash can from the corner and placed it at the other end of the office from you.

“What are you doing?” You watched him closely.

He walked back over to you with a self- satisfied smile, taking his time as he stopped just inches from you, the tips of his shoes touching yours just about.

“Bucky?” You felt your heartbeat palpate, your chest go tight.

He wordlessly leaned past you to grab an old coffee mug full of pencils that sat on the desk behind you. Bucky pulled away to stand next to you and embarrassment fizzed in your stomach. Bucky smelt like leather and his mothers cooking.

“First one to get three pencils in a row in the trash can wins. If you win, I’ll turn it off and I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

You found that hard to believe and it must’ve shown on your face.

“...mostly,” He added. “But if I win, the music stays and you can’t say a thing about it.”

“Seriously?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, swee- spitfire.”

He looked at you with his blue as a cloudy sky eyes as you sized him up. It seemed fair and you were always one for a good bet, but the way he looked at you made you feel like he knew something you don’t. Figuring that look out would have you spinning for days.

“Do you need me to move it a bit closer?” He suggested condescendingly.

“Fine.” You grumbled.

“Ladies first.” He held the mug out to you and you grabbed three pencils with a roll of your eyes.

It had to be easy right? You didn’t have the worst hand eye coordination in the world but it wasn’t one of your most notable qualities. The only thing you had going for you was a desire for Bucky Barnes to keep quiet, and you were about to find out how good of a motivator that was.

You toss the first pencil and it lands in the trash can with a happy little clang. The second pencil was subject to pressure and bounced on the edge before landing safely inside, you celebrated inwardly, trying to hide how invested you were in a game of throwing pencils, but you were so close to victory, sweet victory.

One final pencil in your hand, you looked to Bucky “Any final words?” you ask smugly.

“I’m good.” He stared straight ahead.

The last pencil is in the air and you swear you’ve never felt this tense in your life. Maybe apart from the time you landed in the 20th century by accident. Taunting you, it bounced off the edge like the second but this time it was the wrong way. You watched in disbelief as it clattered to the floor.

“Shit.” You muttered and tried to hide how actually sad you were to miss your final throw.

“I’d offer condolences but you were a little cocky at the end.” Bucky plucked three pencils from the pot.

He effortlessly tossed his pencils in without a second thought, one, two, three, in quick succession, giving you no time to think of a plan to sabotage him at all.

Bucky looked at you with a smile “I believe congratulations are in order.”

“Best of three?” You grasped at any chance he might give you.

Bucky just laughed. In your face. You let out a combination of a grumble and a sigh and stomped out of the office.

He had won, the music stayed.

Hour Five

“C’mon you should take a break.”

Bucky had stayed mostly in the office, humming to his music. You had migrated to the boxing ring to lay out your findings. He had been leaning against the door, keeping his eye on you for the last five minutes.

“Can’t take a break.” You didn’t look up.

“You’ve been scribbling for like ten hours” He groans.

“I’m not scribbling” You retort, but looking down at the paper ‘scribbles’ was definitely an accurate word, not that he needed to know that.

“What are you doing then?”

“I’m working out- ugh, stop it!” You needed to be more on the ball with his incessant questions.

“It’s for your own good” You told him as sternly as you could manage.

“Yes Ma'am” He grins cheekily.

He moved from the doorway, you cursed yourself for having half your attention on him again.

“I don’t think you’ve ever taken a break in your life, you’re so…tightly wound.”

You had half a mind to tell him why you were really ‘tightly wound’ right there and then. But then the fatal implications and so on…blah blah blah.

“I take breaks.”

“Hard to believe, you ever been to the movies? Or a dance, maybe?” His analyzing eyes felt like they could see right through you.

“Sure, I’ve been to dances.” You brushed him off and continued writing. Maybe they weren’t the dances he would be familiar with but you had been to some. They just played the Black Eyed Peas, not Vera Lynn.

“Really? Because you haven’t recognised a single song I've put on.”

Oh. He had you there.

“Maybe I just like different music.”

“Who doesn’t like Dick Haymes?”

You put your head back down, ignoring his teasing and diving back into work, and hopefully convincing him that you just weren’t interested in extracurriculars.

“Don’t worry, Spitfire, I’ll get you dancing.”

Hour Eleven

He had run out of records a couple hours ago and was now entertaining himself by standing by the entrance and using some spare paper to fashion a paper airplane and seeing how far he could throw it.

The boxing ring was covered in a blanket of math now, you sat cross legged in the center, surrounded by stretches of equations, statistics, and graphs, traveling along y axis and x axis, finding each coordinate you would need. You had worked this long before but after a day of exerting yourself physically, the strain was weighing heavily on your brain.

You close your eyes for just a second but a rude and painful awakening comes from a sharp poke in the side of your head.

“Sorry!” Bucky calls from across the room.

You sigh and stand, rubbing the side of your head “It’s fine, I needed to wake up anyways”

You were in the land before energy drinks, your go to when the numbers become squiggles in your eyes.

“There somewhere that sells coffee around here?” You grumble.

“Um” Bucky points to the window and you see nothing but black.

How had you missed the sun going down?

“Nevermind.” You ran a hand over your face, eyelids growing heavier by the second, but you knew you couldn't afford to sleep, not now.

But your brain was too exhausted to make sense of the final coordinates you needed and there was no point in half-assing this and ending up in the wrong time again. You had read in some study that regular breaks actually proved to help total productivity, as hard as it was for you to believe, you weren’t opposed to a little experimenting.

Tip toeing carefully over your working, you sat on the side of the boxing ring, waiting for productivity to strike.

Bucky abandoned his paper airplane to sit next to you. The air felt heavy around you and all you could feel was the incomprehensible weight on your shoulders. You had no idea what Bucky thought, you had hardly been nice to him. But the way he was looking at you made you think he just wanted to lighten your load, just a little bit.

“So, how's it going?” He asked after a minute.

“It’s…getting there.” You fiddled with your hands “Maybe.”

“You really are weird, y‘know?”

He was smiling at you, like he had just paid you a sweet as sugar compliment.

“Thanks, Bucky.” You gave your sarcastic gratitude.

With a sudden burst of energy, he practically waltzes to the back office, you watch with amused curiosity, and when he appears again, he’s carrying the gramophone with both hands, a record under his arm.

He places it happily on the corner of the ring, lifting the red rope, he slides under and stands in the boxing ring. What was he doing now?

“C’mon.” He tilted his head at you with a smile.

Waiting for you, you supposed.

“What?”

Bucky began to pile up you papers covering the space and you flew into a panic, if he messed them all up you’d have to spend another hour putting them back in the correct order so they made sense, you hadn’t thought to number your pages because you thought he wouldn’t be stupid enough to touch them. You thought wrong.

“Bucky!” You shrieked with wide eyes.

He looked at you, calmly “I’m keeping them in order.”

His habit of reading your mind was getting pretty annoying. You follow his lead and shuffle under the ropes out of curiosity. With your math tower tucked safely to the side out of harm's way, you faced him with a confused look.

“You needed to wake up, right?”

“Are we going to box? Because I don’t think I'm up for that right now.”

“No, no” He takes the record out of its sleeve with a flourish and places it on the gramophone, setting the needle down, humming with excitement.

An upbeat song begins to play, filling the hall with hearty trumpets and jiving double bass. It almost felt like they were in the room somewhere, hiding under the boxing ring with their instruments.

You stood a meter away from Bucky, no closer and no farther. He held out his hand, you looked around you as if there was any one else he could offer it to.

“What are you doing?” You ask, you could barely hear yourself above the music reverberating around the walls.

“Dancing.” He said it like it was obvious.

You didn’t think you get stage fright in the absence of an audience but Bucky had a funny way of making you nervous. For the third time, you were stuck gawking at his open palm. The vibrations of the music sent waves through the boxing ring, an invisible hand urging you closer to him.

“I don’t think that’s, maybe not-” You splutter.

You tried to think of the ripples in time this could cause but all you could really focus on was how much you wanted to feel his hand in yours again.

“Spitfire.”

When would you ever get the chance again? Never, that’s the answer. Sure, time might crumble before you but he looked so happy standing there, and he didn’t have many of those moments left.

“I swear every time you look at my hand it’s like you’ve seen a ghost.”

That’s what he had in store. Becoming the most infamous ghost story history had ever heard. You made peace with the universe in a surprisingly short amount of time and decided Bucky Barnes needed this more than anything else in this world.

“You gonna keep on staring at my hand or are you gonna take it?”

You take a few tentative steps towards him and slide your right hand into his left. He directs your other hand to rest on his shoulder and he slips his hand behind you. He tucked you closer to his chest with a shy smile and a gentle pull, you gazed up at him with bright eyes, a smile hiding in the corners of your mouth just waiting to blossom.

The next ten minutes, Bucky spends teaching you how to swing dance after coming to the conclusion you had never danced with anyone in your life.

“I have!” You insist after you step on his toe for the seventeenth time.

“Do they still have feet?” He asks in fake concern.

“Ha Ha.” You poorly cover your genuine laughter, but you couldn’t hide the smile that had crept up on you anymore.

Dancing with Bucky was a whirlwind in the most literal sense, you spun like a pinwheel in and out of his arms. You spent half the time spiraling into danger and he would be there to catch you as if there was no risk at all.

When he kept you close, you could just about hear him counting to the music under his breath. It was an endless night of numbers for you, but you were convinced you had never been as dizzy as this before, dipping in and out and twisting up and down but you knew he wouldn’t let you fall. There was something transporting about it, bringing truth to your daydreams.

Dancing with him felt more like time travel, than well, actual time travel.

You were glad he wasn’t enhanced yet, or he would hear your heartbeat picking up speed. For a moment he was all you could think about, and you finally had no complaints.

Until you saw your papers topple and scatter on the floor, the jolting of the enthusiastic swing dance lesson had your precious work falling all over the floor.

Quickly, it all got too much, heat rushed through you and the music was thumping in your head. He was too close to you, chests stuck together that should never have touched in the first place, Hands glued to his, you were trapped in his time and you were losing yourself by the second. If you didn’t let go now, who knows what you could cause.

“Stop, stop!” You pulled away, ripped your hand from his, stumbling back and catching yourself on the ropes.

“You alright?” Bucky spoke cautiously behind you.

“Yeah, yes I’m okay, I just-”

You swallowed down the bile rising from your stomach, and turned to see him standing there with concern in his eyes. Damn him. Damn him for helping you.

“I need to get this done.” You hurried to pick up your work and put it back into the correct order, scared to even look at him again.

“Okay.” He sighed quietly.

Hour Fifteen

Bucky had fallen asleep sometime ago.

The sun had come up again, the cloudless sky left the blinding beams of sunlight to burst through the windows.

His gentle snoring was the only sound as you held your breath,staring at the coordinates. Double checked, triple checked. All you had to do now was put them into the GPS and go.

But something was keeping you here, just for a few moments more. If it had anything to do with the man sleeping a couple meters away, you weren’t sure. All you could do was keep your eyes on the key to your exit.

“You worked through the night?”

Okay, so he wasn’t asleep anymore.

You could disappear right there in front of his eyes and leave him questioning everything for the rest of his life, even though you thought it would be a little funny and maybe he deserved it, it was just too risky.

“Done it before” You shrugged.

“Well my sleep was great, surprisingly sound” He began to walk over “Oh, and if my Ma asks where I was all night, do me a solid and say the recruitment center, something about long queues i don’t know.”

Hang on.

“You haven’t enlisted yet?”

“No?”

“Haven’t been to the recruitment center at all?”

“Been a bit busy” He chuckles

“Well you should go, go do it now”

“What?”

You thought he had gone by now.

“I’ll do it later, suppose” He shrugs

You looked at the coordinates. You could go home. But you couldn’t. Bucky hadn’t enlisted. And if he doesn’t join the army then, then Steve probably wouldn’t either and Captain America wouldn’t exist and maybe we didn’t win the war, maybe we lost all of the wars, the battle of new york, the battle of the earth.

Him not becoming a sergeant . you couldn’t begin to think of the implications.

Was it all your fault?

“Been thinking about it a lot and I know my dad did and all that, but…I don't know”

You had currently beaten your record for amount of shits in a twenty four hour span ten times over.

Getting home, All of this means absolutely nothing if Bucky doesn’t go to war.

He needed to enlist, he had too, you were to blame for this, and you were damn right gonna fix it.

You had to make him join the army, no matter the cost.

Maybe you could afford a couple more days here, you supposed.

“You figure out all your math?” Bucky asks.

You turned to him and stood.

“Not quite.”

Tag-list: @emily-roberts @enchantedbarnes @marygoddessofmischief @nickangel13 @elxvrr @pixiesbored @skittle479 @sweetwritingfanficfriend @curlycarley @acceptedbyace (bold means I couldn’t tag you)

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x you #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel imagine #the day after yesterday #Clara writes

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thesandsofelsweyr · 3 months

Text

HIS

《 CHAPTER 3/4 // READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

Jason has been beaten half to death with a crowbar, shredded by barbed wire, strung up for so long his shoulders ripped from their sockets, shocked, starved, branded… It's only a wooden paddle, it can’t hurt more than any of the Clown’s other toys… right?

《RATING》 🔞 Explicit 《WORDS》 1,542

《CHARACTERS》 Jason Todd/Robin, Joker, Bruce Wayne (mentioned), Tim Drake (mentioned)

《TROPES》 Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Whump, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

《WARNINGS》 Humiliation, Forced Nudity, Non-Consensual Spanking, Paddling, Genital Torture, Ownership, Blood and Injury, Non-Consensual Touching, Scars

《SERIES》 Part 2 of My Arkhamverse, Part 2 of Ruined

《TAGLIST》 @aaliyah-wayne @ladytauria @betty-1880 @hlg8 @plantixst

《NOTES》

This fic is dark so please be aware of the tags

Kudos & comments on AO3, as well as reblogs here, are greatly appreciated 💛

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are very much appreciated)

The spanking continued, and Jason dissolved into a sobbing mess of misery and despair. His limp cock, smashed between the unyielding surface of the desk and his sweat-soaked belly, was rubbed raw from his writhing. Bloody snot ran down his chin. When Willis beat him with his thick leather belt, Jason refused to give the asshole the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Now he was bucking and blubbering like a six-year-old over a knee.

Cruel fingers playfully pinched his scalded asscheeks. “Whew! Your butt is redder than that tacky leather getup of yours!” Joker exclaimed before lazily dragging a finger over Jason’s taint and up to his clenched hole. Jason wanted to hurl. His body shuddered as he forced his legs to stay spread wide open for the creep, not wanting to give him an excuse to start over.

The paddle blade returned to his ass, and Jason’s bruised and blistered flesh cringed from its touch. A few taps, then the weapon was withdrawn. He felt the whoosh of air as the paddle swung back, then—

The pain was blinding. All of the air was sucked from his lungs and his scream made no sound. Crushing agony exploded in his crotch, erupting into his stomach, overwhelming his entire being; a titanium fist clamped around his nuts and guts, squeezing tighter and tighter, ripping his body in half from the inside out. When the fog of agony began to dissipate, Jason found himself curled into the fetal position on the cold floor, both hands wrapped protectively around his throbbing sack, gasping for breath between coughs like a fish out of water. Sweat and tears poured down his face. The muscles in his neck were pulled as taut as a grappling cable. Bile burned like acid in the back of his throat as waves of nausea rolled through him.

Then the paddle was tapping against his ass again, yanking him fully back to the present, back to his punishment. Jason whimpered helplessly through his clenched, broken teeth, pulling his knees to his chest, curling his battered body into a tighter knot. His cock and balls tried to retreat inside him to escape that horrible piece of wood.

“Oh quit being such a baby, Jason,” Joker admonished, tap-tap-tapping with that paddle, “you’ve had worse beatings than this.”

Jason didn’t give a single fuck about the other beatings. Right now he was in a world devoid of anything but agony and terrified of getting hit in the balls again. His head shook back and forth against the filthy floorboards. “I… can’t,” he gasped, struggling to get the words past his clenched jaw and labored breathing.

The paddle struck his ass again, and this time Jason’s head flew back with a jerk. “Please sir, I can’t take it!” he squealed, his voice pitching higher.

“I can’t take it!” Joker mocked. “Pfft, you say that every time I torture you, and yet, here you are, only slightly worse for wear. Now, be a good boy and get back over the desk so daddy can finish your well-deserved sound spanking.”

Jason knew once he was back over that desk he’d experience this hell on earth again. It was inevitable. So he didn’t move, only shook like a leaf in a hurricane. Joker grabbed him up by his soaked hair and heaved him back down across the desk. The lip of the desktop stabbed into his aching balls, causing him to shriek, knocking the wind from his lungs again. His legs buckled but Joker held him down with an arm across the small of his back, then pushed him up on his toes, whacking his thighs with that fucking paddle. Jason’s eyes screwed shut and he bit down on his tongue to stifle his screams as stinging slaps rained down in rapid succession on his raw skin. Soon blood from his tongue was trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“Now, can you take your punishment like a big boy or do I need to tie you down? I have some leftover barbed wire I can use…”

“I can, sir,” he lied, knowing that the next assault on his nuts would have him on the floor again.

The paddle cracked across the center of his asscheeks, over the twin bruises, reverberating down to the bone. “99!” he yelled.

“Oh, no no no, you silly goose,” Joker chided cheerfully, mussing his sweat-soaked hair. “The count’s at one. I warned you what would happen if you got out of position, didn’t I?”

Sinking terror gripped him with its icy fist. “No… please…” CRACK! “Oh God, please stop hitting me!” he squeaked.

“Hey now, don’t give God all the credit when I’m the one doing all the work around here!”

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! His insides withered up, twisting tighter and tighter with each awful blow. The paddle landed on his ass but he felt the anguish in his tortured testicles. He wanted to die.

“I’m waiting, Jason,” Joker sang as he rubbed the flat of the paddle in hard circles over the blisters and bruises. “I don’t hear coun-ting.”

His body went limp, sagging as he submitted yet again. “One… s-s-sir,” he cried pitifully.

“That’s my good boy!” His ass clenched as it got a smack with the back of a gloved hand. “I knew you had it in ya!”

The paddle slammed into him, again and again and again, and soon he felt a puddle of warmth spreading beneath his belly, seeping up between his ribs and breastbone. The sharp ammonia stench of urine assaulted his nostrils but he was in too much pain to care. This wasn’t the first time he’d pissed himself while Joker beat him, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last.

The splintered bones in his ankle felt as if they were clawing through his papery flesh. The hurt snowballed until it was too much for him to bear. He bent his knee to relieve the pressure, leaving his ankle dangling behind the desk, just begging to be hit by that paddle. Joker eagerly obliged.

Jason’s head snapped back and he screamed so loud that it burned his throat. “Stop!” he begged, his voice hoarse. “Please sir, mercy!”

“Tsk, tsk. Just a teensy-weensy bit of torture and you’re begging for mercy. It’s a wonder the big bad Bat didn’t abandon you sooner. Can't have the loose ends spilling his big Bat secrets.”

“But I haven’t told you anything,” he protested feebly.

Joker patted his ass a few times, lining up his shot. “Well, that’s only because I haven’t asked you anything,” he conceded.

Jason pressed his forehead against the bloody wood and sucked in a shuddering breath, preparing for the next blow. But Joker wasn’t finished talking just yet. “You know, Bats sure didn’t waste any time recasting the role. Ooo, maybe he was already looking for a fresh-faced, black-haired, blue-eyed urchin to play the part before I got my hands on you!”

The Clown’s words stabbed at his heart and tore a miserable wet sob from his chest. That gut-wrenching thought had already crossed his mind, but hearing Joker say it aloud drove the dagger even deeper; made it hurt even worse than before—made it feel like the truth. There were plenty of signs: how his last few months as Robin were spent staying out of Batman’s way, being more of a damn lap dog than partner; the cold disapproval that was palpable whenever he was around Bruce; the fights, quarrels, and constant arguments about how Batman’s methods would never be effective in this shithole of a city. Why couldn’t I have just kept my damn mouth shut and been grateful for everything the man gave me? His face flushed red hot with shame. Once again he surrendered to the pain. He deserved this beating, like all of the others. It was what Bruce wanted.

His mind suddenly flashed back to when Bruce presented him with the Robin armor. It was one of the happiest moments of his life, second only to the day Bruce adopted him as his ward. Then that happy scene in his mind’s eye melted into one of horror. Bruce presented similar armor to his replacement. He told the new kid from all the photos how much of a failure the last Robin was. He told Robin Number Three how he hoped he’d live up to the legacy of Robin Number One: the true Robin. The paddle tore into his ass again, but he barely registered it this time. The pain of knowing he’d failed Bruce was more acute than anything the Clown could dish out.

By the time they reached 99 again, Jason’s words were slurring. His legs had gone limp, his ass numb. He was holding himself up by his hands, fighting to stay conscious but he didn’t know how much more he could take. The violent, repeated blows had literally stripped the flesh off his ass and thighs, and droplets of blood trickled down the backs of his legs. Joker could keep whaling on him for the next 24 hours and there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it except pray that he would pass out or die. Not that anyone had ever listened to those prayers before.

#sands writes #my arkhamverse #series: ruined #fic: his #jason todd #joker #robin #arkham asylum #arkham knight #arkhamverse #whump #angst #dead dove: do not eat #jason todd angst #jason todd whump #jason todd fanfiction #dcu

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mumblelard · 3 months

Text

googly eye obsidian hobo nickel or it was chilly this morning and i was wishing my slippers were by my bed but they were nowhere to be found

in a month i will be able to see sweet old two fry and holler for the first time in four years

in a week i will drive to the coast with my daughter for her birthday to see the wednesday concert

in eight hours both of my kids and my girlfriend will come over and we will hang out and drink dollar bucket nonsense and cook up a bunch of chicken sandwiches and chili dogs and fishcake dogs and french fries and tell tales tall and otherwise about our weeks

in fifteen minutes i will finish this cup of coffee and walk down to the river and look for messages from my double

#the fish cake dog is a classic philly sandwich in need of a comeback #shadows #battered old wooden desks #googly eyes #obsidian #hobo nickels #doppelganger #hedorah #fridays #groundhogs #doctors who #dry walls #drifting #the garden of circular ruins #the lottery of babel #the end of messages #second blue moon epoch #first winter

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jujutsutrash · 1 year

Text

The four times Noritoshi loses you and the one he doesn’t

Pairing: Noritoshi x reader Word count: 2956 Warning: some implied sexual stuff but nothing much

4th

In the previous months you and Noritoshi didn’t keep up much with each other. Looking in retrospect, it didn’t take a wise man to foresee the consequences of his previous actions. Something so wild, so sudden, had a clear possibility to fuck up a friendship he actually valued. It wasn’t like you had gone completely silent, you still responded but much less and he had come to like your talks. But now, it just wasn’t the same.

It was something small, something uncertain. He could smell it, like the scent of rain in the air. He could smell ozone. Something unsaid - or maybe, hopefully, he was just projecting. He couldn’t blame you for your hesitation though. He knew his fear had made him mess everything up before and now it was just weird. He knew you were giving him a chance but he was too afraid and -

He truly was such a fool.

Maybe you had let go. Maybe he should truly let go. Maybe he shouldn’t be holding out hope for something as he boarded that train. The last minute mission had been sent as an urgent matter, a two person job in some isolated place between Tokyo and Kyoto. It required two grade ones and you were the only two available. When the train you were in pulled up Noritoshi could feel the air at the station heavy and when he boarded it he could feel his heart strain to beat.

Noritoshi saw you in a window seat, the light bathing your face in an untouchable aura and it was hard to take the first step. The path to you soo short seemed like a lifetime, the cold air of the train cutting him like knives. He sat beside you and you smiled, but there was something wrong here. He could still smell ozone. The doors dinged close and the train moved again.

The rest of the trip was built on with half filled silences and a tension he could only feel but not justify. It was strange. Noritoshi tried to timidly touch your hand with his, but your response only made him unsure. And yet he was too much of a coward to face it head on and just do something, anything. So he just sat there, tasting the tension in his mouth like spoiled milk.

With time the strange feeling loosened its grip on Noritoshi, things easing into a more natural rhythm. Though, the tension still remained as a ghost in the corner of his vision. And even so, he was still just happy to be around you. He’d missed the sound of your voice, the way your hair looked in the sun and the smell of your perfume. Coffee and wood.

When you arrived in the town the sky was cackling. It was gray and heavy and the streets of the city were empty. You’d both agreed to just go look for the cursed spirit already, speed this thing along before the sky came falling. Maybe - with luck - you’d be able to get done with it quick. That was the plan. Surprising none of you, this was not a lucky day.

You were bruised and battered as you made your way back to the center of the town, rain falling with disregard and violence. The fight had taken the most out of the both of you, leaving you tired and shaken, but your cursed technique took a special toll on your body. Noritoshi had motioned to carry you but was fast shot down. You marched ahead of him, limping and mumbling something about what a pain it was gonna be, having to come back again to kill this thing.

Thunder burst into the sky once more, the rain falling ever angrier. With much effort Noritoshi managed to at least get you to accept his jacket, your shuddering frame worrying him more than your injuries. Last thing you’d need would be getting sick on top of all that. It had been almost fifteen minutes walking when Noritoshi saw the lit sign of a small inn. Shelter, finally.

The inn was old, an equally old woman standing behind the desk on the first floor. The wooden boards creaked under his feet and the lady looked at you both - dripping wet and clearly distraught - with suspicion but gave you a key anyway. Tiny stairs led to your room and Noritoshi could see as you tried to hide the pain in every step. He held you by the shoulders for support and this time you didn’t fight it.

The first thing to hit Noritoshi when he opened the door to the small room was the loud noise of rain on glass windows. He helped you settle down on the bed, sitting with a pained grunt, before moving to put your stuff down with his. The room was warm with late summer air despite the storm raging outside, the smell of wet earth seeping even through the closed windows.

When Noritoshi turned around you had removed his jacket and he was reminded that you were hurt. You had your back turned to him, bruises peeking from beneath the ripped fabric of your shirt. Hoping beyond hope that the waterproofing of his bag had held up against the storm, he looked for the first aid kit he knew he had thrown in there somewhere.

“Let me patch you up,” his voice hit his own ears hoarser than he was used to, the exhaustion catching up to him.

“Don’t need,” you groaned, stretching your back with difficulty.

“You clearly do,” his tone was stronger now, this wasn’t a question.

“I can fix this with reverse cursed technique,” your voice was strained as you moved to turn to him.

When you faced him, Noritoshi immediately caught your gaze on his own. He took two steps closer, eyes pleading, voice low. “You can do that tomorrow. You’ve already overworked yourself today, for now just let me help, please.”

Exhaustion took over and you gave up the fight. Noritoshi took your silence as agreement, emptying an old candy bowl from the bedside table before moving to the bathroom. He finally got to take a look at himself as he filled the bowl with water. He was soaking wet, shirt sticking to his chest, eyes sunken behind dripping brows. His hair was a mess, long having gotten loose from the ties, it was wet and stuck every other way on his face. Fuck, what a day.

When he came back he caught sight of you removing what remained of your shirt. Your sports bra only barely hiding any of the purples in your shoulders and doing nothing for the bruises and cuts on the rest of your torso. Even like this you were still beautiful, but he tried to push that thought from his mind, not at all the moment for it.

Noritoshi pulled a stool near the bed and placed the bowl on it, coming to sit on the bed facing you. You remained silent as he dried your skin with a towel from the bathroom, then pulled the first aid kit open and started cleaning your wounds. The only noises in the room were the unrelenting rain and the very occasional hiss escaping your stubborn lips. He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to be so strong now, that you were safe, but he respected your pride too much - and he’d always admired your strength.

You could feel his touch light as a feather as Noritoshi tended to your bruises and cuts. Slender fingers spreading the warmth of his hand wherever he touched on your wet skin. Whenever you hissed - as he cleansed a especially deep cut or ugly gash - Noritoshi responded with whispered praises in a low voice, warm hands caressing you in soothing motions.

It would be Noritoshi who’d break the silence as he cleansed a nasty cut on your face. One hand held your chin up in his strong grip, the other gently cleansing your wound with the damp cotton. The sting from the antiseptic burning through your skin, a stark contrast from the calming heat emanating from his body so close to yours. His gaze was still on the cut in your face when he first spoke.

“This one could leave a scar,” for a second his sweet tone betrayed a hint of worry before he turned to you, deep dark eyes holding your gaze captive, “but even that would look pretty on you.”

There was a pause, a moment suspended in tension as his face drew closer to yours. You could feel his breath, your eyes being pulled in the undertow of his dark pupils. They held the strength of a retreating wave on a stormy shore, lulling you in and drowning you in their darkness.

“We shouldn’t,” your voice was almost a whisper, choking on the words that almost didn’t leave your lips.

“Why?” His question came in a murmur, a secret inquiry as the hand that had been tending to your cut moved to brush your dripping hair away from your face.

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, words stuck in your throat and blocking your breath, tension hanging thick. A flash illuminated the room and the sound of thunder burst the strain of the moment. Noritoshi moved first, soft lips finding your own and it was you who hesitated this time. But the feeling of his warm tongue on your bottom lip broke your resistance, mouth opening as he held your face on his hands ever so gently.

The kiss was soft and slow, tentative at first, gentle bites on your lips and velvety caresses of his tongue to yours. His lips were so warm, so soft and they tasted like coffee. It was like there was nothing else but him, the sensation of his wet skin on yours, the smell of rain and leather on his hair. You moaned and Noritoshi took that as a chance to deepen the kiss.

The hand holding your chin moved to the back of your neck while the other found its place on your waist. Noritoshi needed you, he longed to taste you again, you were the fantasy of many of his lonely releases - he’d be too ashamed to just count how many. Fuck, he couldn’t believe he had you in his arms again.

The kiss was needy, desperate, raw. Noritoshi wanted to memorize the feeling of your tongue, the taste of your mouth and the smell of your skin. You tasted like heaven, just what he imagined bliss must feel like and he never wanted to let go. But when you lift your arms to his neck you whine in pain and he has to return to reality.

“Careful,” his voice is barely above a whisper as he distances himself from you on the bed, just enough space that he can still reach your face, “you need to rest.”

You want to protest but your body is aching and your muscles feel like they weigh a ton. Noritoshi helps you remove your pants, drying your legs with a tenderness that you could only call devotion. He dries your hair gently and once he is done he pulls a shirt from his backpack and tosses it to you. The shirt smells like him and for a moment this is all you can feel.

Noritoshi retreats to the small bathroom and closes the door. He removes his soaked clothes and looks at himself in the mirror again. Finally noticing the few bruises on his torso as he dries his hair. As he puts on the sweatpants he can feel his muscles groan and ache at his movements.

Opening the door, Noritoshi catches you already wearing his shirt and laying on the bed, it was a sight he’d want everyday. Moving around the room he hangs the dripping clothes from the chairs and table at the corner before climbing into the bed with you. With any luck they’d be a little less damp tomorrow.

As he gets into bed you scoot to the side. In the dim light of the windows you can’t help but watch him as he settles on the mattress. You can feel the strain on his muscles relax as he lays down. One of your hands reaches for his arm and he turns to your side, eyes tired and yet so warm.

“Thank you,” your voice is nothing but a whisper.

He comes closer to you, his smell intoxicating, putting an arm around your body and carefully pulling you closer. “I missed you,” he murmurs right against your ear before laying a kiss on your forehead.

That night you sleep into each other’s embrace. Finding comfort in each other’s warmth. In the morning you wake up rested and in peace, and Noritoshi is pretty sure this must be what love feels like. Still, he is too much of a coward to say. But as you kiss and he takes off your shirt he finds ways to say it with his body, spell the words with his mouth on your skin. Trace every curve and every scar of your body with his fingers. Every time he sinks into you is an unspoken love confession.

The next morning you were forced to realize that the cursed spirit had moved positions. It was gonna be an active hunt through the town. The thing had been smarter than the higher ups believed, or than they were willing to admit. It was no good news, made much worse by how the dark storm clouds still remained over the damn city.

Noritoshi knew this was bad, but he couldn’t deny the selfish side of him that was at least a little thankful for it. That was the sad truth, this shithole of a situation had been the thing that brought you together. Had been the thing that let him feel you so close, in ways he only dreamt of as he laid awake at night, painfully hard cock held in his strong hands.

It was wrong to desire like this, he knew. But fuck he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be right this time.

Your days were spent like this together, hunting the curse when there was no rain and finding solace in each other’s arms when the sky came falling. He could almost believe this was his reality, that you were his home and he’d finally found it. But there was still tension, still the smell of ozone hanging thick in the air even as the storm had already come crashing down. None of you acknowledged it however.

Near the end of the week the storm gave it a rest, clouds not fully gone but dissipated enough that the sun could dominate the sky again. That was when you finally cornered the spirit and killed it. No more. No more of the damn thing and no more of Noritoshi’s make belief. Dreaming can only last for so long.

None of you talk as you make your bags. No words are shared as you take your first train. The silence is heavy, heavier than the clouds that had started gathering again. It chokes Noritoshi, a pressure on his chest and a knot on his throat and he feels like he is drowning. It’s only when you are both waiting for your separated trains that you speak. The wait seems to take forever and that time is enough for Noritoshi to try and kiss you again, but this time you pull back just as tries to deepen it.

“We can’t,” your eyes are red as you look at him, voice hoarse and strained. “You know we can’t.”

You have one hand on his chest, gripping tight at his shirt, the other holding on to your own neck. He reaches one hand to your face and you don’t fight him, but you don’t lean in either. He says the words, asks the question, even though he knows his own answer to it, even though he knows you can’t. He is trying to fool himself, trying to pretend there is no clan, no bloodline, no talk of heir and duties.

“Why?” the words comes out dry and painful.

“Why?” You let go of him now, sorrow turning into pain, turning into anger. “Why? Because I don’t want to be hiding in corners and empty places. I don’t want to feel like the shameful lover you only touch in secret,” you swallow hard, strained voice echoing through the empty station. “I know enough about sorcerer clans and jujutsu politics. I’ve spent enough time in Kyoto to know how your elders think. I know they wouldn’t look well upon,” there is a heavy pause, thunder raging in the distance, “well, me. I refuse to be seen as a lesser option for a partner, an undesirable mate.”

You look at him and he feels naked, raw and open like a soul on trial. He knows he should say something but he can’t bring himself to. You speak in his instead.

“And clearly you,” you pause on the word, voice thick with pain, the noise of a train arriving on the station behind you filling the oppressive emptiness, ”still cares too much about what they think to care about me.”

Thunder rages again, closer this time. Noritoshi’s eyes are held by your own, your pupils feeling like daggers on his skin. There is a brief moment of silence after you speak as you stare down, but soon you turn around and enter the car. The doors ding closed and the train moves again. Just as your face is hidden from view the rain starts falling again. The worst part was, you were right.

#noritoshoi x reader #noritoshi kamo x reader #noritoshi #noritoshi kamo #jjk

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clutterfield · 2 years

Text

GHOST BUSTERS

FratBoys! BTS x Comatose! Reader

Main mlist. Previous chapter

Synopsis

You get into a freak accident and wake up to your body surrounded by seven crying men. Or your unrequited love doesn’t seem so unrequited after all.

Chapter warnings

Angst, Horror

Chapter Rating: T (For Teen Audiences and Up)

Chapter 8: The Hen House part 1

A/N. Y'all. Have you seen airport Yoongi 2022? Also, wrote this while on the road so forgive me if it's sloppy. 🥹

FLASHBACK

Smoke filled your lungs, an endless circle of tobacco and the smell of fried eggs and grilling meat as you tried to push your sweaty hair to the side, the sun beating down on your bare fore arms, the prickling heat shoved at the forefront of your mind incessantly.

You just know you were going to get a tan in weird places with the way your shirt sleeves were haphazardly rolled up to your shoulders and the frayed edge tied to a side knot just above your hip bone.

If anything you looked like a poster girl for Rosie the Riveter minus the iconic red polka-dotted headband.

You had foregone wearing shorts, opting for jeans instead as you weren't really all that comfortable showing a good amount of skin below your stomach and so it was sweltering hot as you attempted with a mild grunt to carry the multitude of colored boxes for a new resident of the Hen House - you think you've read one labelled Toys and you weren't born yesterday to decipher what that had meant.

With a blush, you enter the comfortable air conditioned lobby of the home, the receptionist smiling behind the desk before going back to jot down something on her clipboard, and you trudge up the winding staircases down to the east wing.

The Hen House, built upon an old abandoned convent back in the day boasted a sprawling ten-acre enclave lined with all kinds of trees and greenery, a massive lake just behind the structure where you mostly loved to spend your time lounging by the docks whenever you didn't have anything to do, feeding whatever woodland creature graced you with it's presence so you tended to pocket an assortment of nuts and bits and pieces of bread whenever you visit.

It was actually one of the adopted social services program for Kyung Hee, the university you were attending, extending help to women (and men) who previously worked in the under hood of Korea's red light districts and were trying to turn over a new page in their battered, worn out books.

Initially you were hesitant, what with your swamped schedule but your professor had convinced you otherwise in exchange for raising your GPA so you had agreed without thinking too much of the consequences.

Passing through the hallways all while giving a wave or two to the relatively cheerful residents doing their own thing, you come to a stop in front of a wooden door.

Lightly nudging it open, you toddle through and gently place the boxes in a corner of the room out of harm's way.

"Thanks, sweet cheeks."

Startled, you almost smack the tall intruder in his handsome face. "Oh fuck, sorry!" You bow as he barely dodges from your hands before he chuckles, bringing your flailing to a stop.

Your eyes land on the love handles peeking through his white cropped shirt.

Like a fish out of water, you blatantly ogle the dude, only to curse under your breath- first house rule, never ever check out the residents (at least openly) for several reasons, one of them being a violation of their dignity and privacy after everything they went through to get to this point.

But you couldn't help it! He easily towered over you and he was huge, like he ate protein shakes for breakfast every morning.

Clearing your throat, you hold out a hand in greeting. "I'm LN YN."

The attractive stranger nods taking your hand in his for a brief shake. "Kim Matthew, but you may call me BM."

You give him a genuine, welcoming smile. "Well then, BM, I hope you like your new home. The people here can be a handful, and crazy, and sometimes pushes all your buttons and smoke like they're sixty-five but they're all caring on the inside." You state plainly only to flush when you realize you were babbling.

You give a hasty bow, "Also, I'll be in your care from now on."

He grins, white canines glinting, the tear drop earrings he sported shimmers in the mid afternoon light streaming through the curtains as he pats your head consolingly almost amused at your little display and you look up at him shyly. "Likewise, YN."

You have a strong feeling you and him would get along just fine.

BM, as it turns out, became your bosom buddy even if you hadn't known him for long.

He was very well likeable and was basically good at everything, from cooking to building that cat dream house one of the matrons had always wanted, and writing poems that could rival Namjoon's, you were starting to think all beautiful people were blessed by the gods themselves.

And BM was really good at writing. Like insanely good.

So it isn't a wonder when one day, as you were raking leaves in the garden, he comes running out thrusting sheafs of paper against your face, getting you cross eyed as you tentatively take them from his excited grasp.

"I got in, YN!" He screams with giddiness and you stare confused only for your creased brows to unfurl, a giant smile lighting up your haggard demeanor.

BM had been accepted to Kyung Hee as a Literature Major under a scholarship.

The best part was, he would be sponsored to go to an Ivy League school of his choice as long as he kept his grades up.

"Woah, this is awesome!" You tell him, proud at his accomplishments as he basically lifts you up and twirls you around like you weighed nothing.

Having been a former stripper for a BDSM club, your friend didn't have many options in his career, most regarding him with an underlying sort of disgust, a used commodity but it seems the Literature department of your university thought he had great potential ahead of him if they were willing to go so far as to let him finish a Master's Degree abroad.

Once back in your feet, your beefy friend hesitates. "But... I'll be moving into the dorms before the semester starts."

You snort and smack him lightly on the chest, the only part reachable for your five foot, two inches. "Don't worry about me, dummy. I go to the same university too. Dorm visitations are allowed on weekends. And it's not like you can't just text me to meet up or something. "

He chuckles, but then his sharp eyes stray to somewhere behind you as he subconsciously grips your fingers in his. "Yeah, that's not what I'm worried about." He whispers seriously and you shoot a look at the middle aged man tottering a few steps away towards the sidewalk, as if he had just been caught peering through the fence.

You freeze. Who was that? This was the third time in a row you've caught him staring at you.

Somehow, and you don't know why but that behavior reminded you of the Bogeyman when you were younger.

You shuddered.

BM does not let you get home alone that night as he steadfastly refuses to let you drive alone. "I'll just take a cab on the way back." He says, tone final and you don't argue.

Knowing your friend for over a year now, his instincts for bad things were usually a little too spot on, (like that time you showed him a photo of an apartment you were looking into leasing which thankfully you didn't as turns out it was a trap house) having been honed by dealing with seedy and unsavory clients for almost half of his street rat years.

Maybe you should report that incident to the police just in case.

You give him a farewell kiss on the cheek and watch him walk the driveway, past the security who open the gates for him, and back into the shadows, only for you to stop in your tracks as you feel someone watching your backside (surely it wasn't the gatekeeper) and not wasting any time, you run into the house almost colliding into one of the boys dogs.

"Woof!"

You heave a sigh of relief as the brown poodle clings to your leg, tail wagging. "Holly, you scared me! " You coo only for her owner to come stumbling out into the foyer sleepily.

"Oh, you're back." He then frowns checking the clock on the wall and is fairly surprised that it's around two in the morning. He pauses awkwardly by the foot of the stairs. "...Had a hot date?" Yoongi drawls albeit uncomfortably, though you can't tell with the way his lips break out into his usual smirk.

You don't know why that gets to you, it's just a question, but it does anyway and with how tired you were the entire goddamn day and the lingering fear still rooted in your bones, a bit of light leaves your irises. "Eh." You shrug neither denying or confirming and brush past him, leaving Holly yapping in the background and her owner stumped because it was the first time you acted like you he was a roommate and nothing more.

Not a member of your makeshift family.

Not the man who hung the moon and the stars.

Not the man who broke your heart countless of times as he and his brothers came home looking thoroughly fucked and sated.

Nothing.

Frantic footsteps follow you, "...are you hungry?"

You stop and he stops, his dog in tow, sitting her butt on the marbled floor. "I'm sleepy. Good night, Yoongi. " Your tone borders on a heavy sort of finality and you trudge up to your room without another word, not caring a shit what he thought about you at the moment.

Maybe tomorrow would be better.

The next morning finds you buried bone deep in volunteer work.

It was Sunday, and with no boyfriend or social life outside of your boys you had offered to clean the old lake shed at the Hen House.

It was a dusty old shack if anything, filled with miscellaneous stuff old residents had left and some rusty machinery which could fetch a notable price at some obscure junkyard by the roadside.

If only you weren't alone (not discounting the receptionist and the cook who were always on duty) but the other staff had the day off and since most of the residents were capable of running the place anyway, they were left to their own devices.

You cough up a storm as the pile of books on the shelf topples, leaving you wheezing in a particle cloud of dust bunnies.

The shed may be grimy but it was pretty workable as it was small, big enough to fit at most four of you.

You huff, putting on a mask and hyping your spirits to do some shit cleaning because you were not going to leave this place without scrubbing every single inch, every nook and cranny until you were satisfied.

"Let's do this, YN."

It takes you approximately until seven into the evening to finish everything and you collapse in the now waxed and polished floor, muscles aching and moaning.

All things that could still be of use were boxed and taped up to be sent to the lost and found department just in case some of the residents wanted to 'dumpster dive'.

The stuff that were practically trash was going to be shipped off to the junkyard tomorrow. Recycle and all that shit.

With a tired whine, you allow yourself to partially doze off to slumber, only minutes later, something cold taps your ankle until long fingers are grasping them and you jump up, shrieking in shock.

The old man you had seen with BM last night was here. Inside the shed. With you.

Shit!

Before you can even run out to call for help, a force yanks you back and you land on the hardwood with a thump.

You refuse to look anywhere but at him, thinking this was the way you were going to die and you'd rather not hold the face of your murderer in the afterlife lest you never find peace, only for him to practically bend abnormally close down to your level.

You gasp when you are left staring at milky white orbs and yellowed rotten teeth, "Save me." The old man gasps and you scream.

END OF FLASHBACK

🔮

YOONGI POV

He hates you.

Well, he actually doesn't.

He was annoyed, irritated, with the fact that you were hugging a man twice the size of the Sigma leader.

And he was a fucking dwarf compared to the guy's bulging pectorals.

"YN?!"

He growls lowly, though the only people who heard were his brothers as you climb the big buffoon like he wanted you to climb his dick.

Something gnaws at his chest, straining, making his insides blaze with unbridled fury and bitterness as he witnesses how happy you looked, something he --they have never seen on you before.

And it hurts.

It fucking hurts.

"Guys, this is BM! He's a good friend of mine!" You wave them over, glowing and positively beautiful that the twinge grows deeper, like a knife stabbed him in his lungs.

A friend? He's never heard of this BM. Not until now. Dread fills his already fucked up emotional spectrum solely thanks to you.

Just how much of your life outside of them did they miss?

He glances at the others who mirror the same kind of trepidation as they all survey the gothic structure, the concrete seemingly intimidating even as they were used to grandeur.

There was something eerie about this place and if you had been working here for a long time right under their noses, he doesn't even want to imagine what kind of horrors you faced.

And as you pull them all in to meet curious faces, he swallows, hiding his disdain as he realizes just how far away you were from them.

Fuck.

They fucked up.

Next chapter

🔮

Chapter taglist

@potaetopic @yoongiigolden @missseoulite @reallysparklychaos

#bts army #bts fic #bts imagines #bts x reader #polyamory #bts angst with a happy ending #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #namjoon x you #hoseok x reader #seokjin x you #jimin x reader #yoongi x you #hoseok x y/n #taehyung x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook x reader

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soleilnomoon · 2 years

Note

Can I please have some fluff with gn/male reader with Marco (OP) please? Just like he's up at night and they bring him a tea and keep him company or something.

Thank you so much <3<3

hi! omg thanks for requesting marco, i love, love him so much 😊 also thanks for being patient (i'm so slow with writing these days 😭)

933 words, gn / m reader, sfw, 18+, mdni, teeny tiny bit of angst, fluff mostly! (i promise), feat. marco being a night owl & reader being a little worried abt him. also marco def knows he's charming >.>

“our eyes are full of terrible confessions” — anne sexton

dreamless nights bloom into restless mornings, that, when watered carefully over the hours of the day, drown you back into the impossible sea of night — where all you can do is agonize over questions that don’t necessarily require answers. you covet the information all the same. a bubbling need to consume, that rattles bones with every step you take, a hollow feeling that leaves you raw and yearning; always for something more. the vestige of denial, of the things you truly want, meticulously folded until its barely noticeable; a haunted soul requiring a skilled set of hands to expunge the darkness completely.

it’s what prompts you to stay awake for as long as you can, in the hopes of finding a sliver of warmth — one that you can carry with you daily, to chase your demons at night. in your delirium, you leave the comfort of your room, softly walking through the long corridors before reaching the kitchen. you take your time boiling water in a kettle, decide on which tea leaves to use, and carry a small tray with two cups of tea — the steam wafting around the rim of the cups.

despite what most might thing, marco prefers the solitude of the night versus the day; there are so many people aboard the ship, that it’s hard to find a moment of peace, where he can have time for himself and his work. his room functions as an office, bookshelves packed with thick books — medical texts both old and new, encyclopedias and the like, journals he’s collected over the years — on his desk is an untouched plate of food, several balled up pieces of paper, a small stack of books that he’s thumbed through over the course of the night, and an inkwell that’s run out of ink.

he twirls his quill absently, leaning back against the wooden chair with his eyes closed. for some reason, his mind continues to run — on and on, thoughts battering the inside of his head without remorse, leaving him with headaches that make it nearly impossible to socialize during the day. the rare moments where he does feel at ease, are when you come by to visit him.

a soft glow of light spills out from his room, beckoning you closer — his door is ajar, as usual, almost as if he can’t be bothered to close it all the way late at night, or because he knows someone might need him.

that maybe you might need him.

he barely stirs when you step inside completely, using the back of your foot to close the door behind you; it’s a practiced move, as you often find yourself wandering the corridors aimlessly, only to find yourself in front of his door at the end of your journey, knocking softly and seeking out his company.

because you’ve noticed that he’s been sleeping a little less these days, you figure that tea might help soothe and lull him to sleep.

“you don’t have to do that, y’know,” he says idly, head turning in your direction as he watches you balance the tray in your hands.

“you’re not sleeping,” you say quietly and place the tray on his desk, “a cup of tea won’t kill you.” his subsequent laughter — at your candid words, your stern expression — brings a faint flush to your cheeks, making it difficult to keep focused. “don’t laugh at me,” you tug on his cheek lightly, which earns you a soft chuckle instead. what he really wants to tell you, is that he thinks your concern is cute — and is appreciative of your efforts to help him out. he decides to save that for another night.

“thank you for the tea,” you let go of his cheek, a warmth fluttering around your chest as he leans over to grab the cup; you don’t move away, though, and instead watch him sip the tea carefully. his brow quirks upward when he catches you staring, so you grab your own cup and sip quietly. drumming your fingers along the desk as you glance around the room — his bed remains untouched, meaning he has no intention of sleeping tonight; you frown at that and your lips part as you toy with the right words to say.

marco doesn’t give you the opportunity; he wraps his fingers around your wrist and his thumb slowly rubs against the inside, whatever you want to say gets lost and your mind clouds with ridiculous thoughts. a smile tugs on your lips even though you try to hide it as you drink the rest of your tea. eventually you grab the other chair in the room and sit next to him, softly chatting away, a calmness blanketing over your shoulders, making you feel light and at ease. marco abandons his work to sit with you instead, enjoying the way you animatedly talk with your hands and the way your voice helps to settle his thoughts, slowing them down completely.

despite his initial skepticism, the tea does make him feel a little sleepy, and he struggles to fight the sudden wave of sleepiness, so that he can hold on to that tranquility. he tells himself that it’s simply because it would be rude to doze off while you speak, but both of you know better than that. still, you admire his determination to stay awake where eventually he succumbs and uses his arms as a makeshift pillow to lay his head on the desk comfortably.

#fic request #one piece imagine #one piece fluff #marco the phoenix #marco fluff #marco x reader #marco x y/n #when will marco let me sit by his side i wonder #marco--the--phoenix #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n

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doomfox · 2 years

Text

College Days

Something I wrote after various ramblings and doodles with my friends, @etheriumart , @stillafanofsonic , and @appendingfic ! Go check them out and enjoy this ficlet! Also, taking writing prompts for this au! Send ‘em in!

...

Geoff was a weird kid. He knew it. Everybody told him so, even his father (who would, at every opportunity, utilise his dead name against him and point out his ‘unmanly’ hobbies as ‘proof’ he was faking his life), and he had simply come to accept it.

So he was somewhat glad, when he arrived at college, to find that people here could be as weird as they liked. And nobody gave a crap.

“Shit... sorry, dude.”

Some guy Geoff would never interact with again bumped into him, clearly in a rush, apologised and moved on. Geoff watched him leave, noting the plush toy strapped to his backpack. He stared. People here could be as weird as they liked. It made him feel safe.

He smiled to himself and turned on his way, adjusting his massive backpack and striding down the hall. He passed by a couple of girls openly making out, nobody batting an eye. He remembered the name of his roommate - Eclipse Whipple.

Eclipse. Weird name. Probably a weird kid like himself.

Geoffrey finally found his destination, a wooden door (one of many) along a narrow hall that was presently quiet. Most students would be in class or heading there right now, though he had nothing to do but dump his stuff and get ready for initiation in a few hours.

Geoff fiddled with the lock, opening the door and stepping inside. It was, as expected, a very spartan environment. Two beds, stacked head-to-head, a pale green carpet, a desk covered in clutter and a cheap computer, and a few posters on the wall above one of the beds.

Geoff paused. Ducks. The posters were of ducks.

“Oh hi!!! You must be Geoff!!!!”

An excited voice rasped from the figure reclining on the bed beneath the ducks and Geoff stared as he tried to figure out who - or what - he was looking at. He hadn’t know what to expect of a guy named Eclipse. Maybe a dude with long black hair, all-black clothing, with chains and makeup to match. Certainly not a reptilian humanoid with black-and-red scales, dressed in an old hoodie and jeans and with a tail that waved like a charmed snake behind him as he stood.

“I’m Eclipse!” The creature announced, heading over to greet Geoff. “I’m new here too! I bet we’re gonna be great friends!!!”

Geoff’s eyes were popping out his head by now, and he suddenly realised he was staring. “Uh... hi?” The human stuck his hand out to take Eclipses’s and the two teenagers shook. “Sorry I... you...” He raised a finger and pointed. “You’re an alien, right??”

Eclipse grinned, sharp yellow teeth gleaming from a white muzzle. “What gave it away? The tail and the scales??” HE stuck his tongue out, revealing it to be green and forked. “Yup! Alien as you can get!”

“I’ve heard about you guys!” Geoff said, remembering the news reports from several years ago. Of strange aliens defeating a giant robot in somewhere called Green Hills, and more of them slowly showing up. Now, though in no great numbers, they were everywhere, and the people of Earth were made aware of the existence of these otherworldly travellers. “I never thought I’d meet one of you!”

“You don’t have a problem with it?” Geoff watched as Eclipses’ tail, which had been waving happily behind him, now lowered and wrapped around an ankle.

“What?? No!” Geoff said, grinning wide. “Why would I??”

Eclipse shrugged but seemed happy. “Some people... some humans can be pretty weird with me when they first meet me. It’s not like my brothers... they’re fluffy, people think they’re ‘cute’ or whatever. Especially Silver.”

Geoff cocked his head. “You have brothers?? Like, alien brothers???”

Eclipse grinned. “Yeah!! OMG I’ll show you!” the alien turned and scampered over to his desk where a battered cell phone sat charging, “come on!! I’ll show you my family!!!”

Geoff did as he was asked, dumping his bag and heading over to check out Eclipses’ photo gallery. He found pictures of an older, chubby human with a full beard, who Eclipse called his dad, and two other alien creatures - one almost snow white and very fluffy indeed, the other black-and-red like Eclipse himself, with red eyes that pierced through the screen.

“... and that’s Silver with his rabbit!” Eclipse chattered happily, grinning mischievously as his tail waved, “I used to really wind him up when we were kids! I used to say I’d EAT Smokey!!”

Geoff guffawed. “No way!”

“Yeah! It was hilarious, he went crying to our dad every time!” The phone eventually went away and Eclipse clutched his stomach. “Speaking of food, I dunno about you but I’m starved! You wanna go grab something to eat?”

“Well...” Geoff’s anxiety rose a little, the human unsure about just wandering about a brand new college filled with unfamiliar people, “I guess...”

“Come on! We can explore too!” Eclipse grabbed Geoff’s hand, his three digits clutching the human’s five as he rushed for the door, “I was gonna go myself but it’ll be way more fun with somebody else! Let’s go!”

And so Geoff did, allowing himself to be dragged off by his brand new alien friend.

Which is how they found themselves wandering around the campus, exploring, checking out the gardens and watching students go by on their busy days. Eclipse seemed so excited and filled with energy, so much so that Geoff didn’t think he could keep up, but it was fun. Soon they found themselves in the cafeteria, in search of something to eat.

“I hope they have chicken wings!” Eclipse chirruped, ignoring the strange looks from humans as he had all morning, “chicken wings are my favourite! Or jerky! Or-“

“Hey...” Geoff paused, narrowing his eyes as he nudged Eclipses’ skinny arm. “take a look over there...”

“Huh?? What...” Eclipse looked about, tail waving as he tried to pinpoint what had caught his new friend’s attention... and gasped as he saw what was so interesting. An individual with long white hair tied into a ponytail, large pointed ears, and a long black tail tipped with white fur. “OMG!!! Another alien!!!” Eclipse said excitedly, “I had no idea!!!”

“How many of you guys ARE there on this planet??” Geoff said incredulously.

Eclipse merely shrugged. “Yeah, I have NO idea who that is...” he said, before grinning wide. “they’re sat on their own... let’s go say hi!!!”

Before Geoff could protest Eclipse was again leading him buy the hand toward the table, happily dragging the human into an engagement with their new friend.

“Hi! My name’s Eclipse!! And this is Geoff!!!” Eclipse said excitedly, hopping into the chair beside the other alien, “are you new here too? What’s your name?? Can we sit here??? I love your hair!!!!!”

“Uh... th.... thank you??” the very confused doglike alien stammered in a very deep voice, mismatched grey and yellow blinking in surprise.

Eclipse continued to stare, grinning happily as Geoff sat down on the stranger’s other side. “Hey, I’m Geoff.” He said, extending a hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you, do you mind if we join you?”

“Uh... no! No, that’s okay...” the alien ran a hand through his long white hair, awkwardly clearing his throat as he looked between his two new companions, “uh... my name’s Finley! Or... or Fin, I guess. The Jackal.”

“Awesome!!!!” Eclipse chirruped, “great to meet you, Fin! Man, I was worried I’d be the only non-human in this place!”

“Same!” Fin replied, a shy smile crossing his muzzle, “I didn’t know there were any other off-worlders here...” he frowned, looking Eclipse over, “but.. I don’t recognise your species?”

Eclipse shrugged. “It’s complicated,” he replied.

“And I’m just a boring old human!” Geoff added, not wanting to be forgotten about in the discussion. His stomach rumbled and he remembered what Eclipse had dragged them out for in the first place. “A pretty hungry human,” he said. “You mind if we grab something to eat Fin?”

“Sure...?” the Jackal replied, “you guys really want to sit with me?”

“Heck yeah!” Eclipse replied, already hopping out his seat and searching for the counter, “we can tell stories about each others’ planets!! It’ll be awesome!!!”

Soon enough, all three of them were happily eating and chatting at the table. Mostly Eclipse doing the talking, chattering about nothing while he tucked into a plate full of meat.

“... so Silver spent a whole week thinking I’d laid eggs in him!! I think he was checking the toilet everytime he went to see if they’d come out!!!!” The alien cackled, clearly revelling in the memory. “It was the funniest thing ever!!!”

“That.... does sound pretty funny...” Fin replied, poking at his fries.

Geoff frowned. “What are they anyway? Your brothers?” he took a bite out of his burger, ignoring the mustard dribbling from his chin. “They looked way different from you. No offense, just curious.”

“They’re hedgehogs!” Eclipse said helpfully, bits of chicken showing in his teeth as he grinned. “My whole family is... kinda adoptive,” he explained, his tail drooping a little as his grin followed suit. “Except for Shadow. He actually IS related to me by blood...” Eclipse stared into the table for a moment, as though considering something. “But that doesn’t matter!” he continued, infectious sharp-toothed grin returning, “my dad always said blood doesn’t matter when it comes to family! My dad and Silver are my real family, just as much as Shadow! Dad always said he’d accept us for what we are, not matter what!”

Both Geoff and Fin looked away at that statement. “He sounds like a cool guy...” Fin said quietly.

“Ditto,” agreed Geoff, “you’re real lucky, ‘Clips.”

Eclipse merely grinned and continued gnawing away at his chicken. “So what about you guys?” he said, continuing the conversation, “what are your families like?”

The silence that followed said as much as he needed to know. Not that Eclipse was observant enough to pick up on it.

“Unsupportive,” Geoff said bluntly, declining to explain more.

“My dad’s okay....” Fin said quietly, “he’s just... obsessed with money. The only reason I’m here is because he wants me to study Business... that’s why we moved to Earth. He says it’s a new planet with lots of opportunity.”

Geoff stared at the jackal incredulously. “So you just... moved planets??”

Fin shrugged. “Yeah... we came here when I was a kid.”

Geoff shook his head. “That’s insane!” he said, looking to Eclipse. “How long have you been on Earth?”

Eclipse shrugged. About nine years? I was about ten when I first got here. Not sure, I never figured out how time works in relation to the Black Co- ..... where I used to live.”

Geoff frowned. “Where was that?”

Eclipse shrugged. “I don’t like to talk about it...”

Oh. “That’s okay,” Geoff replied, “you don’t have to.”

There was movement beside him and Fin swore as he checked his cell phone. “Shit, I’d better get going... I’ll be late for my class...” he polished off his fries and stood, clutching his plate. “I guess... I’ll see you guys around?”

Eclipse looked up to the jackal, grin firmly back on his muzzle. “Heck yeah! We’re friends aren’t we??”

Fin stood still, one ear going flat while the other perked. “... friends?”

“Yeah!” Eclipse bounced in his seat. “We can be best friends! It’ll be totally wicked!!!”

Fin allowed a small smile at that. “Yeah... sure. I’d like that.” The jackal looked then to Geoff, who smiled and nodded his agreement. “Okay! Yeah, I guess I’ll see you guys later!”

“Call us!” Geoff said, “we’ll hang out!”

At that Fin excused himself and left, long tail waving behind him as he disappeared from the cafeteria. “This is so cool!” Eclipse said happily, wiping barbeque sauce from his chin, “I bet this is gonna be the BEST college year EVER!!!!”

Geoff quietly agreed, amazed at Eclipses’ childlike excitement. He’d been here an hour, maybe two, and his world had been turned upside down. Best friends with two weird and cool aliens from other planets. Who would’ve thought it?

#Eclipse the Darkling #Infinite the Jackal #Geoff the human #Eclipse Whipple #I love these dorks #they deserve to be BEST FRIENDS

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the-consortium · 11 months

Note

An ancient form of vox recorder falls out of a long forgotten box. The absolute brick of technology clatters loudly, before whirring to life with static. No video feed, it's long since corrupted beyond saving. But a static-filled voice cheerfully chirps from the ancient speaker.

"-ius!! Good news! We get to move forward with---Project. Aren't yo--ted?" the voice has a slight drawl to it, but feminine. "The-- peror put up a good fight, but he saw reason after the-- th hour of arguing. I know it's not what you wanted, but I'm sure if you impress--" it cuts out for quite some time, "I promised you I'd get you that funding. I know you're destined to do great things." the voice changes, sounding almost motherly with how proud it is. "If pro--Eden goes off as planned, that is. But I have faith in you." static claims the recording once more.

"--ay!! Okay!! Garth told me to wrap it up, we're taking off now. Keep those-- safe, and don-- without me." The feed dies completely after that. The last breath of something from long, long ago. Old tech, but it held on long enough to deliver its final message.

The moment when the day becomes interesting for Oleander is when the Chief Apothecary throws an ancient-looking device back into the small transport box that sits on his desk and, with a curse in his Terran dialect - not quite Oleander's native region - gets up and leaves the study. Apparently he has forgotten about his student's presence.

So far, both apothecaries have spent the morning comparing the results of experiments and entering them in charts. Actually, something the chief apothecary certainly wouldn't have to do himself, but Fabius enjoys letting his mind wander now and then while he pursues a repetitive activity that only demands a few percent of his intellect.

Half an hour earlier, one of the mutant serfs came and placed the old and battered-looking transport box on a corner of Fabius' desk. Stared piercingly at the Chief Apothecary. But when there was no reaction, the creature waddled out again.

Oleander was rather peripherally aware of this event. In principle, nothing unusual.

Irritability is also nothing really rare with Fabius. The Chief Apothecary is only too aware of being the most intelligent in the room most of the time and likes to let everyone know it.

But this time seems different.

Oleander steps up to Fabius' desk. Pushes aside the datapads that have piled up on the dark wooden surface like driftwood on the edge of an exotic sea. Carefully and with reverence, he places Fabius' antique quill pen in its holder. Then he reaches for the vox recorder from the box. Turns it on.

A minute and two replays of the message later, he is no smarter than before.

What is this? And from whom? And above all - what has Fabius got to do with it? Oleander turns the recorder in his hands. Is he curious? Of course he is! Can he do something about it? Well, at least the origin can be clarified. And perhaps recover the rest of the message. But one must proceed with caution. Fabius is already angry enough.

Fortunately, Oleander has contacts with some Hereteks who still owe him favours. Time to check in with them again. And see if they can find out anything about the device and the message.

#Warhammer #Fabius Bile #Ask Post #Oleander Koh

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the-fiction-witch · 2 years

Text

The Rugged Cowboy p2

Media: Godless (Netflix 2017)

Character: Whitey Winn (Thomas Brodie Sangster)

Couple: Whitey Winn X Reader

Rating: Adorable + Mild Flirt

Concept: Tour Of Town

I woke up to a surprising amount of light flooding into my little house, forcing open my eyes to greet the New Mexico morning sun. I noticed I had failed to close one of my curtains last night but honestly the house needed more work than that so I didn't let it weigh too heavily on my mind. I could hear the town already busy with folks coming back and forth so I climbed from my bed and made the sheets behind me. I washed my face with the small white soap bar and some water from the basin, making sure to clean my skin well for the day ahead. I slipped my nightie off my shoulders letting it pool at my ankles as I grabbed my undergarments from the chair working on the intricate procedure it was to dress. Grabbing my boots from the door and slipped them on lacing them up high as I would be unable to once all my garments were on, once it was all they should be I chose a blue dress with small white flowers slipped it on and tieing it all up. I plaited my hair quickly my fingers moving around the strands by pure habit without even having to look at them in the mirror or at my own hands then pinning said plait up around my head. I took my small blue parasol in hand and headed out my door being now fully greeted by that harsh sunlight. already the heat seeping through me.

I stepped out down my little porch and into the slightly yellowed dirt and sand, taking my steps slowly and carefully down the street seeing all the little shops opening up, dry goods, undertakers, hairdressers, the hotel, bar and all manner of other such things. Everywhere I looked women worked, walked and waved. Many worked on the shell of a church near the end of town and carted the supplies needed for it. Once I arrived in the centre of town admittedly I felt slightly overwhelmed by it all, the new faces and places that would soon become merely normality in my mind.

I caught sight of the sheriff's office as battered and broken as you would expect it to be, and I smiled thinking of whitey. honestly, no wonder he was the deputy the sheriff's office and himself shared a.... broken down dirty quality. I hitched my parasol on my shoulder a little and headed over stepping up onto the porch closing it down and using the metal tip to tap on the door.

"Uhh... it's open?" The familiar voice yelled from within seeming perplexed as to why anyone had knocked, So I gently pushed open the door and took and step inside shutting the door with my hip behind me.

The office was, well. A large wooden room that had been patched many times, the windows didn't quite fit into the windowsills they laid in with small cracks in the glass and cream blinds half drew to keep out the high sun, wood panelling on the walls to about my hips and then once cream-painted plaster to the ceiling with the prints and streaks of thousands of touches from dirty hands never move having been cleaned. the floor is dusty and would likely give you a splinter if you walked across it barefoot. I stood with the door behind me the small light from the little glass around the door illuminating my shadow across the room, to my right was a hook with a familiar stetson hat, besides it on the next hook was an old moth-consumed brown leather jacket with a layer of dust over it, next was a window that sat beside a tall tower of brown filing draws, then against the wall in front of me sat an old wooden gun cabinet a mirror in the back and two square wire doors that had been left open and by the dust likely had rarely been closed, a few rifles, shotguns, and other such weaponry stacked up around the mirror rather than having been put away. the front shelf was covered with boxes of ammunition all laid out by size and design in front of the cabinet was a wooden desk well battered and bruised, with a few papers, some books and such strewn about on it but the chair empty, looking into the room there where three fairly sized cells sealed off from the rest of the office by the metal poles the furthest had a small window to the outside side of it which seemed, like a bad idea. none of the beds inside was made up, and a small wall protected the second desk from the cells. and speaking of the second desk, it sat with two large windows behind it and two more to its side, much cleaner and better cared for than the first, more books and paperwork over it some keys hung on it, and behind it a wooden chair where a familiar boy sat himself. He sat his brown boots crossed on the floor a small pile of dust below them having been knocked off from his slight movements, the same textured tight pants I had seen him in yesterday fact the same shirt and jumper too, his deputy badge glinting on his shirt pocket where it caught the sun from the window to my right, his hair allowed to flow as it wanted a messy madness of dirt, curl and flick that I doubt had been combed for... Oh goodness, I wouldn't like to guess. his face read of confusion at first until he realized it was me and a smile cracked across his lips, in his left hand sat a bullet casing that he was tossing around playing with it in his fingers fidgeting with it, and in his right sat a copy of my book 'The Garden of Roses' which he shut in his hand as he saw me.

"Well. Miss Y/l/n what a nice surprise" He says

"Good Morning Master Winn, Up bright and early I see"

"Well, when the sheriffs not 'ere, somebody has to look after all ya lovely ladies"

"Important work indeed" I smiled

"Important work, and hard work, but someone has to do it darlin'" He smiled stepping out from behind his desk taking my hand and giving it a soft kiss "How are ya findin' LaBelle so far then?"

"Perfectly Pleasant" I smiled holding my parasols handle "How are you enjoying the garden?" I asked

he seemed confused for a second so I glanced at the book he had left on the table "Ohh yes. very beautiful I struggle with some of the words there a bit.... long. for me"

"well I could always answer things if you get stuck Master Winn" I laughed

"well, then... this one," he says grabbing the book and flipping through the pages "Here, Botanial?"

"Botanical" I corrected "It means flowers, so a Botanical garden is a flower garden, and a botanical perfume is a floral or flower perfume" I explained

"Ahh. Thank you. I was stuck on that for ages" He says "Well, I'm sure I need anymore help I can always ask the lovely writer herself" He smiled giving my hand another kiss "Ya know, I'm not too busy, if ya like I'd be happy to take ya around give ya a little tour of LaBelle?"

"That would be mighty kind of you, But I don't want to be any trouble"

"It's no trouble miss y/l/n I'd be honoured to show ya around"

"Are you sure?"

"Course"

"Well, I'd like that very much" I smiled offering my arm he happily let me take his arm giving my hand a tap

"And just whitey, I insist"

"Alright whitey," I blushed "Then just y/n"

"May I?"

"You may"

"Alright, come on then I know the perfect place to start off" he smiled

Whitey took me around LaBelle to all the little shops and sites introducing me to all the lovely ladies about town, I had to admit for whitey being such a rugged cowboy he was a perfect gentleman and once we had been all the way around town he took me back to my little house and I let him in for a cup of tea,

"Impressive," he says "Ya only arrived yesterday"

"Well, I like to be comfortable" I smiled

"Well ya sure do look comfortable," he says glancing around my house at my nick-nacks and such as I made the tea "Ohh? Ya workin' on a new book?" He asks looking at my typewriter

"No" I snapped dropping my teapot on the table and rushing over putting my body between him and the typewriter even if it meant my body was pressed against his and clearly he felt how close we were too as a smirk grew across his face

"why? ya workin' on some little smutty story or somethin'?" he smirked wrapping his arms around my waist

"whitey!" I gasped in shock

"Sorry" he chuckled moving back "Come on let me see"

"Sorry whitey, but no. I never let anyone read my work until it's done" I told him "Not even my editor or my publisher. they don't get anything till I have the first draft"

"Alright, sorry I asked"

"It alright you didn't know," I said heading back to the table and doing the tea and he happily came to join me.

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