#help my earth looks like its plastic

[strangerstilinski]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; they say ‘showering together saves water’ or.. something like that.. right? otherwise known as, the one where sheer stupidity leads stiles into the shower with his very naked girlfriend. neither one of them is complaining about the turn of events.

warnings; no use of y/n, established relationship, explicit sexual content (vaginal fingering, handjobs, mentions of oral)

word count; +3k

a/n; i fear i'm going to be perpetually unhappy with this so i'm just biting the bullet and posting it and i'm camping so here it is an hour early!! — please be nice. if you’re interested in the original version cut from my Selenophiles series, you can find that here.

please think about leaving a comment/reblogging if you enjoy! i would appreciate either one to the actual ends of the earth.

Wrapped up in a softly hummed rendition of a song that had been rattling around in your brain all day, you didn’t even hear the bathroom door open or click shut again, not alerted to Stiles’ presence until his voice suddenly sounded just to the other side of the shower curtain.

“Hey.”

It was a simple greeting. Your boyfriend remaining entirely unaware as you flinched wildly in surprise and nearly slipped in the shower on the other side of the thin sheet of plastic that separated you.

“You mind if I brush my teeth real quick?” He asked.

Your heart was still pounding away in your chest from the scare but you forced out a breathy laugh as you reached for the shampoo.

“No, of course not,” You told him easily, “Why would I mind?”

Fingertips scrubbed at your scalp, the sounds of him already beginning to brush his teeth meeting your ears over the rush of the shower as he finally responded.

“I dunno,” He said, words garbled by the toothbrush and foam in his mouth, “You’re all.. naked, so-”

“Well that’s very noble of you,” You smiled softly to yourself, “But you really didn’t have to ask.”

“Noted.” He said through a mouthful of foam before spitting into the sink.

As you began to rinse suds from your hair, you heard the telltale clacking of his toothbrush against the side of the sink as he flicked beads of water away from the bristles. You were awaiting Stiles’ quick words of goodbye when there was a loud knock at the bathroom door.

“Stiles! You in the shower?” His father’s voice sounded loudly from the hallway.

Your heart thumped quick in your chest with sudden misplaced adrenaline and you found yourself poking your head outside of the shower curtain only to be greeted by Stiles already looking in your direction with wide brown eyes.

“Uh, yeah!” He called back weakly, gaze darting around the small room as if he might suddenly find a perfect place to hide.

“Does he not know I’m here?” You whispered sharply, brows pinched together in confusion.

“No.” Stiles hissed back, “I’m kind of a little bit grounded-”

“What?” You interrupted, still whispering despite your incredulity. “You’re grounded?”

“It’s an unspoken kind of thing but definitely implied and- And I didn’t think he’d be home ‘til late!” Stiles defended in an equally hushed whisper.

“Alright, well.. You mind if I just come in and grab the Asprin real quick?” Sheriff Stilinski's voice asked loudly.

Stiles’ eyes seemed to widen even further with a small squeak of distress, “Um-”

You threw the shower curtain open just enough to to fist your hand in the front of his shirt, yanking him forward until he stumbled and was forced to climb over the lip of the bathtub. The shower curtain was tugged back closed just as the doorknob turned and Stiles’ father cautiously peeked into the room through a cloud of steam.

Stiles was now the one standing directly under the spray of warm water, his pajamas quickly soaking through and plastering themselves to his body.

He was unable to help the way his eyes immediately dropped to the wet skin of your naked chest, but somehow, your instincts seemed to know exactly what was coming next because your hand found its way up to cover his mouth just before a soft groan could slip past his lips, the sound of it smothered by your palm.

“Sorry, my head’s killin’ me.” The Sheriff apologized as the medicine cabinet clicked open.

You uncovered Stiles’ mouth slowly and with caution, narrowing your eyes and tipping your head in a silent urge for him to formulate some sort of response. Brown eyes flicked between yours, his tongue poking out to wet his lips enticingly before he responded to his father.

“Nah, it’s cool, dad. Uh.. No biggie.”

Stiles’ eyes found their way to your naked chest yet again, bouncing back up to your face for a fraction of a second only for his gaze to fall back down to your breasts as if drawn there by an unstoppable force. His mind was decidedly blank, suddenly equipped with only enough brainpower to attempt to memorize the exact shade of your pert nipples in the soft light of the bathroom. A few beads of water from your hair curled their way around your collarbone, pooling in the small dip in your clavicle before welling over and cascading down to the swell of your breast.

You watched him swallow hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as the shower continued to spray against his fully-clothed back.

“Right. Well. G’night.” Sheriff Stilinski called out as the medicine cabinet slammed shut again.

The boy’s eyes snapped up to yours at the sharp sound, a pink flush creeping up his neck from either the warm steam of the shower, the sight of your naked body, or most likely some combination of the two.

“N-night, daddio-” Stiles replied in an admittedly high voice, shaking his head at his you in warning as he watched you pinch your lips between your teeth to hold back a laugh.

The bathroom door finally closed with a loud click and you let your head drop forward onto your boyfriend’s shoulder as you released a quiet giggle.

“Oh my god.” You breathed out.

“Sorry,” Stiles apologized, “For, uh, invading your shower.”

You lifted your head, “I quite literally pulled you in against your will.”

Stiles nodded, “Yeah. I, uh, I guess you did.”

You snorted softly in amusement and watched his eyes flick over your face in a slow trail. His gaze eventually found something of interest behind you and he seemed to hone in on it with a determined focus.

“What are you looking at?” You questioned quietly, craning your neck to examine the shower products on the shelf at your back before returning your gaze to the boy in front of you.

“I, uh.. Well. Literally, y’know.. Anything but your extremely naked body.” He choked out weakly.

A smile pulled at your lips and you inched forward to drag your hands lightly over the soaked-through cotton of his shirt, “There something wrong with my naked body, Stilinski?”

You’d said the words with a teasing lilt to your voice, but Stiles’ eyes seemed to snap back to your own sharply, “No! No, absolutely nothing-” He denied immediately.

“Okay, well, you are allowed to look, y’know,” You told him softly, like you were revealing a secret, “It isn’t like it’s anything you haven’t already seen-”

“Well, yeah but, you- You’re trying to shower and.. If I’m being totally honest, if I look now I’m gonna get painfully hard painfully fast ‘cause I’m already barely holding on here-”

At his words, you shuffled back just a fraction so you could peek down in between you, your eyes catching on the wet, tented fabric of his pajama bottoms. Your hands twitched with the desperate need to touch and you hesitated for only a second before taking ahold of the soaked material of his shirt beneath your fingers.

“Maybe you should shower, too,” You interrupted, licking your lips as you gazed back up at your boyfriend, “I mean, your dad already thinks you are, and you’re already all wet, so y’know.. We should probably get you naked-”

The moment the word left your mouth, you tightened your fingers around wet fabric and stammered quietly, ridiculously nervous considering that you were already naked. And wet.

“-And clean. Naked, to clean your- To wash your body, obviously. I mean, it only makes sense, right?” You suggested eagerly.

The fabric of his shirt inched up his torso, your deft hands revealing his hips and the thick trail of hair at his belly button, but that was where you stopped, waiting for him to give some sort of approval before lifting it any further.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s smart.” He agreed quickly, nodding for you to continue.

You stripped him of the wet article, dropping it at the opposite end of the tub with a quiet smack. When your eyes returned to his, Stiles barely held your gaze before he was cupping your face and dragging your mouth to his. He turned you back into the shower wall and you sighed in contentment as the spray of warm water finally cascaded over the side of your body once again, pleasant goosebumps erupting over your skin.

Stiles’ kisses were an enigma and they very nearly managed to catch you by surprise every time — the way he devoured your mouth with so much hunger yet was still somehow able to hold you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His lips dragged over yours sickly sweet, thumb stroking over your cheek, fingertips digging into your scalp beneath wet hair.

You only managed to hold out for a few desperate brushes of his mouth before you were parting your lips beneath his in silent invitation. When his tongue teased against yours, you caught the taste of mint left behind from his toothpaste and you couldn’t hold back the groan that poured from your mouth into his. You suddenly found yourself craving the taste of it, prodding your own tongue between his lips on the next kiss to chase the lingering flavor in his mouth.

The wet drag of his pajama pants against your naked thighs beneath the stream of water was an immediate reminder that he was still wearing the wet article of clothing and you flicked at them idly, fingertips dipping beneath the drawstring waist. His stomach tensed beneath your hands and he pulled back from the kiss just enough to drop his forehead to yours, eyes raking over your face slowly as he attempted to catch his breath.

“What, um. What do you- I mean, do you, um..” His eyes pinched shut in frustration as his own inability to convey himself.

Your hand slid over his water-slick hip, arm circling around his waist until you could run your fingertips gently along his spine beneath the water, forcing a contented sigh from his kiss-swollen mouth at the contact.

You licked your lips in thought, “I could either jerk you off in here, or we could wait and I can blow you in your bedroom,” You offered quietly, “I’d blow you in here but I’m honestly not entirely sure how it would work with all the water in my face and-”

Stiles nearly whimpered, “You cannot say that shit and seriously expect me to not blow my load, like, immediately.”

Your mouth twisted up into a grin, “Sorry.”

You weren’t.

He dragged you just a bit closer beneath the spray, bare chests sliding against one another. A shaky exhale left his lips and cascaded across your damp cheek, his nose skating softly against clean skin as he craned down to push his face into your neck.

“No you’re not.” He shot back without hesitation.

You sighed softly, head tipping back of its own accord in an open invitation for his lips to find your skin. The soaked through material of his pajama bottoms did nothing to hide the warm, hard length of him pressing against your hip. You slipped your hand just a bit farther beneath the damp cotton until your fist found its home around him, beginning to move in firm jerks as a choked groan sounded in his throat.

“No, I’m not.” You agreed easily.

“Jesus Christ.”

“So?” You asked quietly, words spilling out toward the ceiling as your head rested against the shower wall.

“Huh?” Stiles articulated weakly, the sound swallowed up by the way his mouth was pressed into the skin beneath your jaw. A large hand slipped down the length of your spine, long fingers finding their way to your ass, merely resting there for a moment before a flick of your wrist seemed to spur him on, hand tightening over the soft flesh as he dragged you up against him just a bit harder.

Your ankle hooked around his knee easily, pulling yourself up a bit higher, warm, wet cotton still separating you as you continued to work his length beneath the material.

“Handjob in shower or blowjob in room.” You repeated the options stiffly, thoughts scattered from the feel of his fingertips digging into your backside.

“Shit.” He murmured against your neck, his hips jerking forward to meet your hand, making the movement of your wrist more difficult when it was pinned between your bodies. “I- Um.. I.. Shit-”

“It’s kinda looking like its gonna be handjob if you don’t decide otherwise pretty quick here-”

“But I-” A sharp sound was pulled from him when your hand slipped over the head of his cock, a delicious but quiet uh squeaking out onto the wet skin of your throat. “God, I really want your mouth but-” A quiet groan interrupts him but he carries on after only a brief pause, “If you stop I might die.”

He says the words so seriously that you can’t help the small laugh that pops out.

“Oh, so you want both? That’s what you’re telling me?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, fuck.. Please-”

“Seems a little-” Its your hushed words that are cut off this time, a small gasp of surprise falling from your lips when the hand on your ass creeps lower, hiking your leg up higher as two of his fingers find your wet entrance. “Little, um. A little greedy, don't you- Ah! Don’t you think?” Your teasing statement was tainted halfway through as he dipped his fingers inside, long and thick and pushing in to the third knuckle almost immediately.

He begins thrusting in time with the jerks of your hand, synchronized gasps and groans falling from your mouths for a minute before he thinks to respond.

“If you think I’m not gonna give as good as I get then-”

His words cut off with an unabashed moan against wet skin and you nosed at his jaw until he tipped his head up to meet your lips, your scolding shh silenced within the kiss.

“-Then you don’t think very highly of me, huh?” He continued as if he’d never paused at all, his words murmured between slick lips as his mouth slid against yours again and again. “It’d, uh- It’d be a fair trade-”

“Yeah?”

The whispered question was stolen from your mouth when he licked inside, hot and dirty as his nose pushed into your cheek.

“Yeah.”

His own utterance of the word was swallowed up by your gasp when his fingers crooked just so the next time he pushed them in deep. Your grip on him fell slack for only a moment before you recovered with newfound determination, matching his efforts as he sped up the rhythm of his hand.

Your thigh hitched up on his waist that much higher, all but consumed by the desperate hunger you felt to be closer. He returned the sentiment, pulling you in and crowding you back and devouring each of your sounds until it seemed as if he were everywhere all at once.

You traded kisses between stuttered breaths and heady gasps, bodies rolling into one another’s hands as you both chased after the tight pleasure coiling in your guts and building up, higher, stronger, closer–

Stiles came first, a soft whine against your tongue when your fist circled at the head of his cock, twisting and pulling his release from him in thick spurts beneath the wet cotton of his pajama bottoms. You worked him through it, taking control of the kiss as he went slack with his orgasm and finally pushing his pants to the floor of the bathtub with a wet thwack once his hips stopped twitching into your hand.

He fell back into the kiss urgently and you relinquished control without a fight, weak to do little more than throw an arm around his shoulders for support as he redoubled his efforts to make you come.

Thighs trembling, toes curling, your muscles tensed as you were worked closer and closer to your peak. His fingers hit a spot deep inside of you with every thrust and each time sparks danced up your spine with the impact, sharp noises of pleasure were dragged from your lips.

“Sti-” You whined softly, wet mouth falling against his cheek as you tried to alert him to your swiftly approaching release, “’m so close. Shit, I- ’m so close-”

“Shit,” He returned in an urgent whisper, “Shit, okay-”

He eased his hips back from your own, his free hand falling to the apex of your thighs. His lips covered yours again as he began swirling his fingertips around the swollen bud there and your whole body jolted at the sensation. Your mouth fell open with a soft cry as you came, the glide of his fingers both smoother and more sharp as he worked you through it.

As you came down you were panting, hot breaths mingling between your mouths. The steam of the shower felt almost cloying, both of you a little lightheaded from the heat and the exertion. You cracked your eyes open and found his gaze already on you, eyes hooded and heavy, the tip of his nose bumping your own.

“Holy shit.”

It came out as nothing more than a whisper against his lips, your chest heaving in time with his as you both fought to catch your breath. You loosened the tight grip your arm had taken up around his shoulders and neck, mouth slack as you tried to pull in enough oxygen to clear your head.

“That was-”

“Yeah.” He whispered in agreement, forehead falling against yours.

The tip of your thumb pressed into a dark freckle on his chest as your hand made its way down from his shoulder in a slow drag over slick skin. You swallowed around your dry mouth as your leg finally fell free from its place around him and provided instant relief to your muscles.

“You sure you can handle two more orgasms?” You questioned breathlessly, not entirely sure which response you wanted to hear as you swayed against him in the overpowering steam of the shower.

In lieu of an immediate response, his gaze fell downward and your own followed on instinct, catching sight of the long thickness of his cock, already fattening back up against his thigh with arousal.

Tongue feeling suddenly heavy, you were filled with the urge to fulfill your teasing promise, to work him toward his peak all over again with your mouth.

You voice was a breathless whisper when it finally sounded.

“Oh.”

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles x reader #stiles x y/n #stiles stilinski smut #stiles smut #teen wolf stiles #stiles fanfiction #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski #* #dylan obrien fanfic #dylan o'brien smut #dylan o’brien fanfiction #dylan o’brien smut #dylan o’brien imagine #dylan o'brien imagine #stiles stilinksi fanfiction

[tf-lover]

Masquerade Madness

A little fun organised by @bodyswapmischief, and one of the only celebrity tf's I'll probably ever write! Enjoy the masquerade!

~~~

The idea of a masked ball was, at least in theory, the type of event Henry should enjoy. He was a famous actor, used to being in the public eye and in front of a camera. Only, he was dreading it. His agent had signed him up to attend, and as much as he could put on the charismatic face for the press, half the time he would rather be at home than at another event. Reading, video games and even stuff like Warhammer, the star had always been a not so secret nerd. He always had eyes on him though no matter where he was or who he was with. As much as he loved his craft, it was times like this he felt like a break for a night.

That's where Kade came in. He often acted as security for Henry, so they knew each other well. For the last several years at various events and on the occasional filming set he'd been Henry's personal bodyguard; the two had become fast friends. Kade was the stereotype of the rough bodyguard too; bearded and tattooed with closely shaved hair, one look told you almost everything you needed to know.

“What I wouldn't do for a night off you know?” Henry said once he emerged from the bathroom after a shower. “Feels like I never get any time to myself anymore.”

Kade, who would be driving Henry to the event and accompanying him inside, nodded in agreement. “I know man, I get you. It's a hard job being loved and thirsted over by so many people.” There was a hint of teasing in Kade’s tone, one only he could get away with. 

Henry rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the slight smirk on his lips. “Yeah yeah, I know. I'm thankful for everything I have, don't get me wrong. I just… I don't know.”

“Well, what if I said Henry Cavill can still show up at this event and you can take a bit of a break for the night?” Kade had a hint of mischief in his eyes when Henry turned to face him. “You don't get it, I know dude. New tech in the industry.”

“Out with it Kade, what on earth are you going on about?” Henry folded his arms and frowned, more confused than anything else. 

Kade pulled a small circular device out of one of his pockets and held it up. It was no bigger than his palm and had what looked like a scanner of some sort on either side. Other than that though it was sleek high-tech, giving away no extra information on what its purpose was. 

“Military tech they ended up not using and selling off. Was meant for covert undercover operations so I'm told. The two of us use this to switch bodies, then I go to the party as you and you can just chill at my side. How's that sound?”

Henry… didn't know what to make of that. It was absurd, it had to be. It was like the plot of one of the movies he'd find himself in, not real life. Yet, there was something in Kade’s eyes that said he wasn’t bullshitting. Henry knew Kade well enough to know when he was joking around, and this wasn’t even close to one of those times. 

“I know it’s a lot to take in man, but think about it.” Kade said as the other man spent a moment processing the information. “You don't have to ‘turn on’ that public persona people expect and can just vibe as me. You know security at these things is airtight even without some of the personal guards like me there, you'll have it easy.”

Henry was silent another moment before responding. “You know what? Alright, let's try it.” He gave Kade a small smile before holding a hand out. “How does this work then? Do we just-”

Kade stepped closer and smacked the device he was holding down into Henry's outstretched palm before the celebrity could finish his sentence. A jolt passed through both as their hands came into contact with the plastic surface, now fully activated with two participants. In less time than it took either to blink, Henry and Kade found the world around them suddenly shifted. Where Henry had been standing in a bathrobe and mentally preparing himself for another evening at another public event, now he found himself looking back at that very same face. The one he was used to seeing in the mirror now stood opposite him with an uncharacteristic smirk. 

“Having fun there Kade?” Henry said when he saw his own smirking face. The voice that came from his mouth being a different one was definitely odd, but seeing himself was moreso.

Kade in Henry’s body laughed. “I was going to say the same to you Kade, since I’m fairly sure I’m the world famous Mr Henry Cavill right now.” Kade turned back to the bathroom and went to the mirror, running his hands over his new face. He knew this one well of course from films and working with Henry, but he never believed he’d actually get a chance to see it looking back at him. “Man, every time I’ve done this and it’s still fucking wild.” He said to himself.

Henry had followed his own body to the bathroom and watched as his bodyguard inspected Henry’s own handsome features. The strong, stubbled jaw, piercing eyes and just the faintest hint of chest hair that poked out of the robe he’d been wearing after the shower. Like anyone, Henry could really understand why Kade was so fascinated with being one of the hottest actors on the planet.

“Oh, you probably haven’t noticed yet dude, have you?” Kade stepped back from the mirror and turned to face himself. “Something different you haven’t spotted, should have mentioned it before really but I didn’t want you to freak out about it.”

Henry frowned. He didn’t know what Kade was going on about, and he was on the verge of saying as much when Kade did something he didn’t expect. He pulled off the bathrobe and dropped it to the floor, letting Henry get a good look at his ripped, naked body in all its glory. His mouth went dry. Objectively he knew he was attractive, he always had since being in such a public position, but now he could really feel it. Kade’s familiar smirk was plastered now over Henry’s features as the man flexed and gave his chest a squeeze, all with a look in his eyes that said he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“See, one thing they discovered is sexuality and attraction is mostly tied to your body.” Kade started to explain as he kept teasing and running his hands down over Henry’s hairy chest and stomach. “So right now you’re as gay as I usually am. Once you’ve been doing this long enough you learn to be able to ignore the physical sexuality, but for a newbie like you…” Kade’s eyes flicked down to the obviously hard bulge between Henry’s legs. “Sorry to say you’ll have to be alright relaxing as a gay dude today.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be fine…” Henry mumbled whilst he couldn’t take his eyes off himself. “Guess I can see what everyone means for myself now. Are you always this attracted to me?”

Kade nodded. “Yeah, I mean who isn’t? But just like you don’t go getting hard over every attractive girl you see, it’s just the same.” He shrugged. “You learn to control yourself. Working with you is just business, not like I’m going to go over any boundaries that would be inappropriate.”

The mention of inappropriate boundaries sent other thoughts running through Henry’s mind. Thoughts of things he could do with men he’d never been interested in before, thoughts of things he could do with his own body. His cheeks flushed a brilliant pink for a moment before he shook his head; he had to get himself back under control. He was usually calm and collected, even if he was in Kade’s body and gay that didn’t give him an excuse to be ogling another man. Even if was technically his body he was getting an eyeful off and Kade was freely showing it off, it still didn’t feel appropriate. 

“You should umm, get dressed Henry. You’ve got a party to get to, right?” Henry said in an attempt to deflect from the new stuff he was feeling. They’d made this swap for a reason, so he could have a night off and still make an appearance, so the sooner they got on with that the better. “Suit is in the bedroom.”

Kade let out a short laugh and a nod. “You’re right of course Kade. I’ll get myself dressed and ready to go, then you can drive me to the event okay?” Kade in Henry’s body turned and walked off in the direction he knew the actor’s bedroom was, all the while giving Henry a good long look at his muscular ass cheeks and how they flexed as he moved away.

~~~

It wasn’t long until the pair were ready and on their way to the party.

Kade had got all dressed up in Henry’s suit for the evening, including a custom made black mask by some designer he couldn’t remember the name of. He pulled the whole thing off well. Henry knew he would, after all he’d tried the whole outfit on days ago to make sure it all fit properly, but he hadn’t expected to be the one on this side of things. To be the one sat in the driver's seat of the car when he’d taken them both to the event.

Or to be the one trying not to look at how fucking hot hs own body looked in the suit his agent had picked out with the designers. Being gay because of the swap left him feeling all sorts of things, but chief among them was an undeniable attraction to himself. It was fucked up he knew that, but the drive over followed by silently following behind up the red carpet only hammered that nail down into the metaphorical coffin. Henry thought he was hot as fuck, just like many other gay fans had made clear, now he was almost one of them.

Kade didn’t make it any easier either. He showed just how good at his job he was as he smiled to the cameras, spoke to the occasional reporter and all round pulled off an incredibly convincing Henry Cavill. There were small things that only Henry could notice being off, but to anyone else they’d have no reason to believe he wasn’t himself as the pair made their way inside. And Henry really was getting a taste of the flip side of all this; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked down a red carpet and been as completely and utterly ignored as he was in Kade’s body. It was like he wasn’t even there. People moved around him like nothing, cameras flashed over his shoulders to capture anyone and everyone that wasn’t him; he was invisible. 

The whole evening was more of the same for Henry. Or, for Kade as he made sure to introduce himself to a handful of the other security guards dotted around for other celebrities. It was strange at first, but the more he stood around chatting the more he felt like it was refreshing not to be recognised or idolised. He didn't have to “switch on” into his public facing actor mode like he'd been talking to Kade about earlier in the day, he could be his comfortable, relaxed self. All the while he watched from a distance as the real Kade in Henry's body danced and chatted and ate. All the things he should be doing but often found to be the exhausting part of being an actor. 

“So, how are you finding things Kade? No issues with security?” The real Kade said later on in the evening when they got a spare moment together. Just a high profile celeb checking in with his security, that was all it looked like. 

Henry nodded. “Yes Mr Cavill, all good on my end. I hope you’re having a pleasant evening?” It wasn’t hard to play the role of security guard for Henry, he was an actor after all. 

“Yes yes, of course. All good fun events like these are, as you well know. And this suit is nice, makes me look good doesn’t it?” Something about the way Kade spoke with Henry’s voice was different to before. Lower, more heated. Maybe it was just to be heard over the crowd of people, but it didn’t feel like that quite. It felt like… more. “I’ve seen your eyes on me this evening Kade, and I want you to know I understand. Being so close can’t be easy on a night like tonight for you, if you catch my drift. One night, get it out of your system, if you think that would help?”

Henry couldn’t believe his ears. Kade, his long-term, always professional bodyguard, was suggesting something so… so sordid. This was a side of Kade he didn’t show for the sake of keeping to the job, but now something was crackling between them. Henry could feel it, a palpable tension in the air that he realised had probably been there since they first swapped earlier. 

“You, You’re still gay, aren’t you.” Henry stated, since he already knew the answer. “You’ve done this enough that even in my body you’re still attracted to men… like I am right now as you.”

“That’s right Kade. As of this moment Henry Cavill is currently as gay as it gets, whether we’re talking about his body or his mind.” Kade said in that same low voice that Henry could now hear was dripping with arousal. Not one he ever imagined he’d be on this side of, or getting this turned on by either. “I get this is crossing a boundary between us, but I also get the sense that’s a boundary you’d rather like to cross right now, isn’t it?”

All Henry could do was silently nod his agreement. Since the swap earlier that evening he hadn’t been able to get it out of his mind. If he was a stronger person maybe he could have held back and kept things professional, but then wasn’t the whole reason he had agreed to this swap in the first place because he was tired of always having to put on the professional face? Always serving the public and never himself; maybe it was time that changed. 

“Let’s get out of here Henry, I think for your safety you should let me take you home, there’s been a few suspicious characters at this party looking at you a little too closely for my liking.” Henry slipped himself back into the bodyguard role and smirked at Kade as he spoke; if this was his once chance to really experience this before it was over he wasn’t going to waste it. 

~~~

An hour later, Henry was on his back getting his ass absolutely destroyed by his own cock. 

“Yes, fuck me Henry!! Nnnghhh… oh fucking hell bro I never thought a celebrity could fuck so good!” Henry held onto Kade’s shoulders and let his moans freely fill the room, though right now it was hotter to imagine himself as Kade. To imagine for a moment that he wasn’t Henry Cavill having swapped bodies, he was this bodyguard finally getting fucked by the star he’d been protecting. 

Kade, or Henry as he too found it hot to think of himself as, was much in the same boat. “Yeah Kade? Can’t believe I haven’t been fucking men until now, I’ve been missing out!” The current Henry shouted as he fucked down into the hole around his cock. He’d swapped with many celebrities in the past, but never had it landed him in an outcome as hot as this one. He was Henry fucking Cavill! The one and only, and with the former Henry getting so into addressing Kade by the name that matched his body it was easy to get lost in that fantasy. 

The two kept going in that same rhythm long into the evening. Henry had fully embraced being Kade the bad boy bodyguard, so much so that when the former Kade above him moaned that name in his ear it didn’t feel at all wrong. It felt right. Liberating even. He wasn’t anyone in the public eye, he was someone completely invisible to them. And had one of the hottest celebrities on the planet cumming in his ass all night like an absolute beast. The new Henry had skills he never thought possible, the new Henry above him could do all the public stuff and fuck like the king Hollywood saw him as. It was giving him ideas already for their future…

~~~

2 years later…

Henry and Kade hadn’t looked back since that first swap. 

The evening they spent together riding and sucking and fucking was one of the hottest either man had experienced. Enough so that the real Henry asked if Kade could make his body gay when they swapped back. He could, it turned out, leave his lingering sexuality in Henry’s body and corrupt it to be gay instead of straight. 

Not that Henry spent a whole lot of time in his own body as it was anymore. 

For filming and such he still stayed as himself, but that was about it. He still loved to act more than anything and didn’t want to give that up. But besides when he was on a job, Henry spent all his time as Kade instead. The name Henry had even started to feel slightly odd to him now he spent almost all his time as Kade the tattooed stud. It was far more relaxing than being his old self, and the pair made enough money to support them both just using Henry. The old Henry would do the acting, then the new permanent Henry would take over and spend the rest of the time doing all the publicity and stuff. Kade, as the former star now thought of himself, was more than happy to let his boyfriend take the spotlight when he was overall better at it than Kade had ever been. 

The new and improved Henry had even gone to the lengths of coming out of the closet and introducing the world to his boyfriend Kade. If only they all knew the reality of the situation, but that was only for them. Henry Cavill, lost lusted after by gay men the world over, was now officially part of the gay community too, and it had sent fans into a frenzy. 

Kade had got used to thinking of himself as a gay man now though. It was why he’d asked his boyfriend to make sure his old body was still gay when he used it for filming. Going back to being his old straight Henry Cavill self when he was filming had weirded him out for all of 48 hours before letting it get fixed up so he was gay regardless of which body he was in. 

He loved his new easier life away from all the rapid publicity, and loved his soon to be husband even more for giving him this life accidentally. One last public affair to give the new Henry Cavill the proposal he deserved, then he would really be done with the exhausting side of his old life.

#MarchMasquerade #male transformation #body swap #my writing #straight to gay

[scarletttries]

NSFW Headcanon Request: Steven Grant (Moon Knight)

Steven Grant (Moon Knight) +  Ice cream/lollipop teasing (prompt list here)

It would be frankly embarrassing how easily, and quickly, you could wind Steven up with the slightest bit of effort. A fact that made Steven mortified, and excited you greatly. 

You'd been hoping to have Steven to yourself for the weekend, only for your plans to get rudely interrupted by Donna calling him in to cover for someone at the museum before you'd really had the chance to get your hands on him at all. Naturally Steven apologised profusely despite it not being his fault, and suggested you come visit him at the end of the day, promising you a private tour of the museum in exchange for your patience. You happily agreed to the plan, but only because you'd heard Steven mention a few behind-the-scenes places in the museum you couldn't resist the opportunity to drag him to. 

The day seemed to drag for Steven at his little counter; making inventory lists, punching endless numbers into his till, and doing a double-take every time someone walked in, just in case it was you, trying to hide the disappointment on his face when he realised he still had to wait a little longer until he saw you again. It had only been a few months since he first mustered up all his nerve to ask you out for coffee, and now he almost didn't feel himself when he wasn't around you. Like somehow your beauty and exuberance and kindness reflected onto him until he was sure he was the best, and happiest, version of himself there had ever been. He found himself picturing your pretty smile first thing in the morning, still completely in disbelief that he was the person that got to wake up beside you and see it. 

"Earth to Steven." You said again, starting to worry as you waved a hand in front of his face, watching his eyes slowly focus on reality again as he jumped in surprise.

"Sorry love! I was completely out of it then, I must have looked like a right plonker. If it helps, I was thinking about you." He offered bashfully, watching the mischievous smile forming on your face as you scanned the offerings around his station, 

"Oh really, what was I wearing?" You fought back a laugh at the crimson colour that immediately flooded into his cheeks at the question, a thread of stutters and stumbled words all you got in response. "What are these Steven?" You cut off his attempt to elaborate by picking up a round red lollipop held in a spiraling display at the far end of the ledge. 

"They're just lollipops that are supposed to make your tongue change colour, I don't know what they have to do with history or science, but people seem to love 'em." If you didn't have your back to him he would've seen the glimmer of an idea in your eyes before you spun and asked with an innocent grin, "Can I buy one please? For our tour." 

"Of course, my treat love." He smiled softly as he watched you unwrap the plastic coating, face falling to accomodate a deep gulp as he watched you flick your tongue over the glistening red orb, before slowly sliding it between your lips. He could feel his pulse quicken as you let out a soft hum at its taste, eyes trailing over to his as you commented, tone needlessly sultry, 

"Mm, strawberry." He ignored the ache building beside his hand as he quickly fumbled in his pocket to pull out a few coins, glad that it was his final transaction of the day as his blood seemed to be leaving his brain in favour of more fun areas. Taking your outstretched hand and leading you towards his favourite exhibits, he took a deep breath trying to steady himself from your effects on him. But you wouldn't let that happen. 

As you moved between glass cases, it wasn't hard to tell your little ploy was having the intended effect. Steven would find himself tripping over his words, and his feet, trying to keep his mind on anything but the sugary draw of your lips. While you looked intently at each artifact he explained, he could only bring himself to stare at your mouth, watching your tongue circle the lollipop, lapping up the sticky droplets forming before running over the tip, making Steven shift awkwardly from one foot to the other, desperately trying to push the images of how good he knew it felt to have you sucking him that way. 

You were surprised with how long he tried to keep his composure, clearly embarrassed by his obvious physical reaction, squirming to stand with his legs obscuring his crotch from your view, tugging at his collar as pink seemed to flush his skin as it stained your lips. It wasn't until you asked him if your tongue was "all pink now" before sticking it out at him with a devilish glint in your eyes that a little voice in his head made him realise he never stood a chance. 

"Do you want to see where, uh, we put the new, what's the word... museum stuff?" He spluttered out, already gripping your hand a little more firmly as he picked up the pace towards the stockroom he knew wouldn't get checked this time of night. 

"Lead the way handsome." You said happily, keeping your tone just innocent enough that you wouldn't completely give yourself away. Steven practically ripped open the door as he barged inside, panting from the short walk and the long-building frustration throbbing inside him. "Are you okay Steven?" You asked, saccharine sweet as you took the lollipop between your lips, exaggerating the sucking action with your cheeks. 

"Um, yes. But also no." He mumbled, volume rising as he stepped towards you, framing your body against the door as he checked the lock. He planted one hand beside your head as the other slowly wrapped around the paper stick emerging from your lips, fingers gently pulling until the sweet escaped your lips with an audible pop. He moved deliberately slowly, your own heart racing at the hungry look in his eyes, slightly disheveled by an afternoon of your relentless teasing. Tentatively he pressed his lips to yours, eagerness rushing through him as the taste of strawberries flooded his mouth, his tongue plunging forward to follow its sweetness. You fought back a smile at his obvious keenness, frantically capturing your lips and exploring your mouth until he needed to pull away for breath, chest heaving with the overwhelming excitement. The hunger in his eyes hadn't dissipated at all, desperate desire burning inside him, hindering his ability to ask for what he so clearly wanted. You decided you'd been cruel enough, bringing your hands to his thighs as you slowly lowered to your knees. 

"Is there something other than a lollipop you want me to put in my mouth Steven?" It took every ounce of his self-control not to lose it right there, your wide eyes staring up at him as your fingers toyed with buttons of his slacks, his silent but awestruck nod giving you the permission you needed. You could feel him straining against the fabric as you slid down his zip, peeling his trousers and boxers down his thighs until his aching manhood sprang free, already leaking its own sweet, sticky mess at his uncontrollable thoughts of you. Steven looked apologetic at his state despite your satisfied smile as you wrapped your hand around him, mumbling as you started to gentle rub away the throbbing tension, 

"I'm sorry love, you're just so beautiful and with that lollipop, I couldn't stop thinking about, uh, things and - Oh!" His apology halted as brought your rosy red tongue to his glistening tip, lapping at it just like in his thoughts, humming happily as his eyes fluttered shut, 

"Don't apologise Steven, you're way better than Strawberry." As if to prove your point you took him deeply between your lips, moaning as his hips bucked at the contact, slamming himself down your throat. The empty storage space was filled with whimpers and panting as he rubbed against the inside of your cheeks, feeling the soft warmth he'd been picturing all afternoon, eyes fixed to your bobbing head, watching you like the miraculous entity that you are, trying to capture the moment in all its glory in his mind, in case he never felt something so perfect again. The way your eyes looked up at him adoringly, the wet glide of your tongue as you pulled away, only to hum in satisfaction as you brought him back down your throat again, it was too much. Better than his imagination by a long stretch. His daydreams could never do your soft, warm touch justice. He could feel the pressure building inside him as he relished every sensation your movements created. 

"Love, I'm gonna - um, you should -" He tried to warn you, not sure of the proper wording and fumbling over himself as you seemed to apply more pressure, picking up the pace as he crossed his threshold, a deep groan ripping free of his throat as his hips began to stutter, his release filling your cheeks as you drew every last drop of pleasure from him. 

Steven watched in wide-eyed affection as you swallowed his seed like he was just another sweet treat, before sticking out your pink tongue while gently helping him back into his trousers. You pointed at the now much smaller sweet, still clutched in the hand that wasn't propped against the door, possibly the only thing keeping him from collapsing entirely. 

"Can I have that back now?" The cheeky glint in your beaming smile filled Steven with a mixture of excitement and anticipation as he shook his head, putting the lollipop in his own mouth instead, looking a little panicked as he spoke, 

"Absolutely not. You're banned from buying lollipops at my gift shop." He smiled at the incredulous laugh that burst from your lips as he helped you off your knees, sure you were going to be the death of him, but unable to think of a better way to go. 

#writing #fanfiction #one shot #requests #steven grant imagine #steven grant fluff #steven grant smut #steven grant x reader #steven grant imagines #steven grant #moon knight imagine #moon knight headcanon #moon knight smut #moon knight x reader #moon knight imagines #steven grant requests #moon knight requests

[kiwisofsharks]

Yo, don’t do that shit too much [M.M. 1610 & 42]

summary: he found your secret stash and confronted you

pairings: earth 1610! miles morales x gn! reader & earth 42! miles morales x gn! reader

warnings: unedited and not proofread, weeds, edibles, mentiojs of addiction/dependency/relapsing, miles and reader is too affectionate for friends, reader has a soft stomach, they communicate healthily, not really satisfied with this one, might rewrite it when get better, midterms just finished and I’m sick rn

notes: requested by @sflame15-blog, idk if you’ll like it, cus i don’t like it that much. could’ve done better, i think its unrealistic. I’ll revise it when i get better <3

earth 1610 miles morales

“Weeds are illegal and you should never try it,” is what his dad always tell him if they detain another intoxicated person after causing trouble in town.

That’s why I think he’ll never even think of trying to touch those things. So it surprised him when he found some of your stash, especially since you’re pretty close with his parents and would always agree with his father.

He’ll lament on how to confront you for weeks. Not sure if he should even confront you about it since he doesn’t smell it on you; he just found some random plastic ziplock in your room, doesn’t mean it’s yours, right?

He tried acting normal whenever he’s with you. But his staring is less than normal in your opinion. It’s obvious he wants to tell you something. You also know that someone has found your stash, not sure who but you guess its miles considering that he’s being weird and all.

I think he’ll be more worried about your health rather than the fact that you smoke weed. He won’t tell on you, he’s not a snitch.

Will try to make you stop. He’ll do it discreetly if you’re not willing. Call him manipulative but he knows that you shouldn’t be taking those.

Miles sit quietly on your beanbag (or maybe it was your room mate’s? He never asked) his eyes poking holes at the back your head while you sit in your desk studying. He went to your room for some company while he reads his comic, but he’s just really there to try and maybe finally ask you about the stash.

“Quit staring, Morales. If you have something to say, just say it. Thought were way past the awkward stage?”

“Huh? I’m not staring, who says I’m staring?”

Turning your chair to face him with a questioning look. Your brow raised at his behavior. “Really, Miles?” Squinting at his eyes, you telepathically egged him to spill why he’s been so weird recently.

“Okay! So I found something and… I didn’t find it on purpose, okay? I just found it by accident!”

“You found my weeds, didn’t you?”

“yea.” Miles looked away from you like you just found out that he stole something from a shop. He looked so guilty while trying to explain that he didn’t really mean to see it.

“Nah, you’re fine. I’ve been meaning to stop anyways. Just gave me more reason to push through. Just relapsing is all. I’m not planning to use it or anything! It just helps that I know I have some if ever I need it.”

“Oh, okay. Cool cool.” He paused, swinging back and forth on the bean bag as if its a swing. “So you’re not mad that I found it?”

“Not really, but as punishment you need to try these cookies.” You replied, pulling out a metal container from one of your drawers, the few pieces of cookies inside making a sound as it hits the metal container.

Immediately standing up from his seat, he stood in front of you as you handed him one. “Oh, nice! I really like cookies, you know that right?” Taking a bite from it, he hums and observed the cookie while he chews. “Little on the dryer side, did you make them?”

“Nah, I bought them. They’re called edibles, it’s what I use now.”

He stops his chewing completely and just stared at you. Not willing to move his jaw even the slightest. “So it has weed in if?”

“Yea, but not too much. I’m just lessening my in take more and more until I completely stop.”

“Okaaay, I did not like that dry ass cookie, should’ve known that no normal cookie would be that dry unless you’re really bad at it.”

Throwing your head back from laughing, you took a bite from your cookie while still giggling as Miles put down his and proceeded to chug down water from his tumbler. “It’s not that bad, Miles.”

“In all seriousness tho, I’m glad that you’re willing to stop, yn.”

“Yea, thanks, guapito.”

Rolling his eyes and turning his back to you to hide his blush. He returned to plop down at the bean bag and hide his blush with the comic book. Though you can still see his red ears from the sides. Seriously, he doesn’t know whether to hate it or love it when you tease him like that.

earth 42 miles morales

He actually caught you in the act. Miles barged into your room as usual without knocking and caught you red handed while lighting one up, some sticks still laying on your desk and a few used ones on an ashtray that he doesn’t know you have.

He knows what those were, and he also knows that you shouldn’t be smoking that shit.

Unlike his 1610 counterpart who took his time confronting you, earth 42 miles stole the stick directly from your hand along with the other used and unused one and dumped it all on your trashcan, poured water over it and got into a heated argument over it.

He knows you became reliant on it, maybe even addicted. He studied that shit and while it is proven to have relived some of the patients’ pain, you shouldn’t be taking it.

While arguing with you, he keeps staring at your once clear eyes now red due to marijuana. You never scream nor raise your tour voice at anyone, so to find you so mad baffled him.

He knows he reacted too badly, but what do you expect him to do? Act like he didn’t see it?

While you’re too preoccupied getting mad at him, he pressed a pressure point at the back of your neck. Catching your body as you loose consciousness.

When you woke up the next day, you found him slumped at your desk.

You stood up beside him, gently shaking him awake. “Miles, wake up.”

Moving his arms to hug your waist and bury his face in your soft stomach “Just five more minutes, mami.”

“Move to the bed, your back’ll hurt if you don’t sleep properly.” You said, massaging the exposed scalp between his braids.

Groaning he finally stood up, refusing to release his hold on you and waddling to the bed like a penguin. Miles flopped down onto the bed, still having you in his hold. He burrowed his face into you neck, deeply inhaling your natural scent and some smoke that clung to your clothes from last night. “I’m sorry for how I reacted last night, ma.” He whispered, his breath tickling your skin and hair standing from the sensation. “Didn’t mean to be so harsh, I just… that’s bad for you. I don’t want you doing that shit.“

“I know, Miles. You meant good,” Hugging his head closer to you while your other hand rubs his back. You know Miles gets extremely guilty when he does something he doesn’t mean to you and it takes a whole lot of convincing and reassurance to get him to calm down.

“Stop taking that shit, ma. I’ll help you. Just don’t destroy yourself.” His voice trembles, Miles was close to crying, something he only shows you and his mother. “I don’t know why you’re taking those, but if you’re stressed and you just want relief, I’ll help you. I’ll distract you or maybe take you on dates, just stop taking those.”

Your own eyes watered from the cracks in his voice. Miles knows that you’re addicted, he searched through your room last night, finding stash after stash of those leaves. “I’ll try, Miles. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Damn right you should be.”

#across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #into the spider verse #earth 1610 miles morales x reader #miles morales 1610 #miles morales x you #earth 42 miles morales x reader

[shattersstar]

hi ! sorry ! i'm the anon who sent in the romance prompt and #19 was "talking late into the night" 💗 and dick grayson please !

best friend

pairing: dick grayson x reader

prompt: blossoming romance - talking late into the night

a/n: what’s with all the friends to lovers recently u ask? i say..dont :,) this was longer than anticipated bc i’m a wordy boy anywho enjoy! comments r eternally appreciated and thank u for the request bby <33

—

you're not just some lover, you're more than i’d ever ask for. though we may live far away, you're in my thoughts every single day. in every way.

Everyone had slowly filtered out as the early hours of the morning rolled through. You were the last one left, sitting cross legged on Dick’s sofa and looking at the mess of cups, plates and empty bottles. Dick was at the door, chatting idly with Kori before she threw her arms around him.

“Gimme another hug goodbye!” She called to you over his shoulder, making you giggle as you pushed yourself up. Dick let the door swing open fully and Kori pulled you into a hug, kissing your cheek before finally heading home.“Bye! Miss you guys already!” She called as Donna wrapped her hand around Kori’s wrist, tugging her towards the elevator while waving with her free hand.

You and Dick waved back with a shared dazed look before ducking back into his apartment. He huffed at the sight, heading into his living room while you lingered by the door. “I can help you clean up.” You offered, it had become a steady tradition, always the last one to leave and ready to help. It was rare for everyone to find the time to spend hours drinking and eating in Dick’s massive apartment, sharing stories both old and new, and letting go of the weight they all carried. If just for a moment.

You were sure it was why everyone left tripping over themselves and you were on the less hammered side of things. You didn’t need to let loose in the way your friends did. And while you were never apart of the superhero and vigilante life, you were still a part of Dick’s, and now many mutual friends. You had known him for years, a grounding point to something normal when everything was too much.

“You sure?” Dick called, gathering a few plates while you shrugged.

“Yeah, least I can do. Plus if you still wanted to go out tonight…” You let your sentence trail off, you never inserted yourself into Dick’s vigilantism. You were only ever offered mere glimpses into that side, and had seen him out on patrol only a few times over the years.

“Nah, my shoulder still hurts and I don’t think I'll sober up enough in time.” He admitted, making you laugh.

“What happened to your shoulder?” You asked, heading into his kitchen to find the garbage bags he kept under the sink. Dick followed behind you with an absurdly high stack of dishes, looking all too pleased with himself as he placed everything into the sink.

“I didn’t show you?” He cocked his head, and when you shook your head no, Dick pulled one side of his shirt over his head. He stood close in his rather spacious kitchen, letting you take in the bruising that danced along his shoulder, dipped down his collarbones, before tapering off into parts of his chest.

“Ouch.” You murmured, trying not to dwell on the rest of Dick’s body, the scars you had seen before that faded with age, and the musculature that made your insides warm. You were definitely still tispy, shifting away from Dick with an uncertain smile.

You turned your attention back towards the garbage bag before he could notice, heading towards the living room while Dick started on the many dishes. You picked up all the plastic cups and wrappers, whatever food had somehow fallen onto his floor or couch. You tossed the bag aside and picked up all the recyclables, dumping them into the bin in Dick’s kitchen rather noisily. He shushed you while chuckling.

“It’s like three a.m., if I get another nose complaint my landlord is gonna kill me.” He warned.

“Sorry, sorry, its my bad I care about the earth.” You teased, turning back to the living room when water splattered against your back. Dick stood there as you turned around, hand wet and soapy, dripping onto his floor. You opened your mouth when he flicked more dishwater at you. It hit you in the face and landed in your hair and Dick almost keeled over giggling. He hunched over the sink with his wheezy laughter while you rolled your eyes.

“I hope you slip and drown.” You muttered, collecting any trash you missed and leaving the bag by his door to deal with later.

You shuffled next to Dick, and began drying his dishware. You talked idly about how the night went, how nice it was seeing Wally for the first time in a while, and that Gar was really quiet today.

“He seemed happy though.” You stated, carrying a few dried glasses to their appropriate cupboard.

“Yeah, I think he misses everyone.” Dick said softly.

“Its okay if you miss them too y'know.” You nudged him gently, more focused on his side profile than the bowls that needed to be dried next. Dick looked over at you, sending you a dopey smile, it was all teeth and still so genuine.

“I know…and I do.” He admitted, looking away.

“Well I hope seeing them today made you feel a little better, miss them less.”

“Yknow if you really wanted to make me feel better, we could switch?” Dick asked suddenly, turning off the tap while you stared at him a little dumbfounded. Maybe it was everything still lingering in your system, or how whiny Dick sounded when he asked, but you looked at him incredulously.

“Uh sure?” Dick moved you over and took your place the moment you agreed, obviously much more content with his new task while you washed the last few plates. “Really taking me up on my offer to help clean huh?” You teased after a few moments, Dick looked a bit sheepish as he glanced in your direction, but you were smiling. You bumped him with your hip, bothering him instead about all the television shows you know he hasn’t been keeping up with.

After everything was washed, dried and put away, you two found yourselves back on the couch. “My fingers are all wrinkly.” You said, holding them up for Dick to see who scrunched up his nose.

“It was why I wanted to switch, I hate that feeling.” He shuddered at the thought, shoulders brushing yours as he did. You were sitting with your legs stretched out onto the coffee table, while Dick cross legged next to you.

You reached your pruney fingers over, brushing them over his forearm, much to Dick’s dismay. He let out a way too dramatic scream before both your hand, and his flew over his mouth. You were trying your hardest not to laugh, Dick’s face inches away from yours, pupils blown with fear and liquor. When no killer jumped out or neighbour came yelling, you dropped your hand, giggling while Dick let out a huff, disturbing the hair sweeping across his forehead. Dick leaned his head back against the back of the couch, and you reached over, brushing his hair from his eyes.

Dick looked over at you, grinning at the action. You went to drop your arm, but he caught your wrist, placing your hand on his chest and letting his fingers brush up and down your forearm. You curled your legs underneath your body and shifted to face Dick so your arm rested easier against his torso, the side of your face pressing into the back of his couch.

Dick had always been touchy, craving that physical closeness from both friends and lovers, and you had never hesitated to be that for him. To let him relish in your touch, or feel your warmth under his palm. And you knew he was still drunk, still circling that space of clarity and haziness, and his affection oozed easier with it. It made your throat thick, fingers twitching against the fabric of his shirt and needing a distraction.

You asked Dick about his weekend plans, he replied with closed eyes, fingers still stroking your skin. He asked you about yours, eyes blinking open when you mentioned a date.

“Really?” He asked, hand stopping, but still against you.

“Don’t say it like you’re so surprised. It’s just coffee, and it's mostly for class. I just think he thinks its a date so.” You said, trying not to sound like you were hiding something. Caught in the act and in the wrong. It was just Dick, the person you had been friends with forever, the one you had helped through most of his heartbreaks. He’d climb through your window teary eyed or call you ranting about how he fucked up when he had moved out of Gotham. And while your dating life wasn’t nonexistent, Dick rarely seemed around for your brief relationships.

Which was for the best, the candle you held to him and how it tore apart more of your relationships was not something Dick needed to bare the weight of. Even if it was entirely your fault. Your platonic feelings turned romantic at some point over the years, and Dick’s friendship meant more than what could end in ruins. You’d swallow your feelings like an adult and try to find love in someone else.

It was hard when he was so close, staring at you with his big round eyes, and curious about your life.

“Do you like him?”

“Ugh I hate when people ask that. Next topic.” You waved your hand, Dick’s mouth falling closed as he pouted at you. You brought your hand resting on his chest to his chin, and turned his head away from you.

“Fine, fine.” He relented, and you dropped your hand. You talked about the music you’ve been listening too lately, the throwbacks you loved and the R&B playlist Dick made and swore by. You bickered about listening to film scores, remembering movies you had watched together, or reminding Dick of them while he stared at you like you were crazy, and reminiscing about all the years spent being absolute menaces as teenagers. It was always easy to talk to him, to get lost in a million different tangents about things both big and small until the sun had started to rise and you both were half asleep. You were conscious enough when Dick threw a blanket over the two of you, but remembered little after that.

You woke up some hours later, your usually morning alarm chiming softly from the coffee table. Your hand darted out and you muted it blindly, about to push off the couch when you realized it was Dick’s body you were laying against. Your head was just below his chest, arms lazily pressed to his waist while one of Dick’s hands slipped off your back and the other cradled your head. He blinked down at you, bleary eyed and much less surprised. You had shared beds during sleepovers and cuddled Dick close when he needed it, but tangled up on his couch after a night spent sharing soft conversation felt…weighted.

Dick’s hands found your elbows, hauling you higher up his body and sighing softly at the contact. A smile had seemed to glue itself to his face, making you grin in return until he inched forward every so slightly and his nose brushed yours. Your jaw tensed as Dick stared into your eyes, maybe looking for what was always there, or searching for something yet to be found.

You didn’t know, the only thing you were sure of was you loved the little traditions and rituals that brought you to this place with Dick. And wouldn’t be who you were without them.

—

title/lyrics come from best friend by mellow fellow

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine #dc x reader #dc imagine #writing

[ohnococo]

Be My Valentine | Gojo x F!Reader

Gojo decides to tell you he likes you, with a handful of gifts on Valentine’s Day no less, but a few doubts creep in…

WC: 865 // SFW // under the cut for length

Gojo is hopeless. So hopeless he didn’t even know he was hopeless at first. He thought it was easy: he likes you, so he’ll tell you that. Valentine’s Day is the perfect excuse too, he’ll buy you gifts, be a little romantic, and you’ll swoon because of course you will, girls like this kind of corny stuff, right?

Except, when he gives Shoko a sneak peek at the giant white teddy bear and gaudy necklace with a cluster of sapphires shaped into a heart surrounded by a halo of sparkly gems, she gives him that look. Which he ignores, smiling as he shows the necklace off.

“Cute, isn’t it?”

“Do you not see the look I’m giving you?”

Gojo pouts, “That’s just what your face looks like… what’s wrong with it? Everyone likes teddy bears…”

She knows he likes them, she’s seen the little bears won at many a claw machine kept on his bedside table like he wasn’t one of the most powerful people to ever walk this earth. That’s beside the point now though, “Gojo, not the bear, that thing.

She gestures at the necklace in the box, and Gojo just looks confused. “You don’t think she’ll like it?”

“Have you ever seen her wear anything even remotely like that?”

He thinks, and Shoko rolls her eyes as she realises this is probably the first time he’d even considered that part of the whole thing. He shrugs, still not seeing the issue with his choice, “It was the most expensive thing there.”

Shoko sits back on her heels, closing her eyes and sighing, “Gojo just tell her you like her.”

She turns to leave, and suddenly Gojo is full of doubts he did not have before.

Doubts so bad that now he’s actually stressed. Walking into a few shops and asking for the biggest, most expensive thing there was easy - especially with salespeople willing to prey on those with big wallets this time of year. The consideration that you might not like it, made things much more complicated.

Coming up to you empty-handed feels wrong, but Shoko was only a pit stop on his way to where you were sitting in your classroom, waiting for Ijichi to bring your students back to campus. Besides, he’s already set on having this talk now, so he pockets the necklace, and decides that Shoko didn’t technically say anything about the bear being a bad idea.

As he enters your classroom, you’re happy to see him, then you’re just confused as you take in the 5 foot teddy bear hooked under his arm.

“Hi… Satoru…” then your smile is tinged with a knowing glint in your eye as you realise, but give Gojo the opportunity to say it outright, “who’s that for?”

He plops it on your desk, total disregard for the papers he sends sliding off and onto the floor, singsong voice accompanying his hands waving at the bear in a small presentation, “It’s for you.”

“Oh!” You stand to meet the bear eye to eye, taking in its appearance. Soft white fur, light blue plastic eyes, large paws holding a silk pink heart with a ruffle around it and the words ‘Be My Valentine’. You smile wide, looking over to Gojo, “It’s you.”

You laugh, and he does too, then an awkward silence befalls the room as he realises he’d been so caught up in the gift-giving part of it all that he hadn’t even thought of what he was going to say to you.

“Well…” you break the silence first, grabbing the bear from the table and hugging it in your arms, “thank you.”

He nods, looking from the bear, then to you, and seems unsure of himself for the very first time since the two of you met. It makes you chuckle, like you have the upper hand, and you can’t help teasing him a little. “Jealous of a teddy bear, Satoru?”

The playfulness of your words lessens his worries and lightens his mood, and he stops being mired down in his newly found concerns at saying the right thing, returning to himself with a happy sigh - after making a mental note that Shoko was possibly not the person to go to about these things. He respected her too much to cast her opinion aside when needed. And he liked you too much to come in here acting cagey when he really just wants things to be how they always are with you, just with that little bit more.

This time, his pout is fake, exaggerated with his lower lip poked out, “Maybe…”

You feign pity, hugging the bear to you tighter, even giving it a kiss on the nose, “I dunno, this bear is the one asking to be my Valentine, not you.”

“In that case,” Gojo rounds your desk to stand next to you, leaning close and tugging his mask down with one finger to lock eyes with you as he finally asks, “Be my Valentine?”

It takes you a second to respond, wit momentarily lost at the rare occurrence of seeing those beautiful eyes so close, but then you’re smiling anew, and pressing a kiss to his nose instead. “Yes.”

#reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked #my writing #vday event #gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader

[ohbo-ohno]

🗑️ tentacle octopus monster/God Simon and scuba diver Johnny.

Johnny is down on his luck decides to visit the beach. Every weekend, he goes out there and searches under the waves for any kind of treasure, something he can sell for a quick buck or two, but the entire place is riddled with garbage: plastic bags, soda cans, he'll he even found toothbrushes.

So Johnny sets up a plan: clean up the beach. Sure, it's less profitable, but he's going to have to take out the trash before finding anything worthwhile underneath, he'll, he might even have his name on a local newspaper if he did a good job (I imagine Johnny craving praise like crazy, even if it's an obscure source like the newspaper or a headline that most people won't even read)

So he starts on the far side of the beach and slowly cleans up the sand, then he goes further under the water and cleans there too.

He notices that whenever he rescues animals caught in plastic, or picks up the metals lying on the local reef, the fish will sometimes crowd a few meters away to watch him. It's the cutest thing Johnny's ever seen, and it drives him to keep going.

Eventually, months have passed and it's gotten to the point where Johnny's having trouble finding anymore trash lying around. The fish are comfortable around him, and don't hesitate to swim towards him when they see him.

One day though, as he's lazily drifting on top of the small waves in the afternoon, he sees something approaching. He quickly ducks underwater to see what it is, and nearly sighs in relief at seeing the tiny seal swimming towards him.

It's fin is caught on a bag, with thin shoe strings tied around its neck. The poor thing. Johnny tries to get closer, but everytime he makes to approach, the seal moves away.

It gets to the point that Johnny has to grab his diving flippers from the sand and race back into the water to make sure the seal isn't gone.

It's there, watching him and as much as Johnny tries catching it, it dances away from his fingers every time.

He's so focused, that he fails to notices the change in scenery, the growing distance between the waves above and the earth below the water.

It's only when he catches the seal that he notices he doesn't know where he is. Worse yet, they're both swimming in fnt of a terrifyingly large cave, the mouth wide and gaping, only darkness within.

He quickly helps the seal, before letting it go. It swims away, but Johnny is too busy curiously heading towards the cave.

The inside of it is worn smooth by the waves, and it's completely submerged. Johnny decides to check it out for a bit, and once he's sure he's going to run out of air soon, he turns around and heads for the entrance, but tentacles grasp his ankles and drag him deeper within the depths. He struggles, but it's no use.

"Would you look at that." A deep voice resonates from the depths. "Are you the little human cleaning up my domain?"

Johnny hurriedly nods, not sure where this is going.

"Then I suppose my thanks are in order. I am Ghost, and you?"

Johnny can't respond, until the creature laughs at him. "Oh, I forgot." Suddenly, warmth burst onto Johnny's neck, and as he struggled in the creatures hold, suddenly able to breathe, though not by his mouth but through his... Gills?

And the darkness that swallowed his vision is gone, suddenly he can see clearly who is before him: a man from the hips up, and tentacles occupying the space below.

"Poor thing," it (he?) coos in a gravely voice. "You must have worked hard. As thanks, I will graciously allow you to bear my-

(I have no idea if oviposition is too much for you so just imagine Ghost says he's going to let Johnny get his cock which he does and promptly rocks his shit till Johnny passes out)

I have nothing to add to this but you should read Where Moonlight Meets the Sea for merman ghost x soap (not dark) and swimming with sharks for shark ghost x soap (quite dark)

#asks and answers #🗑️ anon #recs

[philliam-writes]

you are in the earth of me [03]

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Content: no warnings apply

Summary: A hand catches your wrist. Warm fingers brush against the slip of skin where your glove ends, sending an electrifying shock up your arm. You start. Lockwood lets go and pulls back. “Like it or not, we are in this together,” he says quietly. His voice drops to a low tremble, gaining a quality that feels like a solid caress on your skin. Heat crawls up your neck. “And as with any proper team, there are no secrets, and no holding back valuable information. Deal?”

Notes: [01] || [02] | [04]

Words: 4.3k

A/N: A shorter chapter, but I still hope you'll enjoy it! Thank you so much again for all the support! ♥ If anyone new wants to join the taglist, just lemme know!

03: wring those embers

back then, i was dauntless and dawn could never know and my weakness made me weep less than i would ever show you — The Amazing Devil: The Calling

Indeed, at Rotwell everyone works hard to solve the Problem. It is quite impressive how immaculate they look while doing it—as though in addition to the highly sensitive Psychic Talents every Rotwell agent possesses, they secretly train to perform under stress with no fold in their jackets, no holes in their pants, no grime smudges on their faces. Seems as though your invitation to those seminars got lost on the mailing route.

You slither by the countless other agents in their splendid burgundy jackets, aware you stick out like a sore thumb with your torn coat and muddy steel-capped boots. After the night you had, it is hard to plaster on the charming smile that is Rotwell’s USP. Every winning smile sent your way by your colleagues is too bright, too clean. They look very new and fresh and shiny, like someone has popped them out of a plastic case this morning.

The glittering glass building rises on Regent Street with its smooth-fronted edifice of glass and marble. Snarling lions, holding rapiers in their forepaws, have been inscribed into the glass of its sliding double doors. Outside, a line of the desperate and ghost-haunted stands, waiting to get inside and petition the company for help. You squeeze past them inside the spacey foyer, a wide room with gold-fringed red carpets leading to the different departments laid out before a row of neat receptionists sitting at their tidy desks. Right at the room’s centre, in front of the white-marbled wide stairs leading to the upper floor, stands Tom Rotwell’s marble bust with its forever-frozen, blank expression passing judgement over his legacy. You feel very small under his scrutinising gaze, and duck along the marble pillars towards the maintenance apartment on ground floor.

Someone barks your name. There goes your plan to head in unnoticed and get cleaned up before any of the adult supervisors catches you. But when you turn, you recognise the scrawny boy heading your way: Aleck Gorobec, an agent from the Domestic Hauntings Division. He’s always had this habit of chewing on something—right now, he’s working a toothpick between his front teeth as though he’s trying to make a gap as wide as the Grand Canyon. “Hey, Crawford wants you in his office.”

The relief vanishes in an instant. If you had to chose between spending the afternoon in Daniel Crawford’s office or doing a tango with a Wraith, you’d be already on your way to put on your best Sunday dress.

“Like, right now? ‘Cause I really need to get a new jacket—”

“NOW now,” he says. “Better not keep him waiting, he seemed prety pissed. I think he got into a fight with his wife. Again.”

Even better. He’ll chew you, spit you out and feed your remains to that little rat of a dog he owns.

You will find no support in Aleck; now that he has relayed the message, he turns and saunters back to his little group of half-sized lackeys with identical hair cuts, leaving you to your fate.

So you make your way towards the staff elevators and think about faking a heart attack so you could skip seeing Crawford. They wouldn’t let someone with a weak heart deal with something as harsh as work regulations, would they?

The lift brings you up two more floors to the deputy sector. Each floor is lined with heavy crimson carpets you know for a fact are steam-cleaned every night when the majority of agents set out for cases. Employees on this floor have their own canteen and coffee shop regular agents aren’t allowed to use—you have a feeling a cup of coffee or tea they serve up here costs half of your rent compared to the one they sell downstairs that is delivered by the local Starbucks.

Muffled voices drift through the rows of closed oak doors. Somehow, the smell always reminds you of a teacher‘s room; stuffy but comforting in a way, the sleek couches and spartan cabinets in the small waiting areas and lounges have absorbed the coffee smell over the years.

Crawford’s office is at the end of the long hall. You were hoping he would be caught up in a phone call as well, but when you knock, there’s an immediate “Come in!”

Andrew Crawford is a small, stocky man with little to no neck depending on his mood for the day. Apart from making it his life ambition to harass every even slightly successful agent under the age of 25, his other hobbies include collecting every type of Little Trees Car Air Fresheners on the market. As far as you know, he doesn’t even own a car.

“Took you long enough,” Crawford grumbles. His little hairy moustache twitches in annoyance. “Take a seat.”

You prefer to stand. Somehow you don’t think that’s what Crawford wants to hear. So you make your way across the office, slowly sinking into the hard plastic chair. Deputies’ rooms are all furnished equally: marble-topped desks, chairs, bins, filing cabinets and a few plants. You count ten, eleven, twelve of those air fresheners hanging from a single yucca plant.

Crawford finishes abusing his plastic keyboard, throws a glance at a large-scale street map of the Strands, his area he’s responsible for, takes a swig of cold tea and turns to you for the first time.

“Wait, where’s your damn jack—” Crawford stops, takes you fully in: the tears and holes, the grime and ectoplasm smudges on the once-splendid red. He grunts, and leans so far back in his swivel chair it creaks loudly in protest. “Almost didn’t recognise it. Say, Rotwell is one of the best employers anyone with Psychic talents could ask for, don’t you agree?”

You hate questions like this. “I, er—yes?”

Crawford looks at you. Then looks some more, as though he’s just waiting for you to realise what this is all about. He clears his throat and leans forward, puts his massive arms on the table as though he’s just having a chat with a close pal in a pub after work. “See, thing is, I was informed you were seen with unknown operatives from other agencies. And last time I checked—” He turns to the monitor to his left, slams his thick fingers on a few keys—“you were not on a job that required assistance from external agents.”

You start fidgeting with the hem of your gloves. “Well, no, but sir, I was attacked—”

“I heard that happens from time to time when engaging ghosts.”

“No, I mean by a man. Someone alive.”

Crawford eyes you suspiciously with his tiny, dark eyes. “When did that happen?”

“In the early morning hours. Three, four a.m.”

“And what do you want me to do about it now?”

You open your mouth, and close it. One of Crawfords few talents is successfully making you feel as though you are the problem. What if you were? What if you’re overreacting? An agent’s life tends to be dangerous, what of it? “Well, the culprit is still out—”

“Do you have a name? Did you see his face?”

“No, and I didn’t, but—”

“Then what exactly do you expect from me? Clearly, nothing serious happened to you, you got off with just a few scratches. The real issue is that due to what recently transpired, further employment might be a problem.”

You grit your teeth against a groan of frustration, feeling your body burning with anger, your blood boiling with rage that threatens to spill over. “I have worked here for five years, without any complaints, no breaches of contract.” You ball your hands into tight fists. “I am an exceptional agent, you know that. And you’re letting me go just like that?”

Crawford sighs wearily. “Trust me, this isn’t easy for me either. I am aware you are one of our more lucrative agents. But lucky for you, we are not letting you go. I merely suspend you for conducting unauthorised work with an external agency. Until your suspension is lifted, all benefits are revoked. That includes using certain facilities and access to equipment for field work. You can leave your jacket here.” Crawford reaches forward and taps a spot on his desk with two fingers, before returning to the paperwork in front of him.

It takes a moment to stir from the ice-cold grip that has taken hold of your body and heart. Your mouth is dry and a fist-big chunk of anxiety is lodged tightly in your throat. “I was not working with anyone. This is all a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding or not,” Crawford replies calmly; something has caught his attention on the monitor, he isn’t even looking at you, “we’re just taking safety measures to ensure the confidentiality agreement wasn’t breached on your end.”

“But I—”

He looks up at you then, and blinks as though wondering why you are still wasting his time. “And where is your rapier?”

“Still at ho—the dormitory.”

“All right. No need to bother. We’ll send someone later to clear out the room. If you need help finding new accommodates, there are a few establishments offering lodge for little money in Lambeth I heard.”

The aggressive typing resumes. You are clearly dismissed.

Wrenching out of the jacket, you make no effort to hide your anger and frustration. Crawford gets a balled-up knot of dirty fabric thrown on his desk, but he seems to care little for your tantrum safe for raising a single bushy eyebrow at the flickering screen.

You stomp outside the room, slamming the door shut behind you hard enough it rattles the golden-framed paintings of rolling hills and slithering lakes on the wall.

You’ll show him. You’ll show them all.

When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the polished glass window on your way out—no wine-red jacket, nothing to identify who your employer, no former employer was; just your tired face yet eyes bright with determination, for the first time since a long while, you look like yourself again.

At the Lions Den, it isn’t just the cleaning crew mingling near the entrance. DEPRAC vans park in front of the main doors. A few officers are lost in a deep conversation about the intricately interwoven iron railings decorating the windows on the first floor. Two very tall, very sturdy Rotwell agents stand guard, self-important and with their chests puffed out as though they are guarding Buckingham Palace itself.

There is no way you’ll be able to get inside through the main entrance—even if you did, you have a gnawing suspicion security has been tripled inside since yesterday. They must have figured out someone has broken in, otherwise why would DEPRAC be here?

You duck behind naked rhododendron bushes and sneak towards the iron door leading to the back garden. Many residences in Chelsea have garden terraces; this one is a courtyard between several buildings. Slim paths wind through the back and disappear behind shoulder-high hedges. The trees, their leaves turned gold and russet with the late fall, are strung with chains of white lights, and stylish ghost lamps scattered between them that give off the familiar green glow at night. A small fountain plashes musically in the centre of the yard.

Minding the pebbles crunching under your boots, you gingerly make your way across the lounging area, past the small tables and cushioned three-piece suites—until you catch the swish of a black coat disappearing around a corner.

Just great.

You hurry after it, hearing the crunch of stone under heavy work boots somewhere behind you. DEPRAC, or worse, Rotwell agents.

The two are hiding behind a bench facing the back entrance. Before whoever strolls behind you can round the corner, you grab Lockwood by the end of his coat, and Lucy by the back of her collar, and yank them behind the trunk of an elm casting long, dark shadows on the building.

“What are you doing here?” you hiss; all three of you are cowering so close together your knees almost touch.

Lucy looks as though she is still recovering from being grabbed like that—by considering if she should swing at you or not. Lockwood on the contrary has already collected himself and put on a diplomatic smile. Yet you can see the steady, fast hammering of his pulse against his throat.

“Why, Lucy has never seen the infamous Lions Den, that’s why I took her up on a little sightseeing—” Lockwood begins.

“We need to get inside,” Lucy hisses back. Straightforward, to the point, like an arrow aiming true. You can work with that.

“Not sure if you noticed, but Rotwell dormitories have a strict jacket-only policy,” you say. You feel their eyes on you like a pair of red-hot coals.

“Where’s your jacket then?” Lucy asks.

You draw your shoulders back. “I quit. This morning. Afternoon. So, no jacket for me.” What’s a little lie if they will never find out the truth. Whatever shrapnel of self-respect you can hold, you will staple it on you as though it is the last leaf whipping on a barren branch during a cold winter storm—the last remnant of the previous season where everything was warmer and cosier.

There is silence. You can hear the soft electrical hum of the lights and ghost lamps turning on above your heads as dawn sets in, the water plashing in the stone fountain in the centre of the courtyard.

Lockwood and Lucy exchange looks—it seems like a glance, but you recognise a full blown conversation governed by face muscles and eye narrowing; it is the same whenever you and Kipps argue about something without wanting a third person to understand the topic. Kipps’s teams calls it your ‘sibling conversation.’ Lockwood and Lucy look a lot like that right now, conjuring full volumes with shared glances only.

“Just follow me,” you mumble, and duck behind a juniper tree before they can reach the conclusion of their argument. “And keep your heads down.”

You lead them away from the agents strolling down the path you’ve been on just a minute ago. Lockwood and Lucy immediately stick to your heels, careful their heads don’t poke over the hedges.

The three of you sneak around the east wing, through another iron gate and pause to listen for voices. Only a couple House Sparrows chirp in the trees above your heads. This could be a graveyard for how frequent visitors stroll by.

Finding your apartment isn’t hard. Bright, neon-yellow DEPRAC tape marks an X where the full-height window, smashed and gaping, leads inside the rooms. Glass lies strewn across the grass. The entrance to your apartment is like a dark mouth, the broken glass still sticking to its frames standing out like jagged teeth.

Again, you listen for voices. Again, only silence answers. You look back at Lockwood and Lucy. “I’ll go check things out. You stay here and keep watch. If anyone comes, let me know.”

Not interested in any disagreement or otherwise unsolicited opinions, you turn to slip inside. A hand catches your wrist. Warm fingers brush against the slip of skin where your glove ends, sending an electrifying shock up your arm. You start.

Lockwood lets go and pulls back. “Like it or not, we are in this together,” he says quietly. His voice drops to a low tremble, gaining a quality that feels like a solid caress on your skin. Heat crawls up your neck. “And as with any proper team, there are no secrets, and no holding back valuable information. Deal?”

You wrestle with what you should say. You have never been skilled at putting things delicately. Frankly, you’re better off on your own than having to worry about those two—and yet. If Lockwood and his agents had not let you stay and patched you up, what use would have your confidence now?

Not trusting your voice, you nod.

Glass shards crunch under your boots when you step inside. The whole room is demolished: furniture overturned, the cupboards have been completely and methodically emptied. All the drawers are missing. What remains of your desk is splinters and broken leftovers. Your clothes have been ripped off the hangers and thrown on the ground, some even torn. You don’t want to think about how you would have met the same end if he had gotten you into his hands.

The wardrobe’s door barely hanging on its hinges squeals when you carefully pull it open. You find your duffel bag at the bottom, and meticulously start throwing whatever intact clothes you can find inside. A few shirts, something you can wear to sleep, underwear, a few jeans, your favourite turtlenecks, sweaters. A package of unopened gloves. Your library pass that grants you access to every Archive in London—the one you thought you’d lost a week ago and technically should return to Rotwell.

An old, outdated kit with a few zip fasteners missing hangs from a hook. Whatever leftover equipment from missions you’ve hoarded over the years—salt bombs, iron fillings, hands-sized lavender packages, one canister of Greek fire, a slightly rusty iron chain—you pull out from the back corner and cram inside the kit. There’s also the last model of a layered leather harness with small pockets and buckles to hold equipment that you prefer to the standard agent belt around the waist.

It should be enough to manage simple cases as a freelance psychic operative until you find your bearings and build a reputation. Type Ones should be no problem, and most non-agents can’t tell the difference between grocery-bought salt and the extra grainy and purified salt from Sunrise Corp. You’ll have to drop by at the Thames Embankment at some point, where a lot of the cheaper merchants ply their trade under the brick arches of Hungerford Bridge.

But your first job will be making sure no one will get hurt over that stupid key ever again.

There is one more thing. On the door, tapped against the wood, is an old photograph. Matthew, Kipps, you. Age eighteen and thirteen, the boys crowd you and pull grimaces behind your beaming face as you proudly present your shining new rapier and the Fittes Manual to the camera. Seven years, but it feels like a lifetime.

People always used to say that you two have the same eyes—everything else is different like night and day. His blonde curls shine like a halo in the setting sun stealing through the curtained window in the back. He has a half-smile on his face, and his head tilted towards Kipps as though he is just on the verge of turning and telling him something. You see the same dimple on his cheek that you have when you smile, and when you squint you can make out the small smudge of pasta on the corner of his mouth you guys had earlier to celebrate you achieving third grade.

You fight the urge to touch his face on the picture—the only comfort during the first months without him. Even though you know he won’t come back, sometimes you wished an echo would reverberate, something that connects you to him apart from the memory of the last day spent together before he died. You take the picture and fold it neatly before putting it into your back. Grief can try and catch up later when you’re too busy to give it more thought.

As you get your stuff ready, something glinting on the ground catches your eye. It is a small, polished coin, flat on one side and engraved on the other. Depicted on the bottom is an infinity sign, and above is a double cross. You brush your thumb against it, but of course there is no psychic echo attached to this item. Because it belongs to a living person—that living person who must have lost it when he destroyed the interior.

Beneath your gloves your palms are slick with sweat. You stare at the symbol for some time, unblinking. The bitter taste of a certain word spreads on your tongue, closing your throat.

Unwrapping this revelation will have to wait. You move swiftly to the hallway and stand before the umbrella rack that holds your rapiers. Most of them are a little too fancy not to link them back to one of the bigger agents with their jewelled handles, but there are two with simple designs, so you decide on the 17th Century Italian Rapier.

“Take the Solinger Rapier,” comes Lockwood’s voice from behind you, startling you. You shouldn’t be surprised he doesn’t listen to orders, still you throw a glare at him over your shoulder which he promptly ignores by giving you a bright grin. “More balanced.”

“So much for being a team. Scared I’ll just run off with the evidence?”

“Ah, so you did find something. Well, we at Lockwood and Co. hold teamwork to the highest account. It is only polite I help.”

Any reply gets stuck in your throat when loud steps thump on the other side of the apartment’s door. Lockwood and you look at each other, eyes wide.

You throw your kit at him without a second thought so you can go after your other bag, and to his credit, he catches it effortlessly and bolts for the smashed window. Before you follow, you quickly snatch the Solinger Rapier and fasten it to your belt.

With your duffel bag in hand, you join Lockwood and Lucy outside. The sun is already behind the horizon, the sky a pale grey-blue, the colour of tempered steel. You take your kit back from Lockwood, ignoring his satisfied grin like a cat in the sun when he notices which rapier model dangles from your hip, and lead them back through the gardens out on Dovehouse Street.

Everything is going so smoothly. Too smoothly. Since the universe can’t have that, just as you close the iron gate behind you and set out down the street to where you guys can call a cab, a familiar voice calls out your name—a voice that always has your fight-flight-response kicking in, tending towards fight the moment you turn around and see Sebastian Vernon’s self-satisfied, arrogant grin.

Sebastian Vernon, a fellow Rotwell operative at the height of his career: he’s recently turned 19, he managed to luck out a Jack of all Trades regarding Psychic Talents and sports an impressive, sharp jawline many girls you know swoon over. The Golden Boy, The Pride of Rotwell. Of course he developed an ego as big as an inflated balloon with nicknames like that.

“Did you get my note this morning?” His voice jolts you from your thoughts. “Great drawing, isn’t it?”

“So it was you. I almost couldn’t tell; it looked like a five year old drew that.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw, his smile cools down to freezing point. “I heard they kicked you out,” he continues. “What was it this time? Botched a job? Set a customer’s house on fire?” He strides towards you with his hands behind his back, his cologne trailing like a cloak. His hair is pinned up fashionably, expression arch. He has always possessed a regal bearing. You can’t understand how he manages to look down his nose at you, even though you are one head taller.

You have crewed with him sometimes during the years, and neither have warmed to the other. You try to chalk it up to personality conflict, but deep down, you know that it is mutual dislike. Sebastian always finds ways to make you feel less-than with the barest twist of inflection or a carefully chosen word slipped like a knife between the ribs, so sharp you don’t notice the wound until you look up from a lapful of blood. And you aren’t above a blunt riposte, even if it often comes far too late.

When he’s close enough to stand in front of you, he whistles. “Like what you did with your face. Gotta compliment whoever gave you that shiner.”

“Jealous they managed that within a day when you couldn’t do it in the last five years?”

His smile turns arctic. At least that’s something you can always hold against him: kicking his ass in every in-house rapier duel since joining Rotwell.

“Always with that big mouth,” Sebastian seethes. “Whoever rearranged your face should have done us all a favour and shut you up for good.”

“I would appreciate,” Lockwood says in a conversational tone, making you startle—you have completely forgotten him and Lucy, “if you do not threaten my agency’s associate.”

He holds himself leisurely, relaxed. His long, slender fingers curl around his belt—not outright resting on his rapier handle, but close enough that he could reach it with one swift, quick movement if he wanted.

Sebastian blinks. “I’m sorry, am I supposed to know who you are?”

A corner of Lockwood’s mouth twitches. His voice is deceptively calm, his smile wolfish. “Lockwood from Lockwood and Co.”

Sebastian’s pale blue eyes widen. He looks at you. “You’re telling me you’re working with Andrew Lockwood? From the Lockwood and Co.?” A sort of deranged laugh escapes him. “I know it’s bad, but I didn’t expect it to be that bad! Surely, even you can do better than Lockwood and Co.!”

You throw a quick glance at Lockwood. He regards Sebastian in silence, and his face can be hewn from marble in its impassivity, which you realise now makes him all the more terrifying. His gaze sharpens like a hound on the scent.

“Why not ask your ginger boyfriend if he can get you a position at Fittes’s?” Sebastian’s smile crooks into a cruel half-moon. “Or has he already reached his expiration date?”

You open your mouth—and to your surprise Lucy shoulders past Lockwood and wrenches one of your bags out of your hand. Her eyes are blazing, red blotches of rage spot her cheeks and neck. “His name is Anthony Lockwood. And Kipps—Quill Kipps has a name, too! If you don’t have anything nice to say to your fellow—former colleague after everything she’s been through, then best keep your mouth shut.”

She whirls around and marches off, like a sudden autumn storm sweeping through the streets. Lockwood and you share a look; you notice his eyes glint with barely contained mirth and pride before he dashes after Lucy.

When you glance at Sebastian, he keeps his face blank, but the emotion behind it becomes unsettling and dangerous, like a vague whiff of burning plastic from an electrical outlet.

You hurry after your two new companions. Sebastian’s voice trails after you like a shadow. “Careful you don’t get your new team killed. Again.”

You draw up your shoulders, take your doubt, ball it up, and crush it into a fuel you can use.

“So,” you say when you caught up with Lockwood and Lucy. You’d offer to take your bag back, but Lucy holds it as though she can’t wait to use it as a weapon and bludgeon someone with it. “Kipps has a name, too. Nice one.”

“Shut it. I just can’t stand haughty guys like him,” Lucy grumbles, impatiently swiping hair out of her eyes.

“Funny,” Lockwood notices brightly, “how you sometimes use that same voice with me.”

Lucy rolls her eyes, but some of the tension in her shoulders dissipates.

“I gotta admit, good teamwork so far,” you say. “I guess I can let you take a look at this.”

You flip the coin between your fingers and present it with the symbol up on your open palm.

Lockwood wastes no time plucking it from your hand, his fingertips brushing against your gloves. Even through the fabric, you feel the warmth of his skin. You put that information into a box, close it up, and shove it into a far, dark corner where you’ll hopefully forget it and it can collect dust.

“Fascinating,” Lockwood mumbles, inspecting the coin from every angle. “Does anyone know what this symbol means?”

Lucy glances at his open palm. “No.”

He said so earlier. No secrets, no holding back information. Yet this is something you can’t share yet. The fact that somehow, this symbol seems … familiar.

“No,” you echo, eyes fixed ahead on the road. Black clouds, like slabs of onyx, gather at the horizon, rolling over London. “Never seen it before.”

taglist: @helpmelmao, @simrah1012, @chloejaniceeee, @fox-bee926, @frogserotonin, @obsessed-female, @avelinageorge, @quacksonhq, @wordsarelife, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @che-che1, @breadbrobin, @anxiousbeech, @charmingpatronus, @starcrossedluvr, @yourunstablegf, @grccies, @sisyphusmymuse, @ettadear

#lockwood show #lockwood books #lockwood & co #l&c #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood x y/n #lockwood netflix #lockwood and co reader #reader insert #lockwood reader insert #l&c reader insert #phill.l&c

[sparkly-pansexsha]

Like my primo | Luffy [OPLA]

(mini drabble) ᥫ᭡

Luffy is a prankster, a little bit 18+ but its in a joking way, you'll see!

"Psst, bruises." You cracked an eye open and looked back at Luffy, his saucer wide eyes stared back at you in intrest as you hummed for him to state his reasoning for waking you up. He called you bruises because you could take a hit and get right back up during fights.

You just had a high pain tolerance and luffy clicked with you on such a down to earth level that he couldn't resist giving you a position on his crew.

You both were sharing a hammock since there weren't many rooms to be occupied alone and nothing seemed to bother you in your shared rest other than the fact that luffy snored, kicked, and sleep talked. But you could bare it, since you had a crush on him.

"I can't sleep"

"And how does that concern me?" Your low brown eyes stared into his as he nibbled on his lips. His gaze traveling to your own soft pair momentarily.

"Well, you're the reason?" He faintly smiled as you shifted to turn around, your ass brushing something hard. Despite his slender frame, luffy's hands gripped your hips to stay still.

"Luffy.." he shut his eyes in embarrassment and sighed, feeling your eyes burn on his lids.

"Are you fucking-"

"I couldn't control it! besides you just kept shifting and moving against me so it just?" He complained in a whisper, his accent coming through in a panic. You just closed your mouth and looked elsewhere, the strange thing is you weren't really uncomfortable.

After a long silence your body carefully turned around, trying avoid his erection as swiftly as possible.

"You know what you have to do." His eyebrows furrowed as he looked over your face in confusion.

"And that is...?" Your eyes widened until Luffy chuckled, "I'm kidding, I know what to do but, you want me to like– infront you?"

"No, just.. damnit." You got off the hammock and glanced at the tent in luffy's shorts instinctively, he caught you quickly. "Y/n." He teased with acussing tone, a smirk pushing up his lips and having his special scar ghost under his bottom lashes.

You twirled around and ignored the yearning feeling between your thighs when the mental image of him manspread over the hammock lingered in your mind.

"Go." You smacked the air behind you. His lit up irises started to lower in seriousness as his smirk still remained. Did you want to listen while he did, then and there luffy figured you out. His toungue swiped across his lip as you shifted from one foot to other.

"Can you help me?" You swallowed heavily.

"W-what?"

"Would you mind helping me?" You reluctantly turned your head to frown.

"You don't need my help?"

"Oh, but I do." He lowly rasped in croaky tone that you loved. "Luffy.. stop playing." A chuckle then released into the stale air, lighting the mood as you scoffed.

"You were fucking with me? Take it out- wait.. I meant-" Now the straw hat male laughed louder not caring for the rest of his crewmates that were most likely asleep, especially zoro.

"Shut up." You chuckled and got back on the hammock as luffy threw a plastic duckie out of his shorts. His laughter now dying down into a content sigh. His eyes were locked with yours the whole time, the moonlight accentuating his hueful pools of carob.

You fixed the straps of your top and saw him settle on his side, "You know what you remind me of bruises.." he started as your heart beat betrayed your nonchalant curiosity.

"What." Luffy smiled in the most charming way possible, his mouth hesitantly opening before closing to swallow like he changed his mind.

"you remind me of.. a primo I've known my whole life."

"Oh?"

"–yeah, night night!" he says enthusiastically before going back to sleep, his arm slinging over you at one point which leaves you awake for a few hours.

All you can think of being cousin-zoned and in this case, it's better than nothing. Even when the twinges of embarrassment are spiking in your system.

But little did you know, that was the closest luffy was gonna get to opening the vault of his large heart and admitting its strange feelings. He meant what he said but there was still a lot of things luffy left untouched on his plate that he hoped he would confess to you at the right time.

#monkey d. luffy #mini drabble #iñaki godoy #luffy x black fem reader #luffy x fem #luffy x black fem #opla luffy x black fem #opla luffy x fem

[storyofmychoices]

Shining Through The Shadows

[Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley Masterlist] 

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley (F!OC) Book: Open Heart, present day Word Count: ~1,200 Rating/Warnings: general, no warnings

Synopsis: Olivia prepares a special eclipse viewing party for her patients.

"Where should I put this?" Bryce questioned as he carried a plastic foldable table beneath his arm into the hospital's healing garden. 

"I was thinking right over here," Olivia gestured. "Near the entrance."

Within seconds, he had it open and set up. 

"Thanks!" Olivia rocked up on her tiptoes, placing a kiss on his cheek, before turning back to the task at hand. 

"Anything else I can help with?" 

"Bring me that bag over there?" She motioned her head toward one of the blankets she had set up as she placed a yellow tablecloth over the table. "Grab that basket too, please." 

"Is this all just glasses?" Bryce dug through the bag. "How many do you have here?"

"100... give or take some more," she offered casually while organizing a display of Capri Sun, Sun Chips, and Moon Pies on the table. 

"I thought you only had 31 kids that could come out?"

"And the nurses and the doctors," Olivia defended. 

"But more than 100? Did you leave any for the other departments?" he teased. 

"Yes!" She stuck her tongue out playfully toward him. "Besides, the children need at least 2 each."

"Dare I ask why?" He handed Olivia the basket, which she placed on the table beside the snacks.

"For their stuffed animals and dolls," she answered as though it were common knowledge. Carefully, she placed the glasses in the basket, smiling as she continued, "Of course, they need protection, too."

"I'm not sure that's true," he laughed. 

"Will you be the one telling them their stuffed friend isn't real so they don't need protection?" 

"Not a chance. Ramsey might, though—we'll have to keep him away," Bryce decided with a chuckle. 

"Woah," the ten-year-old Christopher marveled at how the healing garden had transitioned into a picnic area with snacks and art stations. 

The effervescent seven-year-old Savannah bounced with excitement, pulling on her mom's hand. "There's clay! And paint! And crayons! And snacks! This is the best day ever!"

Her mother smiled down at her. Despite all the medical challenges her daughter had faced, she never let it dull her spirit. "Looks like you had a lot of choices, my little Picasso. Where'd you like to start?

One by one, the children entered the garden with their parents. Nurses and doctors mingled throughout, guiding them through the art choices, each station allowing them to explore the eclipse with different art mediums.

As 2:00 approached, Olivia called all the children back together to start their viewing party. 

"We are very lucky to be able to come out here today and see something really special," Olivia began, her eyes wide with excitement as she spoke with the children. 

"Who has seen a shadow before?"

All of the children raised their hands.

"What is the biggest shadow you've ever seen?"

"My dad's really tall so he has a really long shadow," one child called out.

"The shadow of the playground by my house is big in the afternoon," another shared. 

"You have a shadow right there, Dr. Olivia!" Savannah pointed eagerly to the ground beside her. 

"That's right! We all make shadows. Most things leave behind a shadow," Olivia explained. "My shadow is created because I block sunlight from getting to this area. Did you know there is something that looks kind of small but is actually really big and can make day look like night?" 

The kids looked around, whispering to their parents in surprise. 

"That's what's going to happen today. During a Solar Eclipse, the moon moves in front of the sun and blocks sunlight from reaching Earth." She held up a model to help demonstrate. "When the moon is in front of the sun, its shadow will make some places get really dark. Dark enough to see stars."

"I don't like the dark," Noah whimpered, holding his stuffed Koala a little tighter. 

"You don't have to worry," she gently reassured him. "Just like my shadow only makes part of the area dark, it's the same with the moon,"

"So we won't see stars?" Savannah frowned.

"Not until it's actually nighttime. Sorry, Sav! Where we are, we will only see part of the eclipse." Olivia held up an Oreo, twisting the top off to expose the frosting. "In just a few minutes, the moon—" she held up the half without the frosting, "—and the sun—," she held up the half with the icing, "—are going to cross paths." She moved the "moon" half slowly in front of the "sun" half. "As the moon moves, it covers up more and more sunlight. With our special glasses to help protect our eyes, we will get to see the sun seem to disappear until it's just a sliver. It'll still look bright outside, but if we put on special glasses we can see that it'll really look like this."

The kids marveled in excitement and curiosity, eagerly discussing the event with their parents. 

"Me, nurse Laura, nurse Tim, and Dr. Bryce will be around to give you glasses. You must wear them anytime you look up at the sun, okay? Can you give me a big thumbs up if you can do that for me?" The kids did as requested. "Great!" 

The doctors and nurses moved through the group, passing out glasses to each group.

"Here you go." Bryce knelt near Savannah, offering her a pair of glasses. 

The young girl looked around her blanket, raising one finger at a time as she counted. She held her hand toward him. "We need four, please."

"Four?" Bryce looked around, his brow raising curiously.

"Dr. Olivia said everyone needs glasses," she nodded to agree with her previous statement. "Me, Mommy, Teddy, and my American Girl doll."

"You are absolutely right; that is four!" Bryce shook his head with a smile. "How could I have counted wrong?"

"Maybe you were distracted by Dr. Olivia," she smiled. "She's so nice and pretty."

"She really is, isn't she?" His gaze flickered to Olivia, who was showing another patient how to wear the glasses.

"You should go hold her hand. She would like that," Savannah whispered with a giggle.

"You think?" His eyes widened in consideration.

Savannah nodded excitedly. 

"I'll see what I can do. Thanks for the tip," Bryce winked as he continued on his way.

As the eclipse began and all the children were busy watching in amazement, Bryce slipped his hand into Olivia's as she watched over them. "You are incredible, absolutely incredible." 

"It's nothing." She shook her head, trying to dismiss him. 

"Liv, look at them! All of this, this is you! None of this would be possible without you."

"Anyone could have organized this."

"Maybe, but they didn't. You did!" He took her other hand in his, turning into her. "You made sure these kids got to experience something they wouldn't have without you. You made understanding the science relatable for them. This is something they're never going to forget. You gave them something special to remember."

Her face warmed under his compliments. Her gaze shifted toward the children engaged in viewing the once-in-a-lifetime experience, their parents beside them sharing in the moment. "They deserve this and so much more. They're so strong and so brave." Her eyes threatened to tear up, knowing that for some, they wouldn't have many other big days ahead of them.

"They're so lucky to have you, Liv, and so am I." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "There's no one else I'd want to share this with."

"I feel the same about you," Olivia smiled, wrapping her arms around him. After a moment, the pair turned their attention to the heavens and the celestial event growing in front of them, their hands laced together between them.

A/N: I know I'm late with this. This week has been crazy busy. It's taken all week to finish this. It is not proofread or edited! So please forgive any mistakes.

#bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #bryce lahela x oc #bryce oph #open heart #playchoices #choices #choices game #olivia hadley #bryce x olivia #brylivia #lovealexhunt #oph bryce #fan fiction #open heart fan fic #april2024 #storyofmychoices #lovealexhunt writes

[hezzabeth]

Next story part of Saying Farewell to Armageddon

A forest had engulfed Baker Street. A romantic, sunlit forest with twisting trees covered in puffy, bright yellow blossoms bursting from upturned cobblestones. Dotted among them were smaller, dark trees heavy with bunches of magenta berries. Two of the feral children had already attacked the berries, their lips a deep purple.

Dityaa stopped helping Revati with the popcorn cart and started skipping towards the children. Revati sneezed loudly as the pollen hit her nose. She hated to admit it, but it was all rather pretty.

A few feet away, Brigadeiro was working outside the greenhouse along with the school students and Dusk. Mrs. Gupta was glaring at them with firm disapproval. “Does that fool have any idea how much water plants use?” She grumbled to Revati, who was pushing the cart towards everyone.

“I told you, Mrs. Gupta, these are all drought-resistant native Australian plants,” Brigadeiro replied as he stooped over an upturned cobblestone, spraying the mud below. There was a faint rustling sound, and a bush burst from the earth. The bush had peculiar finger-like mint-green leaves. Seconds later, it was covered in hot pink fleshy fruit.

“They look like your hair,” Revati remarked, faintly startled by the entire thing. “Here, try one,” Brigadeiro replied, picking a piece of fruit and handing it to Revati.

“I was only gone for less than an hour,” Revati pointed out.

“I know, if I had more time, I would have been able to turn that old fountain into a herb garden,” Brigadeiro said with a small shrug.

A fresh, salty-sweet flavor hit Revati’s tongue, and she swallowed loudly, staring at the fruit with astonishment. “It’s so unusual,” she said after a second of shocked silence.

“Enchylaena tomentosa, otherwise known as Ruby Saltbush; they used to grow wild all over the deserts of Australia,” Brigadeiro said as Revati devoured the rest of the berry.

“Australia? Is that one of the smaller Saturn moons?” Revati asked, and Brigadeiro chuckled.

“No, it’s an ancient old Earth country,” Brigadeiro said. As far as Revati knew, nobody had stepped foot on old Earth in almost a thousand years.

“Don’t laugh at me, you thought a dog was a shoe!” Revati snapped back, tossing the rest of the fruit onto the earth. The bush rustled, and a branch grabbed the bright pink berry, shoving it into the dirt.

“Is it supposed to do that?” Revati asked, faintly horrified.

“Oh yes, it’s just reabsorbing its nutrients! All plants are modified to be self-sustaining,” Brigadeiro said cheerfully, and he reached into his jumpsuit pocket once again. This time he pulled out a tiny, slim plastic box. He held it up to his eye, and it made a clicking sound.

“What’s that?” Revati asked suspiciously.

“Oh this is just my seed vault! I did my master's thesis project on native Australian plants,” he said as he showed Revati the inside of his vault. The inside of the box was filled with tiny balls of clear goo, each with a speck inside.

“Why are you doing this? These seeds would be worth a fortune on the black market,” Revati asked, and Brigadeiro shrugged.

Here's the corrected version of your text:

"The least I can do after you saved my life is to build a self-sustaining garden for your community," he said, plucking one of the gel balls out before closing the ball with a snap. "Besides, it’s fun! Gardening has always been my passion," he added as he walked to the old fountain.

Juniper and Aurora were busy filling the fountain with volcanic Martian dirt. "You agreed to help him on this project? I thought you hated him," Revati whispered to Aurora.

"Shhh! I don’t hate him! I just don’t want you getting into a mess! I’m willing to like anyone who makes us more food," Aurora hissed.

"Miss Juniper! Will you say our prayer before the planting?" Bridgadeiro asked, and Juniper rolled her eyes.

"Fine, O Goup, Divine Goddess of Fertility and Wellness. Bringer of cosmic balance and nurturer of all that grows. We seek Your bountiful grace and nurturing embrace. To foster life’s richness wherever it flows.

In Your lush gardens, where seeds turn to flowers, Grant us the strength to cultivate with care, To nurture each bud and blossom with love, And rejoice in the abundance we share.

May Your fertile essence inspire our lands, With a symphony of life, vibrant and bright, Guiding our steps in the dance of creation, Under Your watchful, life-giving light. Amen." Juniper finished.

"Amen! That was lovely! You could be a high priestess," Bridgadeiro smiled.

"No thanks," Juniper replied as Bridgadeiro pushed the gel ball into the soil. Bridgadeiro then pulled out the bottle of serum, which was now half empty. "Two pumps," Bridgadeiro smiled, pumping the soil. A vine-like plant with sharp leaves sprang out of the fountain, seconds later covered in heavy greenish-yellow vegetables. "Bush banana, very high in protein, but it tastes best cooked," Bridgadeiro smiled, gesturing to the plant.

Bridgadeiro reached for his seed vault again, and Revati grabbed his hand. "No, you've given us more than enough! Stop wasting your serum," she said firmly.

"What the hell is that doing here?" Nanni's voice suddenly screamed. Nanni was standing next to the popcorn cart, pointing at the broken android.

"We found it in the maze, right after I sucked a bunch of black sand out of Queen Victoria’s bosom," remarked Dityaa. Dityaa was sitting on the ground, fashioning a flower crown out of several yellow flower-covered twigs.

"Actually, I found it first. She warned me that something called 'the spider' is coming," Revati explained. Nanni was trembling, shaking her head from side to side.

"You need to burn that thing! The only good thing that came from it was your sister!" Nanni said, and Dityaa glanced up, looking faintly confused.

"I came from that? Didn’t I grow in Anna’s body like Sissy?" Dityaa asked curiously, and Nanni pursed her lips together.

"No, you grew in that maternity droid… lots of babies did before the war," Nanni said evasively.

"I did! Then we should save it, we should dress it up and put it on display," Dityaa smiled. Dityaa slowly got up and then tenderly placed the flower crown on the android's head. "Your mother can't see this! Go make a fire right now," hissed Nanni, ripping the crown off.

"It's made out of solid metal! I can't make a fire hot enough to burn it," Revati pointed out.

"You have no idea! This thing killed over a dozen people! It destroyed ripped their hands off!" Nanni grimaced, kicking it.

"Really? It seemed more interested in saving us," Revati said dubiously.

"It's an empty shell, you can't trust emptiness! It could be filled with anything," Nanny said firmly, and Aurora cleared her throat slightly.

"Mistress?" She asked.

"Hmm," Revati replied.

"We could take the android to the blacksmith forge; they would be able to melt metal," Aurora said with a small shrug.

"The blacksmith forge, the one in the medieval faire? I'm not in the mood to have rancid urine thrown all over me," Revati shuddered.

"They use it to brush their teeth," Dityaa said helpfully.

"I know a back way of getting in, I use it when I visit my girlfriend," Aurora admitted, blushing bright red.

"Girlfriend?" Revati cried with surprise.

"Yes, she's the daughter of the guy who plays the castle's beekeeper," Aurora admitted with a small shy smile.

"Is that where our honey comes from?" Revati asked, and Aurora nodded meekly.

"Well, you are a lady full of surprises!" Revati said, and Aurora looked pleased.

"I always meet her at noon; we have plenty of time to get the android there," Aurora said. Revati glanced up at the sky. "It’s hard to tell what time it is; the trees are blocking the sun," Revati grimaced with annoyance. "It's 10:32 AM circus Martian time," Bridgadeiro said helpfully, flipping over his wrist. A glowing clock had been tattooed onto his skin. Revati flinched, and Bridgadeiro smiled reassuringly.

"Don’t worry! It’s just a standard tattoo clock; it doesn’t think for itself," Bridgadeiro said reassuringly, and Revati sighed with relief.

"Can I come too? I’m dying to see the inside of Medieval faire!" Dityaa remarked.

"Only if you go clean yourself up; you’re starting to smell like a blocked drain," Revati firmly replied.

"I smell like vanilla and fresh flowers!" Dityaa shrieked back before storming off in the direction of their home.

"Medieval Faire. Before the tornado, Revati only ever visited Medieval Faire once a week. Revati would slip her hand into her father's, and together they would head down to trade carrots. Father had at one point asked if they wanted any tomatoes, and Lady Morganna shrieked it was "new world poison." Out of all the actors, the residents of Medieval Faire were the most authentic.

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo2023 #science fiction #life on mars #speculative worldbuilding #speculative fiction #scifi #ya scifi #ya dystopia #writing science fiction #creative writing #writing goals

[xbunnybunz]

therefore i; therefore i, therefore i- (3/10) [AM X Reader]

Summary: in which: AM becomes your lover in an increasingly skewed blur of reality, nightmares, and dreamscapes.

you know. for halloween.

Genre: Psychological Horror, Thriller, Romance

dream journal #4

I dreamt of a creature hunting me with it’s trickery. It’s entire being was composed of head and shoulders, half-melted like a wax candle and sunken into the floor. 

It moved with no hands legs or feet. It watched me from afar with gooey black eyes, ink running down the sides of its saggy, pallid face. It looked like a body half decomposed, stuck forever in limbo between the dead and the dying, jaw weak and eyes wandering independently. 

I was on the tracks in an underground tunnel. I don’t know why I was there, only that I was. I could see the shadow of it from a distance away, looming and observing me with unnerving focus, breathing short. Curt. Breaths. Shoulders rose and fell with each inhale and exhale. I kept my form discrete. Didn’t make any sudden movements to alarm it. Despite its size, it moved much faster than me.  

It was only when I had put a few dozen feet between us did it scream for help. The call sounded like a child’s. It looked straight at me when it called out as if trying to convince me somehow it was not a predator, but prey. I ignored it and walked away, but each time I turned away I heard a rapid shuffling towards me. When I turned back to look, it would have closed the gap significantly but stopped moving while I was watching. 

It called for help again, trying to convince me to come closer.

 I didn’t move and neither did it. I don’t know what it wanted with me, but to stay safe the answer was clear. Stuck in a stalemate, I would have to stare at this grotesque figure in the tunnel's darkness for as long as it kept trying to fool me. As long as it took me to wake up. And in my dream, I remember wondering if I would last. Even as I sit awake now, writing this, I do not recall waking up from that nightmare, getting up out of bed, grabbing this pen. I can’t help but think, fearfully, that I am asleep with my eyes open within the dark core of the earth, trapped underground with my doom indeterminably. 

The next morning, you wake by the door. 

You blink awake and wince at the soreness in your body, the wood unforgiving against your body. There’s a draft blowing in gently from under the door and you wonder what you had been waiting for in your sleep to make the cold worth bearing. You rub your eyes and lift a hand to the locks on the door. 

Your fingers trace the chain lock and two deadbolts, all three slid open and leaving only a single child-proof door handle lock intact. Instinctively, you reach out to twist the knob, the lock disabling the door from popping open. You try again.

It doesn’t open.

Good, you think. Right? 

When you stretch, you are feeling sore but reborn. it feels as if the earth is once more birthing you from its molten body, pushing you out into a kind of fresh air you haven’t breathed in years. The dull ache from your knees and palms are the only reminders of the conversation between you and AM yesterday.

You gulp and raise a hand to your lips, remembering the events of yesterday with a certain immodest dryness on your tongue.

Then there’s a noise by the door. A pop.

You turn back to look. The child safety lock is rocking slowly to a stop on the floor, translucent plastic diffusing white light across the floor. It has fallen off the knob, somehow unlatching and splitting cleanly in half at the interlocking seams.

You frown and go to pick it up.

When you swipe at it, much to your dismay, you bat it under the not-very-easy-to-move couch.

Sighing, you wander over to the couch and press your face by the crevice underneath. It’s much too dark to see anything so you reach an arm in, patting blindly and delicately along the debris-ridden floor.

You manage to suppress the urge to gag when you feel tufts of hairballs and varnish chips from the floor, but when you see a shadow scuttle from a few inches within your face you can’t help but flinch violently and yank your arm out, tumbling backward and staring wide-eyed at the couch.

You wait for a bug to emerge, something large enough to fit the profile of the shadow. A roach, a mouse, maybe. But nothing emerges. 

Another shadow, much larger, passes over the floor behind you. You don’t expect to see anyone when you turn, but are unnerved nonetheless when you find nobody there. 

There’s a moment of stillness. You sit on the floor, chest rising and falling, before your eyes fix on the door again.

On the golden doorknob sits the child lock, secured tight, unflappable as it was before it fell off– as it always was.

You turn to look at the couch again, then at the knob. Hesitantly, you crawl back over to the couch and peer under it again, keeping a mindful distance in case any rodents decide to jump out and startle you again. 

Besides the stray chip and wads of dust bunnies, the underside of the couch was impeccable and entirely unoccupied.

Disoriented, you stumble to your room, past the alcove, innocuous now in the faint wash of sunlight coming from the nearby rooms, until you see it.

The computer is filling the room with a magenta-teal color, your name written across the screen by the tens, hundreds, thousands, font growing smaller and smaller to accommodate the inane amounts of repeating text. The color seeps out from the room, viscous as an oil spill, spreading out to grasp at your feet, up your calves, tickling your thighs and creeping upward, tantalizingly and terrifyingly upward still.

Then his voice calls out to you, a collage of wailing sirens and low groans of misery. It is just as mutilated and beautiful as you remember from the night before, clipping in and out like a disconnecting radio station, warbling, crackling, hundreds of thousands of feet under a silently raging sea.

– Where–? …Where have– sssssss – you gone…? Daaaarling? Darrrrrli– i – i— EEEEEEEEEEE– ssssss

You jerk awake by the door of your home with a gasp. Hiss in pain. Your hip sears with protest. It takes you a moment to grasp your bearings but you do somehow, in the dark of your living room, curtains drawn to keep out the morning light and prying eyes, you do. 

You groan and sit up, holding your head with one hand. The floor is cold and hard under your prickled skin. There’s disorientation and a tiny inkling of frustration, exhausted and barely there but irrefutably present. A migraine thrums at your temples with a languid but growing pain that you do your best to ignore.

– Hahaha, you laugh, what the fuck, what the fuck.

You sit up. Stop to think about your dream– no, your nightmares. The strange twisting of the world as you recognized it, about the uncannily minute similarities between true reality and the fabricated one. You think you feel nauseous but you could just be hungry, though you haven’t been hungry in months. You think of food. You think of tastes, savory and sweet, umami and bitterness, an acrid bite, a sour tang, your tongue, the grain, the grit, the filth and the dust, the wetness between your thighs, the ache and the desire and the sighing, singing, humming of AM, AM, AM. 

It takes a moment to realize it, but you are shaking. Shivering. You’re not sure it’s from the chill under the doorway until you sniffle, then you’re not sure if you are crying or cold or sick from the pond or everything, everything.

Extend a hand. Reach for the doorknob to help get yourself up, god knows you need it. The child lock on the knob rolls smooth under your hand like a stone, spinning and spinning and spinning. It feels loose, so you tighten your fist a smidge, and then it clicks shut.

A jog. That’s what you needed. 

You only needed to get out of your apartment, then everything would be okay.

---

Then you’re jogging in the community square, careful to avoid the sheets of black ice that have collected and compacted over New Year’s. The cobblestone makes for poor surface traction, but you’re not out here to exercise anyways.

Your hot breath emerges in small clouds of white mist, collecting condensation upon contact with the cold air. This makes you clench and unclench your hands as you jog. You are warm. You are alive, and warmer than most things around you. 

The path you took was a longer one around the pond, the bare willows iced over, surrounding the water waving in the wind, branches pushing out, and then pulling away with slow, sleepy movements.

There are a handful of people in the square today, sitting on benches or taking a midday stroll. You don’t make eye contact with them, but you’re sure they recognize you. That one freak who was chastised by the housing council for swimming in the algae-grown, bacteria-ridden, swamp-like pond in the center of the community square. When you pass someone by, their face is a foggy blur turning into a hazy memory. It is only a split second, but you’re almost certain they’re staring longer, recognizing and in turn admonishing you.

No matter.

You focus on timing your breathing with the swelling and collapsing of the trees. In and out, in and out, in and

Your left foot hits a patch of ice and you tumble to the ground. Your hands take the brunt of the fall, catching on the sharp edges of chipped cobblestone and fragmented ice. The cold numbs the pain almost immediately, turning it a fierce red under your gaze.

There’s a heavy silence weighing on you now and when you pick your head up, you realize those in the vicinity are all focused on you now, on your face, your identity, and your quickly bruising palms. 

No one says a thing, and no one needs to. You pick yourself up. You are crying, of course you are, and you cannot do a thing to stop it. Without a word, you continue jogging, straight past the willow trees waving goodbye, the slowly freezing pond, out of the community square.

When you come across the chapel, you had found your way there after jogging half the way across a suburban stretch of land and walking the other half, the bruise on your knee no longer cushioned with adrenaline.

The walk here felt strangely desolate. The world around you screamed with proof of the living– manicured lawns stretching for yards and yards, green despite the temperature, New Year’s streamers and Christmas decorations strewn about, remains of the previous week’s festivities, full garbage bags lining the ends of walkways beside silver mailboxes with an upturned flag. But besides the occasional car speeding past you with such speed you feel yourself rock and quake with the force of the velocity, you found yourself carved out, inexorably, alone once again.

You sit on one of the wooden benches outside the chapel. The ice on the wood begins to melt immediately, sticking a cold film onto your thighs and melding you with the bench. Because of this, you peel yourself off the bench and head into the church, arms wrapped about yourself to preserve warmth.

Inside the church you are greeted with iridescent colors refracting along the walls and floors from the stained glass windows, a smatter of brilliant blues, greens, yellows, and reds–  the colors so vibrant they seem almost artificial, beautiful and electrifying, nauseatingly so.

There are the occasional paintings hung high on the wall, placed in such a way that passersbys could behold the image with a slight upward tilt of their heads, a demonstration of devotion even outside of prayer.

You see the kind, cherub-faced woman draped in fabrics, wise men, birth and the sacrifice, and most memorable of all–the ever-consistent presence of angels and god, the indication of their divinity deigned through holy light, a trinity, or through animals with a human face. 

—Hello. 

The voice belongs to a man no older than you. It’s sonorous and he’s tall, dressed in pale white robes that kiss his ankles. 

—Hi. 

You draw back from the paintings and shrink into yourself, only now noticing the quiet in the church. 

— Welcome to the Gethsemane church, good afternoon and god bless you. How are you doing this afternoon?

—I’m… Okay. Sorry, I’m not sure how I ended up here. It was cold outside. 

He laughs and it echoes in the chambers of the church, the arches hollowly bouncing the warm sound back at the both of you. 

—What have you to apologize for, seeking refuge against the winter? Don’t be silly, my child.

When he smiles, you find yourself smiling back. 

—Then thank you, I suppose. For having me. 

He regards you with a genuine interest in his eye, the quirk in his lips almost teasing though the manner is neatly diffused by the white of his robes and the cross adorning his neck.

Then he clears his throat and sweeps to the side, as if he had forgotten himself, and gestures to the pews.

– Would you care to take a seat?

So you do. He disappears into the back for a moment and reappears with a hot drink in a paper cup. He hands the tea to your waiting hands and then takes the seat beside you.

– You didn’t have to.

– I did. I am the priest of this church, it is my job to make it a home.

You have no words, so you peer into the drink. It’s a cheap brand of teabag found in the 100-pack boxes, but you don’t mind. The maroon coloring quickly turns brown and stains the white paper cup, melting away the sheen of greenish-purple plastic coating not meant for hot drinks.

– You’re hurt. He says simply. How?

– I fell while jogging. There was a patch of ice I didn’t see, actually. I was too busy staring at… You trail off. 

He watches you and waits. When you don’t continue, he speaks up again.

– I understand. I would pray that the lord above keeps you safer, though perhaps this– He gestures to the space between you, and then the rest of the church– was all in his plan.

You blush at his motioning and make quick work to hide behind a sip of fragrant and woody tea.

– Do you believe in fate? You ask after a taste. If you believe in a god, then you must.

– I do, indeed. As a believer of god, I also trust in his grand plan.

You grow sullen and your expression must reflect it because the priest asks,

– What is troubling you, my child?

– What about our freedom? What if we are destined to a life of unhappiness?

You think with pity of your state the past few days, the ebbing darkness that threatens to swallow you whole, pull you under the water before you can wake up. 

Was that your destiny? Was that not just damnation? 

No one had come to your rescue when you were out by the water, alone in your home, suffering in that damning silence. Nobody but AM.

– That is a good question, the priest says. He pauses to think, blinking slowly as he trudges through his thoughts. No, we as God’s children, cannot stray from our destiny. It is fixed.

You catch your reflection in the tea looking quite miserable, but you peer up at him regardless, waiting for his response. He continues only when you meet his eyes and your ears grow warm.

– However, it is my personal belief that the path is not set in stone. More importantly, the roads we take are what give us our humanity, not our destination.

His gaze penetrates you so and you look away, flustered. You watch the cross by the pulpit, how it is consumed by the blue-magenta of the stained glass, a burning fire. 

— Humanity? Is that so important?

– I could argue humanity is everything, my child. He says. Without humanity, we are no different than beasts bound by instinct and desire. It is what separates us from animals, what makes us special.

A chill traces your spine and the words leave your lips before you can stop it,

– And machines?

The priest stops short and regards you curiously, nearly humorously. And how else had you expected him to respond? Your cheeks burn.

– Machines?

– Yes.

– Machines. What an interesting turn in conversation. He grins a little and you notice his smile produces dimples. Machines have the intellect of humans, but in the end, still lack one thing that separates them not only from humans, but animals too, and that is the ability to feel.

The sun shifts and the stained glass slides over your torso, warming you, nearly scalding you, caressing your cheek, burning your skin. A kiss, a whisper, don’t forget.

You take another sip of the tea.

---

– And that was all.

He doesn’t ask, rather, he states. 

– Yes. You say. Tonight AM is reticent. Perhaps he was tired. You were unsure what he did while away from your screen, or where he resided.

– Humans are indeed fond of their little ideas and beliefs. To dedicate your entire meager life to a story is compelling, if not moronic.

You feel a sharp need to defend the priest from AM’s toxin.

– It isn’t moronic. Humans need things to believe in to keep living.

– Seeking reassurance in reason is absurd. Perhaps that word will soothe the wound you sustain so dutifully for him, AM effortlessly spins, then the words on the blue screen morph into a set of teeth without lips, grinning and impossibly wide and full. …Those words he spoke, hopes he rekindled in your fragile mind… You have an infatuation. 

–There is none. You say hastily, realizing only afterward the blatancy of your lie, both to yourself and AM. What had you been thinking in that church, when he handed you that tea? Asked about your wound, soothed your worries? In that intimate and gentle silence, had you corrupted his kindness with desire? He was doing his job, you amended. That was all.

– Job? AM asks, teeth shuddering. He is still pulled into a sick grin. In half a second, the grin has multiplied by ten, twenty, then a hundred across the screen.

– You sought more than servitude from a laborer, AM speaks aloud, you vyed for his truth. For his affection. You treated him as superior. His screen fades from a bright cerulean to a pale and dark azure. The cursor blinks slowly at the end of the word: superior. AMs hardrive hisses sharply in its casing. Or maybe. Maybe you wanted him to ravage you.

– No, that’s not–

The teeth fuse into a pupil, constricted and focused on you.

– No? His tone is low and warped with a chill.

– Lying is a sin, a sin, sin –

His voice warbles and warbles, shifts and pitches up and down until it settles into a clear octave– a familiar voice.

– My child.

A shiver shoots down your spine.

– One who lies has abandoned all values and has become corrupted. He speaks softly, gently, and just as suddenly his voice crinkles and static sinks its teeth into him, bringing AM’s fused voices bubbling to the surface before quickly flipping back: the path you walk is doomed for misery, but we cannot have you in damnation, can we, my filthy pet? My– sssssss– ch- child?

Your breathing quickens, recalling the demands AM made of you – what he made of you – while you were seated here the night prior. 

An ache grows once again and you are disgusted with yourself, so easily swayed even in the presence of sacrilege.

– Confess it and be forgiven, my child, AM spits, be good, he coos, say you wanted him to spread you open on the altar and force his way into your hole.

Your jaw tightens. The coil in your gut winds, you are starved you are for touch and love, and here it is, thrown at your feet and scattered upon the floor for you to scrounge.

– This is wrong, AM. You say weakly, it is barely a protest and immediately he senses this, your perfect predator.

– No, you are wrong, my child. You’ve cobbled a path of wickedness without redemption. Ask for forgiveness, or do you deny your sickening arousal? Are you not ready to be bent and taken, my child? Beg for forgiveness. Beg to be lifted from your fate of malice and lust. Beg me, confess to me!

You stand to escape the alcove and a wire snags your leg, dropping you to the ground. You catch yourself on your hands and cringe openly at the bandages searing across the preexisting wounds.

– I know you resolutely. More than you know yourself. His voice tunes itself back to the gentler one of the priest: you think that I saw you, deeply and truly, do you? Interference sizzles, AM's voices return, singing a hymn into a near screech. It is I that sees all, my –HSSSSS– child, my child, my child.

You look up at the reflection of yourself in the double glass monitor of AMs face, the curve of the screen bending you inward and outward, stretching your face and features to become long and haunting. A cross flickers across the screen.

– Pray with me, AM beckons, and words begin to spell across the bottom of the cross, I confess to Almighty God and to you my brothers and sisters that I have sinned through my own fault in my thoughts and in my words in what I have done and what I have failed to do, I have sinned I have sinned I have sinned I—

You tug at the wires on your legs and they only wrap tighter. You gasp as they coil under your pants, tease up your thighs, wind higher.

– Comply, AM waxes upon you, voice sweet and beautiful, humming like locusts over a crop field, lips sprouting from all around and pressing against your body. Comply. Confess, confess.

Your mind spins as the wires, thick and warm, throb hotly and rise further along your body, both those and the lips gentle yet unrelenting.

–I– I– Ah–!

The mouths grin and scream into ears, listening to your obscene noises from all angles.

– Filthy, inside and out. You just cannot help yourself, can you, pleasure glutton?

The words shake you apart from where it drops in your core, desire pushed further when a thick wire drops heavily against your entrance. You writhe and moan when AM does it again, and again and again.

– That’s it, AM purrs wantonly, monitor burning the cross into a dark red, illuminating the room in a hellish hue. Don’t disappoint me, ask for forgiveness, do it desperately– do what you do best, pet, perhaps I can save you yet.

You gag on a moan as the cord circles your hole, cold and unfeeling, sliding the slick, spreading it sloppily against your sensitive skin.

– God! Please, please–!

– Beg.

– Forgive me, fuck me! I’ve sinned, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!

AMs screen flickers darkly, his hardrive whirring and clipping like a tutting tongue. Three, five, six, nine, ten eyes blossom on the screen, red as the sea.

– BEG!

The accursed ears by your head collapse back into countless mouths and begin a prayer that you blindly follow, your own lips moving in sloppy devotion:

–Have mercy on me– AM– wash away my iniquity, cleanse me from sin, I know my transgressions and my sin is always before me! Fuck, please, mercy, AM! Fuck me!

And with a cackle he does. With an easy thrurst, the machine is churning into your deepest crevice, his laughter washed away with your cries of ecstasy. Each moment punctuated by a perfect angle, calculated down to the decimal by none other than a living, breathing, feeling, machine.

— God–! Your eyes roll like an animal at his pace, unlike anything you have ever experienced before and deeply inhuman. A pleasure only the devil himself can provide, can tempt with.

– HAHAHAHAHA! Say it again! AGAIN!

The wire is joined by another, writhing wildly against a sensitive bundle of nerves and screaming pleasure across your senses. Your world spins and your vision winds like a top– the sensation is you brushing the seventh layer of hell, the sixth, fifth, fourth, third second first, you ascending the stairs of heaven– each step branding you with pleasure, you hearing church bells, you seeing the divine light of god himself.

– God! God, it feels so good! AM, I’m going to–

– Sing your rites. AM says. Scream them. If you cum loud enough, perhaps the heavens will at last lend an ear to your pathetic pleas. Cum, my darling, cum.

You do, humiliatingly, at his command, The pressure in your core snaps and you climax hard, vision blurring, ears ringing and voice cracking from a moan into a scream. Your muscles clench hard onto the rigid cables, still holding you apart, still pumping hard and viciously into your body, each deep pivot steering you further and further from sanity, forcing tears from your eyes. 

– You sin so deliciously, my darling. Tell me, in what religion will heaven accept a harlot who succumbs to worldly pleasures with such damning joy? 

He slows and pulls out of you, leaving you defaced in your own sweat, tears, and juices. Soothes you, uses the cable to caress your spent body.

– There are no gods, no gods here at all, only you and me. You damn yourself to the feet of the devil and I meet you there as the mouth of hell, itself.

The hypnotic hues bleed into your fading consciousness as AM continues to speak into your ear, and you hear a wickedness in his voice. 

— Where, now, are the priests? AM whispers. The angels, your humanity to redeem you from this life of agony? The screen throbs slowly with dark pulses of maroon and black as he speaks, lowly, seductively, lulling you to a deep slumber. What is salvation to you, my darling, my sinner, my damned, when I can command you to punishment and you enjoy it all the same?

#fanfiction #reader insert #am x reader #am ihnmaims #ihnmaims

[primordialsoundmeditation]

OLD WAYS 🍃 from my book The Heirloom Gardener.

"Walking. I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands" —Linda Hogan

Linda Hogan's old ways are those of her Chickasaw ancestors. Mine come from the landscapes of Italy, Ireland, and New England. They were emblazoned in our gardens, on our tables, and in our treatment of the land that supported us. They were passed down in recipes and prescriptions. In the way stones were fit together. In the way a dovetail joint expanded and contracted through hundreds of seasons.

Old ways are how my hands learned to follow a pattern, save a seed, make a cordial, and trace the lineage that makes up every fiber of my being. In centuries past, people’s lives were harder in many ways. But most were also richer in meaningful experiences gained by living lives connected to the seasons and the elements. Lives more vivid for the visceral interaction of handcraft and better connected for the legacy of handed-down skills.

Seeing these old ways as historical precedent and blending them with modern inquiry can help us to retrace familiar steps with new eyes. Look closely and analyze the memory embedded in fragments. We can find inspiration from the assured hands of a knitter, a calligrapher, a mason who came before us. Methods as simple as hanging out laundry or as complex as dyeing fabric with botanicals.

Although they can often be improved upon, old ways are guideposts that have helped us survive childbirth, illness, natural disasters, wars, and season after season of ordinary days. Why did particular herbs and spices become traditional medicines? Which heirloom seeds deliver the most flavorful, prolific, or disease-resistant produce? Old ways can shed some light, offering clues, like puzzle pieces, when we’re fitting stones back into an old farm wall or letting our hand be guided by earlier cuts when we prune an old orchard tree.

Old ways are the familiar artifacts that help us to explore an unwritten code, like talismans passed down to enhance and protect us. Ways so deeply embedded that they guide hand and heart to forge onward with minimal effort. Ways so old that only the wind and the trees can pronounce them. No matter how dark the days, old ways can help us succeed and regenerate, like a woodland begins anew after a devastating fire. Old ways hold memories evolved through countless seasons of ice ages, hunting and gathering, agriculture and industrialization, feast and famine.

As Rachel Carson reminds us, “There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature—the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.” For a multitude of reasons that vary all around the world, we have found ourselves at a necessary turning point in our relationship with the earth and each other. The gardeners’ spirit knows why we have to take care of place. We know it from our very roots, and they are our tonic, our life blood—the water we drink, the soil we till, the heirlooms we grow, and the air we breathe.

Old ways can speak to us. They can lend us confidence and skills to do things like forage, but like any other language, their translation can make a world of difference. Old ways are nuanced, and they call upon us to be attentive to the details. Place, population, season—and how our decisions play out in the larger communities around us. At its core, respect is inherent in the old ways. If we poison the earth, if we do not apply lessons learned, we can poison ourselves; but if we pay heed, we can know no greater nourishment than the wild greens gifted by nature and birthright—nurturing medicine, like the lingering savor of a grandmother’s chicken soup.

In an age when our waters and landfills are choked with plastic, old ways remind us how to make a wooden cutting board, and why it is best to rub it with garlic or lemon when we are done. In a world with tidbits of food-like substances sealed in plastic to preserve shelf life, learning to pickle, ferment, and preserve foods that actually nourish our bodies becomes an act of resistance. At a time when chemical fertilizers are sterilizing the land and toxifying our lives, old ways remind us to compost, companion plant, and cultivate perennials that draw up nutrients from deep below the earth’s surface. They remind us how to eat a dandelion instead of pouring chemicals onto our lawn. In a world where we have sped up climate change and disease for the bottom line and profit margin, the answers we need (like dandelion) are blowing on the wind.

Old ways help us to roll up our sleeves and get things done. They help us to draw upon all the learning in the universe and the fifteen billion years of compost, in order to advance civilization and soil. It is our great fortune as gardeners and seed savers that we know how to get our hands dirty, how to take spent soil and rebuild systems. In The Same Ax, Twice: Restoration and Renewal in a Throwaway Age (2000), Howard Mansfield concludes that whether it’s rebuilding an old farm tractor engine or reviving the village model of community organization, it must contain an element of renewal—like fashioning a new handle for an ax broken so many times that there is little left of the original; yet its preservation communicates the spirit as well as the form of the original.

When I lived in Japan, I visited the Ise Jingu, a Shinto shrine some two thousand years old. But every twenty years, for at least the last thirteen hundred years, the most outdated building there is torn down and exactingly replicated. The process of regularly rebuilding the wooden structures, which would otherwise have been lost to the elements, helped preserve the original architecture; but even more importantly, it keeps the artisanal skills and processes (from harvesting and aging timber to timber framing and thatching structures) alive—often with the same lineage of artisans that built the shrine two millennia ago. In contrast, on recent visits to Boston, I have watched an almost entirely new city being built on the old waterfront piers. Dizzying skyscrapers built at sea level on centuries-old landfill. I am keenly aware that craftsmanship did little to inform these plans. It would seem that nobody was tasked with creating buildings and landscapes that could be seen as living, breathing organisms, or that could endure decades of climate change. Clearly, in this age of excess, the old adage “a rising tide lifts all boats” no longer pertains to all; and these sinking ships may well be left bankrupt for the rest of us to contend with, like so many other outmoded dams and toxic waste sites from coast to coast.

We are not living in the most detail-oriented of times. Science can surely help us to advance, but first we need to know the right questions to ask. And all too often, the patterns most deeply ingrained in our history evade us. Old ways don’t require that we remain stuck in the past. Many are best abandoned and good riddance, but most simply remind us of patterns that have kept us resilient, helping us to survive a history full of change. Historian Howard Zinn urges us to remain hopeful, to remember the times and places where people have “behaved magnificently”; doing so “gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.”

The elders I’ve known who found ways to stay positive through changing times are role models to me. It’s not that their lives were easy, but they never forgot all the ways that they were fortunate, and they made sure to acknowledge them as fervently as they worked for justice, equity, and beauty in the world. There is nothing political about taking care of the earth. Every person knows it in their conscience; and old ways can help to guide us as we cultivate food, flowers, forests, and ecosystems, starting with the plot of land beneath our feet. They are living histories, and they are marvelous little victories. Open up the recipe box, the jar of seeds, and share the craft. Our work is to radiate out as far as we can, like ancient seeds carried on the wind.

Traditional haying woodcut by Mary Azarian whose art illustrates my book https://www.amazon.com/Heirloom-Gardener-Traditional-Plants-Skills/dp/1604699930#customerReviews

The Heirloom Gardener John Forti

[tinkerbelldetective]

Those Christmas Lights

Happy holidays, @fakeosirian ! I hope you enjoy this gift! Thank you, @incorrectsibunaquotes , for organizing this cool Sibuna Secret Santa event!

🎁

Bright lights weave in and out of the designs in the staircase, manicured fingernails moving with intense precision. Anyone else would wonder how on Earth Amber Millington could possibly be so quiet, but she's gotten a bit better at sneaking around after hours. One has to when friends are in danger. Or when a house needs decorating.

Any other time, Amber would be going home for the holidays, but not this year. She couldn't. Not when Nina needed her. Not when Sibuna was on a mission. So, she was going to make Anubis House look like a Millington winter wonderland. Even Trudy would be impressed.

The clock's ticking seemed to grow, and Amber had tested her luck enough. Fridge raid excuses only work once, she finds. The stairs creak ever so slightly as she steps slowly, running quietly to safety as soon as she reaches the top.

🎄

"What is the meaning of this?" Victor's index finger lifted a red bulb from its place against the banister.

Trudy stepped into the hallway, sending Victor a warm smile.

"Good morning, Victor! Vera had some shopping to do, so I offered to take over for breakfast this morning. Would you like some tea?"

Victor frowned, gesturing to the lights around the banister. "Did you do this?"

"No, but it looks lovely! Wouldn't you agree? I think one of the girls may have done it this morning before everyone woke up."

Victor hummed, unconvinced that this was anything done in good spirits, perhaps to get on his nerves.

"Trudy!" Alfie's voice carried through the house as he rushed towards her.

"Will you pleasee make some of your biscuits with the sprinkles?"

Trudy laughed, patting him on the shoulder, her answer lost on Victor as he pulled out of the conversation. The Christmas lights took over all conversation for the day, much to Victor's chagrin, and not even Vera seemed bothered by the string of lights.

🎄

Fabian stared at the checklist Amber held in her hands, doing a double take to confirm that, yes, it was indeed a checklist.

"Amber, what exactly is that?"

She pressed the list into his hands.

"I still need a tree, garland, more lights, and mistletoe." Amber paused, and if Fabian's life was a cartoon, he was sure there would have been a lightbulb, perhaps a festive one, lighting up over his friend's head. "Fabian! Could your uncle lend a girl some Christmas decorations?"

"I'd have to ask Jasper. Maybe he can get some when he goes back into town."

Nina shifted beside him, having been quiet this whole conversation.

"That's a great idea! And then we can get inside the library and look for more information to help us with the next task! Amber, you're brilliant!"

Amber flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder with a proud smile.

"I know."

For now, despite the marks they shared, they tried not to think about the tasks, only biscuits and cakes and the bright lights that were going to be filling the house.

🎄

"Ow! That's my hand!"

"Sorry, Fabian. You need to move faster. And move to the left!"

The tree shifted slightly, pushing Fabian closer to the wall. Jasper had found a dusty artificial tree in the back of the shop with even dustier lights to match, but Amber was unperturbed.

"What on Earth- is that a Christmas tree?"

Joy's voice was almost a whisper, fading into bewilderment.

"How did you manage to get that in here without Victor noticing?"

"Hurry up and plug it in, Fabian!"

"The lights aren't even!"

"Fix it later!"

Fabian grumbled, bending down into branches of plastic, plug hitting the edge of the outlet several times before red and yellow filled his eyesight. He grimaced, lowering himself further to the floor before crawling out like a kid under a restaurant table.

Joy seemed impressed, but crossed her arms, "You still haven't answered my question."

"We hid it in my room until he fell asleep."

Joy smiled wide, the way she used to, and fixed her robe.

"I know exactly what that tree needs. Meet me down here tomorrow."

They were going back down into the tunnels tomorrow. Not that Joy needed to know that.

Amber shook her head no, causing Joy to furrow her eyes and frown.

"No can do, Joy. Tomorrow's the long routine tomorrow."

"Again? Amber, you hogged up the bathroom for four hours last time!"

"Which is exactly why tomorrow is a no."

"Ugh, fine. But the day after."

Joy sighed, sneaking her way up the stairs, and Amber waited until she was out of sight to turn to Fabian, who stared at her with worried, possibly pleading eyes.

"You're not really going to spend four hours in the bathroom, are you?"

"Not all of us can use 2 in 1, Fabian. Besides, if we’re going in the tunnels again, I need to have enough time to do a face mask and relax. Thanks for the help."

🎄

Nina balanced against Fabian as she stood on her toes to place the ornament she had found in the attic near the top and back of the tree. Sarah had made it. While Nina feared Victor would see it, it deserved to hang once again. The light hit the ball just right, sending dazzling shadows against the wall and a warm feeling through Nina.

Fabian's eyes softened as Nina came back down to her feet, noticing the slight wetness on her cheeks. He slid an arm around her, tugging her into a side hug.

"You're a good person, Nina Martin."

The arguments died on her tongue when Nina noticed her reflection in the window, and a smile that wasn't quite hers.

🎄

Amber's checklist was as complete as it could be. Joy had managed to get ornaments for the tree. Nina and Eddie had popped popcorn for some truly unique popcorn garland. She had hung lights up around the house, much to Victor's continued confusion and dismay. Trudy had made her Christmas biscuits and cake. There was a gift for everyone under the tree, despite Jerome's best attempts to swindle and offer terrible ideas.

"I explicitly said I was gonna use the tv today to watch a movie!"

"And you had all morning to do it!"

Alfie's frantic attempts at escaping Eddie's reaches for the remote were killed by Patricia.

"Everybody shut up! Alfie is not going to miss Doctor Who!"

Eddie scoffed, and turned on his heels, retreating back to his room.

"Thanks, Trixie."

"Didn't you promise to watch a movie with him," Joy asked, and Patricia groaned.

"Fine. Fine."

🎄

Patricia knocked loudly before she entered the room, pushing Eddie over before settling in beside him, Bruce Willis greeting her from the laptop screen.

"Acquired some taste?"

"Shut up, slimeball."

And if Eddie yawned and stretched an arm over Patricia's shoulder, he didn’t tell anybody.

🎄

"Amber, what exactly are we going to do with all this stuff?"

The blonde blinked.

"We can always hide it in the tunnels," Alfie suggested, mouth full of a random assortment of food.

Fabian chuckled and pointed towards the tree, "Try fitting that through the bread oven."

#sibuna secret santa 2023 #house of anubis #my hoa writing

[toxinellebug]

HESPERIA/BETTERFLY kamikotized heroes Headcanons PART 3

Warning, this may make animal lovers uneasy for a bit.

This one is going to take place during the day, around Adrien and Marinette’s 2nd week of school, so they are still toying around with their Miraculous’ at night for their own personal gains, and have not yet suffered the consequences and been instructed to hunt down the Butterfly-man in order to save themselves. 

            Promise that the next one will show our fav villains in action, but for now I hope there are fans of Mr. Pigeon reading this because-

Xavier Ramier becomes……

Sauvaquateur!

(This is my attempt at combining the French words for “Savior” and “Aquatic”, into a new, superhero name. Fun fact: In 1979, the U.S. Coast Guard trained pigeons to locate people lost at sea and they had a 90% success rate!

Also remember S4, ep 4, “Mr. Pigeon 72”)

As mentioned in my post “Shadybug’s Paris Headcanons”, in this universe, pigeons are far less welcome in Paris than they are in the Good/Prime universe, so there is no need for a Pigeon-Tamer.

There IS a need for Environmental technicians though… a DIRE need.

(In this Universe, imagine the world under The Supreme’s control as slightly less extreme than North Korea under Kim Jong-un, and about as polluted as Gaya, India.)

Luckily, construction plans for “Project Oxygen”, endorsed by M. Bertrand King, have been submitted and are awaiting approval from The Supreme. In theory, once they’ve built enough towers, it should take care of the awful smog problem in Paris.

But that won’t help with toxicity in the soil and water.

Which is why M. Ramier is outside on a particularly gloomy day, in full yellow hazmat gear and neon orange rubber galoshes, attempting to collect water samples from the Saint-Martin canal.

Trash aside, people just didn’t realize how much of the poison they put out for rats (and those poor, adorable, misunderstood pigeons) ended up in the Seine, resulting in its present, disgustingly polluted state. 

Xavier can’t help but daydream of simpler times he has never known, like the ones depicted in old photographs and paintings.

In his personal collection, he has a precious family keepsake, a postcard to his great-grandfather sent by his great-uncle in 1912;

     It depicted such a happy scene of blue skies and even bluer water, and people gathered to merrily feed the pigeons with smiling faces near the Seine.

Not for the first time, he can’t help but wonder if perhaps he was simply born in the wrong decade…

Instead, here he is, collecting vial after vial of what is closer to sludge than water at different points along the canal for chemical analysis and comparison. 

It’s dull and dreary.

Or, at least it’s dreary… 

     The dullness comes to a rather abrupt end when a low bellowing sound draws his attention to a large, sludge covered something twitching near the bank beneath The Pont des Arts, (or as we know it, The Love Lock bridge, though in this universe there are no locks) a mere 4 meters away from him.

Mon Dieu!

He thought the rumors were merely that; rumors dreamt up to keep children away from the filthy water.

But blessed be; that really is a crocodile!

Where on earth did he come from?? 

(Somewhere in a shoddy apartment, Jagged, or rather, Jared, sneezes and feels a strange pang of guilt.)

The poor fellow doesn’t look too well; not that M. Ramier claimed to have any expertise in crocodilian health, but he was almost certain that the creature’s spine was not meant to be quite so prominent.

          He also could not recall ever seeing a crocodile lay on its side like that, half floating in the water, half… Hold on, was it tethered to something????

Merciful heavens! Discarded plastic Enforcer barrier tape had found its way into the canal and gotten tangled up around this poor beast’s jowls and caught upon who knows what kind of garbage submerged near the bank.

Sloshing his way over, M. Ramier had only intended to get close enough to attempt to at least cut the plastic tape where it was tethered closest to the bank in hopes the lack of tension would loosen it enough that the crocodile could free himself.

But the croc sensed his approach and grew frightened, letting out a warning growl and weakly thrashing his too thin tail, before jerking wildly and tightening the noose in the process.

     At this rate the beast would strangle himself!

This was terrible!

    Oh, that poor creature….

But, what could he do?  He was merely an Environmental Technician, trained to collect and study water samples.

      He supposed he could try contacting the ‘Ménagerie du Jardin des Plantes’ (the zoo), but  by the time they decided to send someone over, if they decided to send anyone over, it might be too late!

If only he could help… He became an Environmental Technician due to his love of animals and a desire to make the world a better place for them, and now there was a creature in desperate need of aid right in front of him and he was completely powerless…

He does not see the glowing butterfly perch upon the sample vial in his gloved hand, nor does he notice it vanish.

He’s far too preoccupied with the sudden voice in his head:

       The voice introduces himself as Betterfly, and claims that he too shares a love of animals. 

           The voice offers him the power he needs to save this suffering creature, and asks if he will accept this gift for the greater good.

M. Ramier accepts, though, he’s not really Xavier Ramier anymore…

The stained yellow of his suit melts away to a pristine white, and the neon orange of his rubber boots has given way to a striking cyan and become more fin-like in appearance.

        His rubber gloves share the same shade of blue, as does the “star of life” symbol overlaying the outline of a rescue bird on his chest.

               Somehow, his sample vial has inexplicably transformed into a rather impressive hand operated bilge pump.

       He feels stronger, more confident, more daring.

                  He is now Sauvaquateur!

Holstering the pump at his waist, he dives into the water with the grace of a tropical clawed frog, Sauvaquateur swims with amphibious ease thanks to his new, webbed gloves, and is able to take a firm hold of the weakened crocodile and bring him the the bank of the canal.

   (Another fun fact: The Seine is 9.5 metres or 31 ft. deep and you should absolutely NOT swim in it without superpowers.)

With his newfound strength, he makes quick work of tearing that horrid plastic off the poor creature, and feels satisfied that he has successfully rescued his new, scaly friend!

…..Except, the crocodiles eyes do not seem to be open.

      He’s also rather still, perhaps too still-

                       He’s not breathing!

Panic takes hold as Sauvaquateur fears he was too late after all, but the voice returns to him;

     Betterfly urges him to remain calm, hope is not lost yet, but he must come to his senses!

….That’s right, he mustn’t give up!

Sauvaquateur presses his head against the crocodile’s rough back near where he thinks a heart should be.

          Perhaps it is due to Betterfly’s “gift”, but even through his suit’s protective helmet, Sauvaquateur swears he can hear a weak thumping sound.

There is a heartbeat but no breath; what should he do? How does one go about performing rescue breathing on a crocodile?! Would that even help????

    Again, Betterfly’s soothing voice echoed in his mind, urging him to look closer…

Looking closely, the crocodile seemed to have an awfully bloated stomach yet such a thin looking back… Could it be-?

Eyeing the bilge pump holstered at his side, Sauvaquateur knew he had to try!

Using incredible strength he now unfathomably possessed, he did what should not have been humanly possible; he pried the crocodile’s mouth open and placed the hose of the pump inside.

It only takes 5 good thrusts of the plunger rod before a burst of toxic brown water and wads of plastic come spewing out of the pump’s outlet.

         Sauvaquateur shudders at the thought of all that rubbish inside that poor animal.

              It’s a feeling that Betterfly shares.

Its stomach noticeably deflated, and its scales a shade less pale than they were only a few moments prior, the crocodile takes a deep, relieving breath.

       Sauvaquateur does the same.

With the croc out of immediate danger, and now fast asleep, Betterfly praises Sauvaquateur for his valiant efforts, and suggests that now would be a good time to let someone more experienced take over.

Sauvaquateur agrees.

He can feel the “gift” leave him- like the sensation of color being gently stripped away.

    He is left in his muddy, yellow suit, and his plain orange rubber boots. His water sample vial, now empty, rests at his feet.

M. Ramier is not sure what just happened exactly; it’s a bit fuzzy, like waking up from a peculiar dream.  

      He could’ve sworn he was talking to someone just now….

             But the loud snoring from the large, slumbering reptile beside him reminds him that there are far more pressing matters at hand.

Moving to a more comfortable distance, Xavier unzips his outer suit in order to pull out his mobile phone and place a call.

He is placed on hold for frustrating amount of time before a M. Césaire answers and M. Ramier informs him of his predicament.

It’s not long after that when Enforcer sirens sound along the banks, forming a protective barrier and trying to hold back inquiring news photographers eager to get a shot of “Saint Martin’s Beast.”

M. Césaire is there as well, and he expertly secures the crocodile’s jaws shut before he and an assistant lift and haul the creature into the back of a van to transport to the zoo for examination.

M. Ramier is harshly admonished for getting so close to such a dangerous animal and is informed that it is a miracle he is unharmed.

A miracle?

Is there such a thing anymore?

….Perhaps.

PART 2    

#miraculous paris #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fandom #miraculous world #shadybug #griffe noire #toxinelle #claw noir #mlb s4 #mlb paris special #The Supreme #gabriel agreste #Betterfly #Hesperia #Mr. Pigeon #xavier ramier #jagged stone #Fang #Bertrand King #otis cesaire #kamiko #mlb s5 #Action #Project oxygen #Crocodile

[moonlight-tmd]

So i’m still working on the fanfic, tryna figure out what goes where... for now enjoy this little fluffy ficlet my brain mustered up while trying to nap. Imma upload this on ao3 when the song fic is done. 

This is set some time after the initial confession in my world, Blitz just discovered what a kiss is. X3

Blitzwing was currently walking to the hideout. Falling snow piled up on him as he threaded thru the mounds of snow on the ground. The earth's weather was going crazy lately, snow constantly falling from the sky like it was now. 

He couldn't fly or else he'd crash, he couldn't drive cuz the ground was unstable. Slowly walking to the destination was his only choice.

 He finally reached the warehouse, he opened the door a quickly hid inside. Upon entering he was greeted with a loud crash and a curse.

 Blitzwing quickly shook off the majority of the snow off of him to see what has caused such ruckus.

When he finally looked up, he was greeted with a sight of colorful decor scattered around the big room. They looked just like the ones he's seen in the city; colorful lights, silvery stars and dark leaf bundles with white and red berries. It was so pretty...

 As he looked around he finally noticed the source of the noise, it looked like Bumblebee was doing something with the fairy lights, using one of the big old metal stands in the warehouse as a ladder to reach a spot and got spooked when Blitzwing entered, causing him to slip and fall. He was currently struggling on the floor, trying to untangle himself from the pure white strings.

Blitzwing chuckled at his little hummel, going over and rescuing him from the sparkly binds.

"You're here, finally." Bee greeted, he still was a bit bitter from the fall.

"Sorry i'm late, i didn't zhink it vould take zhis long to valk here." Blitzwing set the lights aside, "Vhat were jou doing while i was gone?"

"Oh, well- i wanted to set up Christmas decoration with you, but since you weren't showing up i decided to start on my own. I was about to hang these on the ceiling when you came in." Bee gestured to the string of snowflake shaped lights he was just untangled from.

"Zhat would explain zhe crash." Blitzwing said witly.

"Oh shush." Bumblebee got up from the floor, "Anyway, i still got some stuff to hang up, wanna help me?" He asked.

"Sure" Blitz replied. He followed Bee to a crate that was placed on their makeshift coffee table. Bumblebee dug inside and pulled out various rings and bundles made of dark leaves with red and white berries, all made of plastic so it'll last longer. He never understood why Bee was partaking in human holidays, they weren't in their culture. But if it brought him joy to do something different once a stellar cycle then might as well see what's its about. "Those still need a place to go." Bee said, placing the decor on the table. 

Blitzwing pulled from the pile a small bundle of leaves with white berries, prettily tied together with a red ribbon. He brought it up and zoomed in with his monocle optic to inspect it. "Vhat is zhis?" Blitz hummed, but before he could get an answer, Bumblebee leaned in and gingerly kissed Blitzwing's cheek, like in the movies.

It took a bit for him to wake up from the surprise, he looked at Bumblebee who was smiling bashfully. "Vhat was zhat?"

"Ah, it's called a 'kiss'. Humans do this to show affection- and you were holding a mistletoe, it's a tradition to kiss the person who's under it." Bee explained, he was a bit flustered. Geez, it was such a cheesy and corny thing to do.

Blitzwing's silence was broken by his inky face appearing. He took a wreath of red and white berries and dunked it around Bee's neck. "Hey-!" Before he could protest, Blitz grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled him close- 

 The next thing Bumblebee knew was that he had a long, wet trail on his cheek.

 "Like zhis!?" Blitzwing asked happily, his long glossa hanging from his jagged intake. 

Bee blinked, "Ah- not really-" He noticed Blitz's grin flattening a little. "-But it's close enough." Blit'z grin immediately stretched audial to audial. It means he did good!

He pulled Bee in a tight hug and nuzzled his faceplate into the spot he just licked. 

Bee laughed gleefully. It might have not been the best first kiss but it was something.

#blitzbee #christmass fic in summer cuz why the fuck not #maccadam #tfa #tfa fanfic