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leaentries · 3 months

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Riding High | nico hischier

summary: when his girl decides to take charge, whose he to object?

warnings: marking, slight handjob, hair pulling (m. receiving), unprotected sex, riding, creampie, slight cockwarming, sub!nico, more porn with little to no plot, swearing

wc: 1.6k+

the captain’s girl masterlist

Stumbling through the front door, your lips found any part of Nico they could latch onto. Hands snaking up the tight tank top that clung to his rigid body. The slight scar that remained on his cheek flashed in your vision as you kissed up his jaw.

Nico Hischier’s existence was truly unfair to other men.

“Fuck, schatzi.” He panted as his foot managed to kick the door closed.

Nico’s body pounded against his sweaty skin, still riding high from the team's win over Philly. His mind went hazy the second your hands began to roam once you reached the elevator. His heavy breaths were the only sound that escaped into the crisp air. He was putty at your feet, but he preferred it that way tonight.

Truth be told, Nico loved it when you decided to take control over him. It gave his mind a break from “Captain” mode. Normally, Nico would bend you over and have his way with you, especially after a win like this, but all he could think about was the way your nails felt against his toned abdomen.

And the shockwaves it sent to his cock.

His head tilted back as your mouth began to leave hot red marks down the column of his throat. Nico squeezed his eyes shut, pulse beating rapidly against your lips. His chest heaved with anticipation.

“Please, baby,” Nico whined.

A small smirk found home on your face, relishing in the whimpers that left your boyfriend at the slightest touch. He was so sensitive, yet it just fueled your libido that much more. Pulling your mouth away from his body, Nico’s eyes shot open, immediately seeking your own. His bambi eyes were blown out, pupils so dilated they were practically black.

He swallowed the complaint bubbling up, “Why’d you stop?”

It was almost endearing, the meekness in his voice. Nico was so driven by the pleasure you were bringing him that he couldn’t form a coherent thought about anything else.

You remained silent, simply pulling his wrist as an invitation to follow you to the living room. He let you guide him without hesitation, body desperately craving your touch. You quickly kicked off your shoes, discarding them somewhere between the kitchen and the living room.

Once you reached your desired destination, you moved Nico till you could walk him backward towards the couch. He felt his calves hit the soft cushions, falling down to them as you gently pushed his chest.

Straddling him, you brought your hands to his swollen biceps in an attempt to balance yourself. Nico’s warm eyes peered into yours, patiently waiting for your next move. He traced every inch of your face as you reached down to grip the bottom of your sweater. Nico felt his breath hitch the second your breasts popped into view.

The sound of his uneven pants was music to your ears, but the feeling of his thick cock pressed against your core was even better. Throwing aside your sweater, you began to slowly grind yourself down into him. Nico’s head fell back, exposing his marked-up neck. You brought your lips back to where they were earlier, this time lowering your trail.

The slight red tint of your lips marked their territory on his white tank, no doubt staining it. You dragged your hands over his chest, smirking at the stutter of his hips as you brushed over his nipples. You continued your journey downward, only stopping once you reached the hem of his shirt. You gripped the edge, urging Nico to help discard the material. He leaned up, swiftly removing the unwanted layer.

As he leaned back, you let a single finger dip through the faint lines of muscle on his stomach. Nico’s chest was covered in a sheer coat of sweat as your teasing got worse. He opened his mouth once more but was quickly silenced by your lips. You swallowed any sounds he attempted to make, licking into his welcoming mouth. Nico hummed in approval.

You slowly untied the sweats he had on, dipping your hand into the waistband. You pulled away to look at his flushed features.

“No boxers, Neeks?” You teased.

Nico blushed a deeper shade of red, crimson now spreading down his neck. The words he once had died in his throat.

He shook his head slightly.

You felt a wave of adoration wash over you at the sight of your big, hockey player boyfriend getting all shy. Nico wasn’t typically like this, it was a welcomed change to your sex life.

You tsked, “Such a naughty boy, Nico.”

Although he knew you were joking, his cock leaked at your sultry tone. You wasted no time in pulling down his pants just enough to pull out his dick. Wrapping your hand around his shaft, you slowly began to pump him.

“Oh fuck,” Nico’s eyes screwed shut, “Just like that, schatzi.”

You continued pumping him, letting your thumb rub over his swollen tip in the process. In spite of his protests, you remained at a torturingly slow pace. You took the time to admire the slight curve of him and the way Nico would buck his hips when you applied pressure to the vein on the right side of his cock.

“Such a pretty cock,” You cooed, “So pretty, all f’me.”

Nico whimpered.

You thought his moans were hot, but hearing him whimper from just a basic handjob was a whole other ballgame.

You continued to stoke him, beads of precum beginning to stick to the tips of your fingers. Nico’s body began to tense as you squeezed the base.

“S-shit,” He cried.

You knew he was close, but the throbbing that each of his whines sent to your clit was enough to have you pulling back and stepping off of him. Nico looked at you pathetically, desperation and need filling his dark eyes.

“I know, I know,” You soothed, “I just need you inside of me, pretty boy. That okay?”

Nico couldn’t agree fast enough. He attempted to help remove your leggings, only to be swatted away.

“Nuh-uh. No touching until I say so.”

Nico swore he almost came right then and there. Something about the authoritative edge in your voice had his mind reeling. The only thought he could process was you sinking down on him until his cock was so deep he wouldn’t be able to remember his name.

You rushed to discard your bottoms, your own desperation now taking over. You straddled him once more, biting your lip as his hard-on pressed into your sensitive clit. You ground yourself further down, spreading your arousal all over his length.

“I can’t,” Nico’s hoarse voice snapped you back to reality, “Please, schatzi. I need to be inside you.”

You leaned to press a sweet kiss on his lips.

“Okay, baby.”

Giving in to his pleas, you carefully line his tip with your soaking entrance before slowly sinking down. Your eyes nearly roll back at the delicious stretch of him. Nico struggled to regain his breath as your tightness made his cock weep.

You both sat for a moment, too worked up to move yet. Placing a kiss on his scar, you gently began to move your hips. Nico’s hands flew to your waist, gripping the meaty flesh. Too consumed in the way he felt dragging along your velvet walls, you couldn’t even bring yourself to reprimand him for breaking your “No Touching,” rule.

Your hands wrapped around his neck as you tangled your fingers in his soft hair. Nico’s moaned as you tugged slightly.

“You, fuck,” You gasped as you you continued to bounce, “You like that, Neeks?”

He nodded, giving you his infamous doe-eyes.

“Yeah? You like it when I pull your hair?”

You pulled again, this time slightly harder. Nico’s hips bucked up, a deep groan bubbling up from his chest. Satisfied with his reaction, you moved your hands to his shoulders. You braced yourself, quickly increasing your pace. You tried your best to ignore the burning sensation in your thighs as you rutted against Nico.

Nico noticed your pace faltering, his hands moving to your thighs to hold your weight. His hips began to thrust upwards at a brutal pace, a loud cry escaping your mouth. Your hands scratched at his muscles, clinging to the back of the couch as the searing pleasure began to build in your tummy.

Nico, lost in his own pleasure, began to mumble incoherent German in your ear. His husky voice sent pulses of electricity through your veins, finding enough strength to push back against his pelvis as he thrusted.

In his mix of languages, you were able to make out hsi faint chant of begs.

“Keep doing that, schatzi.”

“Oh, don’t stop.”

“Gonna cum, please.”

You swiveled your hips forward, Nico’s cock edging deeper into your cunt. You convulsed around him, coaxing him to his orgasm.

His head fell back, deep whines leaving with each thrust as you milked his cock. The feeling of his warm finish filling your spent pussy was enough to tip you over. You screwed your eyes shut as you felt the waves of orgasmic bliss blind every sense you had.

You could barely make out the feeling of Nico’s thumb rubbing encouraging circles around your clit.

Coming back to reality, you collapsed into Nico, his strong arms wrapping around your soft figure. You both relished in the post-sex glow, enjoying the feeling of each other's bodies pressed so close together. You let your eyes shut, Nico’s fingers running down your spine lulling you into relaxation.

“You ready for bed, baby?”

You smiled at the change in his demeanor. It was just like him to immediately take on his protective and caring nature once more. Not that you were gonna complain.

You shook your head, “Want to stay here for a minute. I like you inside of me.”

Nico let out a groan, “Can’t say things like that, schatzi. You’re gonna make me hard again.”

You simply laughed, placing a kiss on his collarbone.

#the captain’s girl au!#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier smut #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier blurb #leawrites💋

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venator-signum · 6 months

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kamala khan would have the most horrendous ao3 author's notes known to man

"hey guys sorry the update is late i switched places with an avenger (ajdgrhsh literally crying) and a really cool space scientist lady and then got into a fight and some alien dudes wrecked my house and then I met Nick fury and I was literal space it was crazy and I had to help save the universe and saw said scientist lady give up her life to save all of us... anyways hope you like the new fic, branching out with an arranged marriage au for this one!!!"

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 20 days

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the girl next door 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“Mom, we should get going,” you say as you check your bag.

Your mother sits at the table. It’s cluttered as always. You can see her inhaler amid the mess. Wait, there’s another one. You cross the kitchen, only two steps, and grab both inhalers. You feel the subtle difference between them.

You take both, putting the full one back in the medicine cabinet and the other in the disposal bin. The doctor said the inhalent would help with your mother’s dopamine levels, balances her out a little, but the new treatment only seems to be another symptom of her disease. She hates doing it, she hates all of it, but you can’t blame her for that.

“We can’t be late for the consultation. We’ll be waiting another six months,” you come back to the kitchen.

She looks at you as she wobbles slightly. The tremor is more prominent than before. Each day you notice it more. All the little things changing about her. She’s a bit slower, her words don’t come easy or always clearly, and her mood grows grimmer and grimmer. So does yours.

You grab your purse and the keys. You’ll clean up when you get home. It doesn’t take very long for living to pile up though. Especially when you’re the only one to keep it in order.

Your mother grips the table and stands up. Getting her dressed was a battle already won. Her posture is slightly crooked as she shuffles around the table, “I’m moving.”

You step back, waiting patiently for her to round the table. She grumbles. Your mother was never bright and bubbly but ever since her diagnosis, she’s lost any glimmer of warmth. It’s like she’s living in a fog, just slowly wading through.

You walk down the hall ahead of her and pick out your shoes from the rack. As you kneel to tie your sneakers, she leans on the wall and slides her feet into the orthotic flats. She’s not very old yet. Neither of you expected her to decline so quickly.

You stand and open the door. You back up though the screen door and hold it for her. Her steps get a bit smoother the more she moves around. The permanent scowl sinks into the lines of her face as she comes out onto the porch. You lock the door behind her as she grunts and leans on the railing, stamping down each step to the walkway.

You follow behind her. That’s another problem. The lawn. The old mower broke. You haven’t been able to replace it.

As you trail your mother to the car, she swats you away. Sometimes you try too much for her. You know she must feel helpless. You back up as she sits heavily in the passenger seat and your eyes skim around the neighbourhood. The white sign on the lawn next to yours catches your eye.

You remember the finely dressed woman, her very image on the sign, and how she grimaced at the weeds and grass. If she’s going to sell the property, the neighbours shouldn’t be living in a jungle. You heard her say as much over the phone as she paced back and forth on the porch.

You mother pulls the door shut but it doesn’t click. You give it an extra push to secure it and round the hood. You get in the car and turn the key, rolling down the windows as the early summer morning crowds the tight space. Your mother mutters and wipes her forehead with a shaky hand.

“Let’s just go,” she sneers, “waste of my time...” she bends her arm over the open window, her fingers quivering, “damn doctors said it enough. Nothing they can do. Charlatans.”

“Mom,” you chide gently, “the surgery could help. If you qualify--”

“I heard ya last night,” she snaps. “Just drive.”

You nod and snap your mouth shut. You shift into reverse and back out of the drive. You know better than to talk too much. Your mother never liked hearing anything she didn’t want to hear. Facts are just an attack on her.

You steer down the street slowly, following the curve of the suburban street. The green lawns and white picket fences are palatial at first glance. It’s a 1950s fever dream implanted in the twenty-first century.

Your house is the black stain on an otherwise pristine canvas. The HOA must curse your grandmother for her leaving a perfectly nice home to a pair of beatnicks. You don’t blame them. You’re the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, leaving a gaping hole in the picture.

The radio crackles on and you wince. Your mother struggles to turn the knob and the volume pendulums up and down. You reach to help her and she smacks your hand, only softly as she has little strength behind it. You retract and grip the wheel, listening to buzzing struggle of her unsteady. You just hope the appointment goes well.

🏠

Your mother hasn’t said much since the appointment. That worries you. What should be good news is just another dark cloud over her.

She sits as she often does; half-reclined in the chair by the window, watching the neighbourhood just outside the pane. She’s just a resentful of the picture-perfect neighbours as she if of everything else. As she is of you.

You tidy the kitchen table as the unsaid dangles in the air. You know better than to bring it up. She barely acknowledged it when the doctor said it. She’s a good candidate for surgery but it isn’t a cure. It will help with the symptoms but not stop them altogether. It’s not good enough for her but it might just be her only hope of relief, even if temporary.

“Bring me a coke,” your mother calls through and you hear the hollow tin clatter of an empty can.

You bring the dirty dishes to the sink and set them beside it. You go to the fridge to grab a red branded can and let the door shut on its own. As you enter the living room, your mother sits forward, the recliner snapping forward with her weight. She leans on and elbow as she squints through the window and cranes over the armrest.

You pick up the old can and put the new one on the small table by the chair. She sits back and takes the Coke, trembling as she struggles to crack the tab. You know better than to help her. The curl in her lip warns you better.

“Someone’s looking at the place next door,” she says.

“Oh?” You move behind her chair and try to the next house. You can only really see the edge of the porch from here. You could open the side window but that would give more than a view of the siding and might be too obvious. “New neighbours.”

“Eh, if it sells. Could do better without these stuck-up prissy bitches running around measuring grass,” she growls of the Home Owners’ Association.

You nod. She’s right. You’ve had to deal with that nosy blonde too many times.

“We’ll see,” she mutters as she finally gets the can open and slurps. “Just hope it’s not another bitch.”

You cross your arms and step closer to the window. You sense movement just beyond your vision and the realtor in her pantsuit comes down the front steps of the neighbouring house. She turns back to face someone you can’t see and speaks to him. Their words are garbled by the barrier of window and wall.

The woman smiles and spins to strut down to the sidewalk. A man follows after, a slow stroll in his long legs. He turns to face the house again and puts his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the facade. His eyes narrow as he considers it.

His gray hair is streaked with remnants of its former blond. If it wasn’t for the colour of his locks, you might not have guessed his age. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. He’s built finely for any era.

Your mother leans forward again, “heh, lookie there,” she slurs.

She leers through the window as you stare blankly out. A new neighbour just means another person to complain about the lawn; or another person for your mother to complain about. The man pivots on his sole and pauses, his gaze set in your direction. You don’t think he can see you, not with how the sun reflects off the square panes. He stalls for just a moment before he turns complete, striding up towards the realtor.

You back up and retreat toward the kitchen. You mother hums as she continues to snoop through the window. The recliner squeaks beneath her as she shifts in the seat.

“Bit old for a family man,” she tuts.

#dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #the girl next door #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america

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echo-coyote · 2 months

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[AU]

After Order 66 and the fall of the Rebuplic; Rex, Ahsoka, Echo, and with Clone Force 99’s help they gather a crew to liberate clones from the Empire

Raxshir Squad is the primary group that leads this movement, because they’re so swag and full of yolo

How Ahsoka wears a helmet shown below:

It’s modified to be worn like a mask, with her lekku tied back into a bun. Lekku should be styled more often, that’d be fun

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dykeblade · 2 years

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“I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog.”

@captainwestchester is writing a fic that is absolutely breaking my heart. quote from the beatrice letters

#my art #technoblade #grian #wilbur soot #philza #captainsparklez #mcyt #dreamsmp #mianite #hermitcraft #none of you get context btw. not until its posted #we did give the captain severe depression though. what no girl best friend does to a man #let me know if my phil is sexy to you it's for a survey #flightless bird au #2k

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jtl-fics · 1 year

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Fluent Freshman - Part 18

Weirdly enough the only thing that FF can think of as they head down the stairs is the first Saw movie.

That one happened IN a bathroom right? He kind of watched all of them in a row to prepare himself for whatever Andrew might decide to do to him. But he’s near positive that one happened in a bathroom. It was derelict and he didn’t think it really had running water (or did it? Didn’t the guy wake up in a half-full tub? His memory is hazy in his bathroom related desperation and may be trying to protect him from thinking about water).

All leading to the main thought going through his head as he slowly headed down the narrow stairway to his death.

Would Andrew let him use the facilities before he’s handcuffed to a pipe?

The worst part about all of this is that he is not sure if he needs to take a dump or if he just needs to fart, he knows he has to take a piss. He’s read that when you die your body will relax and it’ll all just flow out of you and Nicky gave him these pants so he feels bad but he also does not want to face his death without pants. If he needs to take a shit then they’re definitely going to be absolutely ruined, if it’s a fart well…Andrew can’t kill him any further? He can mutilate his corpse a little but FF won’t be around to experience it.

No matter what he’s definitely going to piss himself. He had way too much water at Sweeties trying to consume the spicy ice cream.

You may be wondering why FF has not run away from his predicament and is walking down these steps without protest or comment or plea for his life.

First of all he is pretty sure that if he makes any sudden movements he will ruin these pants that Nicky bought for him. Second of all Andrew had already told him once that he wouldn’t accept any pleading for mercy he still remembers how he asked Andrew, “Please give me back my pen?” and Andrew had shot him a look that had his stomach cramp and his fingers itch for the bottle sweet pink relief in his backpack.

“I don’t like that word, don’t use it around me.” He said.

FF ever the pragmatic sort, “Which one?” He had asked because he had said a few, “I don’t want there to be a misunderstanding.” He followed up with when Andrew glowered at him only for the glare’s intensity to increase 10 fold.

“Don’t use the first word of your first statement or the last word of your second.” Andrew grit out and got up to leave without a word.

Message received loud and clear Andrew did NOT like words ‘Please’ or ‘Misunderstanding’.

So FF knows that any pleading for mercy would ABSOLUTELY result in Andrew not letting him take a bathroom break before him and Captain Neil make destroying him into a couple activity. The fact that Captain Neil is here is a bit of a shock but maybe Captain Neil has finally gotten the other Freshman Dealer up to snuff.

Maybe Kevin really did want to dissect him to figure out how Strikers keep passing straight to him?

They reach the door at the bottom of the stairs.

Ah, time to face the music.

At least he’d texted Gran that he was going to die when they had gotten into the club and the bathroom had not made itself readily apparent. Sure it was about his current ‘gotta piss / gotta shit’ situation but he’d been wise to keep his cause of death vague in that text.

The door opens and…

This is the NICEST torture chamber FF has EVER seen. (And after his desperation watch of all the Saw movies he has seen quite a FEW)

“Minyard, Josten, and Guest. Table 6 is yours.” A voice comes from the side and when he looks over there’s a man in quite a nice uniform standing behind a soft-lit bar polishing a glass looking every bit like a bar tender at those high-end places you see in movies. He looks around a bit more and there are some other people down here. It’s not quiet per se but it is a comfortable level of noise in comparison to the IQ dropping noise upstairs.

“C’mon Smith.” Andrew juts his chin towards a table in the back.

FF follows but continues to try and fit this nice little room into his world view.

Do these people watch other people get tortured to death for fun on a Friday night? Unlikely considering the upholstery on the booths and chairs looked like it’d stain if blood got on it. Was this perhaps a trafficking location where Andrew would sell off his organs to the highest bidder? He looked at the other patrons who seemed a bit higher class than the general club scene upstairs but not like they had the money to buy one of his kidneys. Maybe-

“Do not tell Nicky about this place, ever.” Andrew says as they slide into the booth. FF nods but can’t help but tilt his head slightly in an unspoken question, “He would absolutely tell any and everyone about it. Eden’s wants to keep this place a secret from the general public.” Andrew explains.

“Nicky currently thinks that there’s a straight swingers club down here.” Captain Neil says with a huff of laughter.

“Eden’s is cool, even though there’s some sick shit in the basement.” Floats through his head again.

What the fuck was a swinger?

His fingers itch for his phone but he’s currently talking with Andrew and Captain Neil so that’d be rude but they’re talking to him like he absolutely knows what a swinger is and he DOES NOT.

“It’s quieter down here. Figured you’d prefer it.” Andrew says as he gets up and heads towards the bar down here where the bartender was aggressively cutting ice chunks.

He and Captain Neil sit in silence for a few seconds before Captain Neil offers him a slight smile, “I know you’d rather be with your grandma and you and Andrew prefer not to say things out loud but we’ve really liked hanging out with you.” Captain Neil says.

????????????????????????????????????????????????

That’s such a nice thing to say to someone.

Especially someone like FF.

Especially especially when they’re planning on killing him?

He hopes his confusion stays off his face as he nods once. “It’s been fun.” It’s not even really a lie. Thanksgiving yesterday had been nice and loud and FF had missed the chaos of a Family Dinner more than he had ever realized. The car ride had been…a time but once he’d asked Andrew to either keep his eyes on the road or let him out Andrew’s hands had stayed at 10 and 2 and the ride had been smooth. Aaron and Nicky’s weight against him had been nice too, a warm memory before he developed a possible life long aversion to whipped cream. He’d gotten to go Black Friday shopping and Captain Neil even helped carry it home for him. Baking bad been nice even if the stress of doing it with his life on the line was less so. The subsequent nap and day spent doing normal college guy things had been…it’d all been nice.

It’s starting to feel like….

“Drink this.” Andrew puts a drink down in front of him.

No Andrew definitely wants his bladder to burst.

“What is it?” He asks instead looking at the creamy looking drink with suspicion.

Andrew rolls his eyes as he hands Neil a fruity looking drink as he sits with what is a few fingers of scotch. “It’s virgin.” Andrew says not answering the question at all and must pick up that FF won’t be drinking it until he gets the full answer because he continues after a moment, “It’s like a Pina Colada but with bananas instead.” Andrew answers.

It’s not that FF hates banana but why in the world would Andrew grab him this? Was it just one of the few virgins options on this place’s fancy menu or-

“Bananas will help get your stomach acid back down.” Andrew says, “Since you’re an idiot and ate that mango ice cream just because you wanted to impress that girl.” He rolls his eyes.

“Impress that girl?” There weren’t any girls at the table and how in the world would him eating that god-forsaken spicy ice cream impress anyone other than Betsy. Even Betsy would only be impressed by the depths he was willing to reach just to avoid what he perceives as an awkward social situation.

“The waitress.” Neil reminds him as if that cleared anything up.

“Yeah,” he says as if he has understood the conversation but he has not. “It was spicy mango.” He says because maybe if he keeps the conversation going he’ll get enough context clues to understand what might be his last conversation.

Andrew let out a huff of laughter and pushed FF’s drink closer to him, “Drink your fancy Banana smoothie Casanova.” He says.

No closer to understanding the conversation he accepts that it might be something that only becomes clear after he sheds his mortal coil and is no longer given a -10 INT debuff by his full bladder and revolting stomach.

He takes a sip.

Oh that’s actually pretty good.

It feels like he can feel it sizzling in his stomach and soothing the discomfort there. Maybe he should look into Banana smoothies as a replacement for what Abby has called a ‘concerning co-dependence’ in regards to Pepto Bismol. No one can put him on a medical watch if it’s just banana smoothies he’s chugging down like they’re going out of style.

“Thanks,” he says, “that was good.” He admits before reaching into his jacket and moving past the Megamind toy and grabbing his wallet. “What do I owe you for that?” He asks.

“We’re even.” Andrew waves away the money.

“You bought the stuff for breakfast, those brownies, and the pie tomorrow.” Neil says and FF blinks surprised to hear that they were talking about the pie he didn’t think he was going to get the chance to make.

“You don’t need to buy a spot with us.” Andrew says and FF leans back slightly at the intensity on Andrew’s face as he says it. “I invited you here because I wanted to. The brownies were good but if you don’t feel like making the pie tomorrow? It’s not like I’m going to drive you back to Palmetto and leave you on Abby’s doorstep.” He says.

FF feels gears start to turn in his head.

“It’s good pie.” He hears himself say.

“I didn’t even know about the pie when I invited you.” Andrew says and…

Andrew and FF sit in silence but honestly it’s not like Andrew’s sharpening his knives. The two of them mostly just do their own work or read. FF has been getting his German literacy up to snuff so that he can read the language when he goes there to visit Nicky’s fiance next year. He likes how serious Andrew is about learning it so that he doesn’t have to ask Captain Neil a thousand questions and it’d be nice if Andrew wasn’t obviously planning on murdering him.

Andrew brings dried apples and sends Captain Neil along with probiotic yogurts to their meetings. Both of those things tend to soothe his stomach and the yogurt that had been unflavored before was now vanilla which he liked a fair bit. It would have been a really nice gesture if it wasn’t for the fact that Andrew was making fun of his tummy troubles.

Andrew will put his foot down in practice sometimes when Kevin is getting too demanding wanting to know exactly how FF intercepted his passes to Neil. Kevin always backs off and Andrew will do the same when Jack starts to get a little too personal in his attacks at FF or when Sheena decides she’s going to be a bitch. It’d be nice if it wasn’t Andrew staking his claim that he was the one who was going to make FF’s life miserable.

Andrew drove FF around for an hour after Greg had shown up. He found out later from one of his friends that Andrew had threatened Greg after he had power walked away into the building. Andrew had driven him around and had only started heading towards the tower when FF had relaxed. It would have been nice if Andrew wasn’t trying to lure him into a false sense of security.

Andrew had invited him to his Family’s house over Thanksgiving when the bad storm had ruined his Thanksgiving plans. Andrew had threatened Jack to stop him from eating his Grandma’s pie and complaining about it. Andrew had stopped messing around with Captain Neil when FF had made it clear he was uncomfortable being in a car where the driver wasn’t paying attention to the road. Andrew had twice made him go to bed in the last couple hours.

It’d be nice if…

“We’ve really liked hanging out with you” Captain Neil had said.

Andrew was just trying to be nice.

Embarrassment rolls over him like a wave but FF has many years of pretending like he’s not going to die from embarrassment, “Thanks for inviting me. I’ll still probably make the pie tomorrow.” He offers.

Andrew’s eyes change slightly and FF is under the impression that he’s happy to hear that.

“Just enjoy your drink Smith.” Andrew says.

FF does go back to sipping his drink and letting more and more memories of things Andrew had done come to him and lets his embarrassment grow.

He finishes his drink and only then realizes that he is a code red in terms of bladder capacity. The new knowledge that this is not a torture chamber but in fact yet another overture of friendship from Andrew paired with his desperation finally loosens the question from his mouth, “Where’s the bathroom here?” He asks.

“There isn’t one downstairs but just head up stairs and hug the wall to the left.” Captain Neil answers.

“Bring your phone. If Frank doesn’t recognize you to let you back in.” Andrew reminds him.

FF nods and heads out of the club and up the stairs.

He might be doing a bit of a potty dance so he forces himself to become unnoticeable because he does not need cool people at a cool club to see him about to piss himself. Once he enters into a stealth mode that the United States Military would like to talk to him about he hugs the wall and nearly cries tears of relief when he sees a door labelled MEN.

He doesn’t think about the possibility of letting up on stealth mode because he is sure that he is about to make a face that he does NOT want any human being to see when he unzips his pants and starts to take the world’s most life-affirming piss on the planet.

As his bladder empties his brain is able to process the understanding that he had come to down in the basement he had thought would be his final resting place.

Andrew has been trying to be nice (and succeeding it was all so nice! He feels like an asshole! He is an asshole! Gran always told him that assuming makes an Ass out of U and Me. He had just thought it was funny grandma humor not valuable life advice!)

The night wasn’t going to end with Andrew’s knife in his stomach, it was probably just going to end with Nicky puking on his shoes (which is fine because these are the shoes Nicky was letting him borrow for the club anyways, they’re his shoes to puke onto.)

A secondary relief fills his system. His stomach, soothed by the Banana smoothie and now this, feels like it might actually let him live through the night.

While FF was distracted with a piss that would have made any number of cult leaders jealous with the number of divine revelations he was experiencing he failed to notice a second man enter the bathroom.

There was a reason that FF always ALWAYS became noticeable when he was at a urinal and the man who came to the urinal right next to him was showcasing that VERY reason.

He was trapped here for at least ten more seconds and he could hear the man grumbling distractedly but didn’t really pay it too much attention until…

“Fucking Wesninski Brat.” He grumbled under his breath.

Oh god dammit.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear

#Fluent Freshman AU #FINALLY CAN PUT DOWN MY TAGS #You have no idea the number of times that I had to sing hollaback girl to myself during this #It was B-A-N-A-N-A-S #We have now closed the 'Andrew is going to crazy murder me' emotional arc #The 'Oh god if Andrew or Neil find out that I know Russian they're going to stop being my friends and hate me' arc begins #He's gotten a confirmed 3 friends today #And he got to go to the bathroom #He's riding a high #Not only is it 3 friends it is 3 friends who like him enough to invite him to spend the holiday break together #That's so nice #Andrew is so nice #FF cannot BELIEVE he thought Andrew 'eat these dried apples' Minyard was going to stab him #Captain Neil is lucky to have him #Also Andrew is lucky to have Captain Neil #Neil and Andrew are definitely down in the Speakeasy right now enjoying FF's bathroom break #Andrew's ordered FF another round of Banana daiquiri #Andrew: I can't believe he ate that ice cream. His stomach must have been killing him.#Neil: Yeah he was really pale and sweaty until he started drinking that banana drink #Neil: I'm a little worried about Smith finding the bathroom. Maybe I should go up?#Andrew hand on Neil's thigh: he'll be fine. We can go look if he's not back in 10.#AFTG AU #AFTG OC #AFTG #AFTG Shitpost #AFTG Fic #My Fic #Andreil #FF - Pt.18

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clarissasbakery · 1 year

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cheerleader becky stuff!! i think eileen would be a cheerleader too… also cheer coach powers looking like sue sylvester?? wow

#my art #wordgirl #wordgirl fanart #wordgirl art #wordgirl au #cheerleader au #becky botsford #miss power #eileen the birthday girl #captain huggyface #character design #character redesign #fanwork #art #fanart #illustration

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rockfangirl12 · 16 days

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Call me daddy again

Daddy Bucky Barnes x reader Warning: If you don't like the use of nicknames like daddy and doll, don't read this fanfic.

Your father had been a secret agent for SHIELD, and one day you found yourself visiting the agency's facilities. During your visit, you crossed paths with Bucky Barnes, a man whose gaze seemed to linger on you throughout the time you were there. Despite the professional environment, there was an undeniable connection between you, one that eventually blossomed into a relationship. Two years later, you found yourselves sharing an apartment together.

As you sat on the couch, the light from the television casting a soft glow in the room, you wrapped yourself in a cozy blanket, shielding yourself from the cool autumn air seeping through the windows. Your thoughts drifted to Bucky, who had left that morning on a mission and had yet to return as the sun dipped below the horizon.

The sound of the door opening snapped you out of your reverie, and there was Bucky, with a tired expression on his face and a plastic bag in one hand. A bright smile lit up your face at the sight of him.

"I thought you'd be sleeping, doll," Bucky commented, with a slight furrow of his brow.

"I couldn't sleep," you admitted, glancing at the bags he was carrying.

"Brought some takeout Chinese food, your favorite," he replied casually. Although Bucky wasn't always the most affectionate boyfriend in public, he had a way of showing his love through thoughtful gestures like bringing your favorite food home. His eyes lingered on you, unable to resist the sight of you wrapped up in the blanket. "You look so cozy," he remarked as he approached, taking a seat beside you and setting the bags on the coffee table.

"I am," you murmured softly.

You leaned in to give him a sweet kiss on the cheek, eliciting a smile from Bucky, though it also made his chest flutter a bit.

"You'd be even cozier with your head in my lap," Bucky suggested, drawing closer and wrapping an arm around you. His fingers traced gentle circles on your arm, and his expression grew slightly more serious.

You laughed at his unexpected comment, enjoying the spontaneous banter between you and the warmth that seemed to radiate from him.

"My head in your lap?" you repeated with a playful smile.

"Yeah," Bucky affirmed, his voice taking on a deeper tone. "Your head in my lap would be perfect. And if you wanted, you could even take a little nap."

You nestled your head in his lap, snuggling under the blanket as Bucky's warmth enveloped you. He couldn't help but feel a surge of contentment at seeing you nestled against him, his fingers gently tangling in your hair as he savored the moment.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked softly, his fingers continuing their comforting caress, though he made no effort to keep you awake.

"Yes," you whispered, enjoying the comforting sensation of his touch.

Your admission elicited a wider smile from Bucky, and he couldn't resist the urge to slide his other hand along the curve of your cheek, his thumb gently brushing against your lips. He was captivated by your beauty, perhaps even more so in this moment as you lay in his lap. Whatever the reason, he knew he wanted to hold onto this moment forever.

Seizing the moment, you gave his thumb a soft kiss, causing Bucky's head to spin with a mixture of affection and desire. For a moment, he simply gazed at you, completely captivated by your presence and the vulnerability you showed with your head in his lap.

"You're beautiful, doll," Bucky said.

"Really?" you asked, seeking confirmation in his gaze.

"Yeah," he replied without hesitation.

"I love it when you call me doll," you confessed with a shy whisper.

The confession drew another smile from Bucky's lips, who was more in love with you than ever. He had tried other nicknames with you: sweetheart, darling, beautiful, princess… but nothing seemed to fit as well as "doll." It seemed to be the perfect moniker for you.

"Okay," Bucky replied, sliding his thumb along your cheek. "I love thinking of you as MY doll."

"My doll?" you asked, seeking to understand the meaning behind his words.

"Yeah, all mine," he affirmed with an arrogant smile, leaning in a little closer to you. Despite his desire to embrace and kiss you, he restrained himself. Even though your head was resting in his lap, he didn't want to give in to the impulse. "My doll. My girlfriend. My woman," he continued softly, watching with adoration as you smiled. He had become addicted to your tenderness and couldn't imagine sharing you with anyone else. "And no one else can have you," he added with a slightly jealous tone, but filled with love and protection. "Just mine."

"You're so possessive, daddy," you said in a whisper, letting slip the nickname you had always wanted to say, especially in moments of shared intimacy.

The words hung in the air, charged with affection and desire. And though he felt a little overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, Bucky couldn't help but long to hear them again.

"Say it again," he demanded softly, his gaze fixed on your lips.

"What?" you asked, feeling a little shy under his intense gaze.

Bucky swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on your lips before leaning in to press a soft kiss against yours. Instead of deepening the kiss, he pulled back slightly, sliding his hand from your cheek to your neck as he held you gently.

"Call me daddy again," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand tightened slightly around your neck. Bucky had never been so possessive, but there was something undeniably intoxicating about this new side of him.

"Daddy," you whispered, the word falling from your lips like a whispered prayer.

Bucky's grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer to him until there was barely any space between you.

"That's right, sweetheart," he murmured as he caressed your neck. "Who's your daddy?"

You bit your lower lip slightly.

"You are."

Those were the words Bucky wanted to hear, and now he felt like he was about to burst. He couldn't help but lean in and press his mouth against yours, kissing and nibbling your lips with passion.

"That's right. I'm your daddy," he murmured between kisses. "And you're my good girl."

The feeling of your legs stretched out and your hands in his hair and cheek excited him even more. You were enjoying his dominance, which made him want to be even more possessive and dominant.

"Good girl," he purred, his fingers tightening around your neck until it almost felt like a collar. "Such a good girl," he added, as his hand began to slowly move toward the opening of your shirt. "We'll make sure my doll enjoys the night."

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kokokulto · 2 years

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New member of the Squidbeak Splatoon!

[TEXT] DJ Octavio: Marie, this is Callie. She’s your new cousin and friend. Isn’t it exciting? Marie: ... Marie: NO!!! Pwut hew bwack! (Put her back!) Captain Cuttlefish: Sorry squiddo, we can’t do that. DJ Octavio: Where did you get this attitude...

#cuttletavio #captain cuttlefish #capn cuttlefish #dj octavio #octavio takowasa #callie cuttlefish #marie cuttlefish #callie splatoon #marie splatoon #octograndad au #girl met her cousin for only 5 minutes and shes already flabbergasted!!!#UNAUTHORIZED THING!!! BLOW IT UP RIGHT NOW!!!#i like to think that these two old people love to remind their grand kids #of the cringe fail stuff they used to do and say #this is one of them

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chrlvctius · 9 months

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pov: you're leah's gf ‼️‼️

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leaentries · 4 months

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The Captain’s Girl

♡. fics!

↳ i want you to give in

↳ sauna (nsfw)

↳ claim (nsfw)

↳ don’t worry, i’m here

↳ shield

↳ absence and tension (nsfw)

↳ out of line

↳ riding high (nsfw)

↳ let them eat cake (nsfw)

↳ addictive (in progress)

↳ surprise (in progress)

♡. blurbs!

↳ late nights

↳ pretty girl (nsfw)

↳ pretty girl | part two (nsfw)

♡. anon thoughts!

↳ why does she have nightmares?

↳ her thoughts on nico’s hands

↳ jack & mrs.cap

↳ do they argue?

↳ are they kinky?

♡. extras!

↳ social media posts 1

♡. author’s note!

↳ welcome to my first interactive series/au! this is a full compilation of fics featuring nico hischier and his girl!

↳ please do not hesitate to send in any thoughts, asks, or requests between them! i love to hear from yall!

↳ this au DOES include 18+ content, so please be aware of what you’re reading. with that being said, there are pretty much no rules or limits (be smart) when it comes to thoughts or requests! if i do not feel comfortable answering, then it will simply be deleted or i will talk about why it was removed.

↳ i hope you all will enjoy reading about the captain and his girl as much as i enjoy writing them!

#the captain’s girl au!#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier smut #nico hischier angst #jack hughes #luke hughes #dawson mercer #njd #new jersey devils #leawrites💋

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 days

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the girl next door 14

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

This lewk but silverfox

Your bleary-eyed sleep drapes over you like a shroud. You sleep sways between bouts of heavy blackness and shallow delirium. You’re vaguely aware of your unfamiliar surroundings even as you sink into the depths of your unconscious. The rustle of leaves and buzz of crickets outside the window blend with the vacuities of your dreams.

You shift; your arm painful as it’s caught beneath you. Your eyelids stay slitted as you move your weight off it and wiggle your fingers, the numbness painful your elbow throbs. The canopy drapes like shadows around the posts and the ceiling is fuzzy above you. Your eyes threaten to roll back again as your drowsiness has you heavy.

The window casts shades of black and grey against the wall, a silverish blue tint hinting off the mirror. You babble, your throat and tongue prickly and dry, your temples thrumming. You groan as the feeling slowly seeps back into your arm.

The open door draws your gaze. You move your head to the side to see past your shoulder. You blink and squint. You can’t quite see past your own fatigue. Is someone there? You swear there’s a figure, ghostly in your blurred sight.

You close your eyes and something creaks, low and soft, as if the house is settling. You peek out beneath your lashes again. The shadow looms closer. It can’t be real. It doesn’t feel real. Your head lolls and you drift back into sleep.

You wake again. You don’t know how long after. The blanket hangs over the edge of the bed, a cool breeze blowing in through the open window. You’re on your stomach, your arm dangling over the side with the covers.

The coolness tickles your lower back and emphasizes the bareness of your skin. Your pajamas are low on your hips, the string undone. There’s a warmth nestled between your legs despite the goosebumps across the rest of your body. You roll onto your back, your shirt tangle up by your chest. It’s as if you’ve been thrashing in your sleep.

The door is open. Not just a little. All the way.

Your body is achy. You reach to pull the blankets off the floor. As you wrap yourself in them, you feel a wet spot on the sheet. You recoil and feel around your pants. You wouldn’t have had an accident. Maybe... oh no.

You sit up and set your feet. It takes effort to stand. Your hips hurt and your crampy. It must be your period.

You cross the room and turn on the light. You shut the door and pull down your pajamas. No blood. You touch yourself gently, delving meekly between your folds. They’re wet and swollen, tender even, but no blood on your fingers. You’ve woken like this before. You know it’s just... your biology. Still, it feel different, more than the usual discharge.

You shuffle back to the bed and check the sheet. There’s definitely something on it but you don’t know what it is. It seems too far down to be drool. Sweat? You peel apart the quilt and the sheet and heap the latter on the corner of the bed. You shut off the light and lay back down.

Despite your addled nerves, it doesn’t take much to get back to sleep. You wake only as the tweeting of birds punctures your subconscious. You groan and a gentle tap comes on the door frame. The door is already open as Steve stands in the frame.

“Uh, morning,” he says, “just checking if you wanted some coffee?”

You lift your head and stare at him. You sit up and hug yourself, pulling your shirt away from your chest as it clings to your shape. You try to shake the sleep away and wipe your eyes.

“If it’s okay, yes please,” you answer in a croak.

“Sure thing, sweetie,” he grips the frame and smiles. He only wears a pair of grey sweatpants and a muscle shirt. The top exposes his muscular arms and the side of his chest and ribcage. The neckline is unhemmed and gives a generous view of the top of his pecs. “Anything else you need?”

“No thanks,” you scratch your throat and turn your legs over the edge of the bed.

“You like waffles? French toast? I’ll make a good breakfast for you and your mom before you head out,” he offers.

“I think that’s okay,” you stand and cross your arms. “Is my mom awake?”

“I haven’t checked yet,” he says, “I let her have the bed to herself. She was really tired...” he gives a coy look, “and she snores.”

“Ah, yeah, okay,” you look at him awkwardly.

“You wanna wash up? Shower’s just down the hall,” he points over his shoulder with his thumb, “I can grab you a towel.”

“I’ll wait until I get home but uh, could I use the bathroom?”

“Yep, just down the hall on the right. I’m going to put the coffee on then come back to get your mom, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, slowly crossing the room.

He turns and strides off. You wait until he’s down stairs to go out in the hall. The bedroom across from his studio, the one you assume is meant for him, is shut. You turn right and find the bathroom.

You lock the door and rinse your face with cold water, trying to ease the tension in your forehead. You sit on the toilet, a tingly heat seeping from you as you let your bladder go. You linger, letting your pee trickle out as you hear Steve coming back up the stairs. You quickly wipe and pull up your pants.

You wash your hands slowly, listening through the wall. You hear the door then Steve calls your mom’s name. You look at yourself in the mirror. Something feels strange. You don’t know if it was the surreal night or just being in a different place.

You come out into the hall and see Steve in the bedroom, just by the half-open door. His face is pale as he holds his phone to his ear. He sees you and raises his hand, waving before he gently closes the door. What’s going on?

You stand there, uncertain, uneasy. Something’s going on. You hear his voice, the tone is tremulous. You pick your nails but you’re too nervous to knock and ask. You don’t want to overstep. You stand stuck in place, unsure what to do next.

Then you hear the sirens. They’re distant at first but get louder and louder. You turn to the stairs and rush down as they get closer. You go to the front door and unlock it. You open it as the ambulance stops right outside.

You watch the paramedics as they unload a gurney and roll it up the walk. It has to be a mistake. There's no reason for them to be here.

They come right up the porch, “miss, someone called us from this address?”

“They did?” You bat your lashes.

“Please, move,” the man says but not unkindly, just matter-of-fact, “we need to get inside.”

You step back and hold the door open. They carry the gurney upstairs and your heart shrivels up. You follow them to the second floor and they enter the main bedroom where Steve is. Where your mom is. You can hear their voices as they talk calmly and Steve’s as he tries frantically to explain.

“I don’t know... she was sleeping in here last night. She was fine. I put her to bed and I slept on the couch since she was snoring and... she won’t wake up. I tried to... I tried. I felt a pulse but she’s not responding--”

“Sir, we got it. Why don’t you go catch your breath?” A man says.

“I’m sorry, I usually... I’m not like this. I was in the army, I know... I know CPR--”

“It’s okay, sir, just let us get her out of here. We’ll take care of her,” the paramedic says.

Your eyes fill with tears. The world around you dulls and static scratches in your ears. Steve comes out as your lips part and you gape at him dumbly. He comes to you, touching your arm as his voice garbles in your fuzzy brain. You blink at his chest and suddenly, you’re pressed against it.

He hugs you tightly as he rocks you. You hear his heart racing. Or is that yours?

You sniffle, too weak to pull away from him, “is my mom okay?”

He pets your head and coos, “I don’t know, sweetie, but they’re gonna help her, alright? She’s going to the hospital.”

“Hospital,” you echo numbly. “Hospital?”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america #the girl next door

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daisychainsandbowties · 10 months

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thinking a normal amount about a treasure planet au. Beatrice on her solar kiteboard, doing the daredevil flip sequence framed against the setting sun and then getting hauled kicking and screaming back to her parents’ house in manacles with a defiant expression on her perpetually dirt-smudged face.

climbing out the window at the first opportunity to go down to the dockside inn, making nebulous plans to steal her kiteboard back but ending up down at the edge of the dock staring past her boots and into the mists. gripping tight to the wood beneath her as she looks up at the sky and dreams of anywhere but here, of stealing a skiff to get off this planet. a reluctant twinge at the thought of going alone.

Bea with all her star maps and her intricate knowledge of spaceships and their solar sails and how to navigate out there where the artigrav net is all that stands between you and floating through nothing, forever.

startling when she hears the familiar sound of someone booking it down the pier on wooden crutches. night has already started to speckle the sky above, and as she listens to the thunk of the crutches on the pier, Bea thinks of the complicated metallic lattice she has on her desk at home, partly disassembled because she’s still trying to work out parts of the engineering. Ava’s birthday is in a month.

she has to stay that long, and then she’ll leave. she will.

turning to watch as Ava races towards her with soup stains on her shirt and messy hair jammed flat beneath a ‘pirate’ hat she bought off of a traveling salesman last year. the tricorn wobbles precariously on her head as she moves. Beatrice just waits, a slight smile on her face.

there are bruises high on each of her arms, from the pincer-like grip of the police bots, manhandling her away from her kiteboard to snap manacles around each wrist.

she rubs at the skin there, but ignores the bruises.

when Ava arrives, a little out of breath, Beatrice holds up a hand so she can help herself down onto the pier. there’s no water beneath them, only a few hundred meters of empty air and curling mist.

Ava keeps one hand on Bea’s and the other on her shoulder, letting the crutches clatter down between them as she sits.

“Mom says you got arrested again,” Ava says cheerfully. “She says they’re threatening to send you to prison.”

Beatrice shrugs, “I wouldn’t mind it, so long as my parents did not visit.”

Ava’s fingers are covered in bright red band-aids, from chopping vegetables all day with her poor hand dexterity. Beatrice watches the colours blur as Ava punches her in the arm, right on the bruises. “Liar, I know you’d miss me.”

her arm throbs painfully, but Beatrice’s expression is carefully neutral as she responds.

“I might.”

she stays with Ava that night, both of them reading her old book with its floating images of ships and canons and pirates leaping from vessel to vessel. Captain Flint, materialising out of empty space to steal away gems and gold, “the loot of a thousand worlds.” Ava traces the projected lines of the solar sails with her fingers as they flicker into being.

Beatrice has repaired the book over and over, making the colours brighter and sharper. the tiny shapes of pirates all made up of light. Ava has the book open on Bea’s chest as she lies next to her, legs all entangled in the sheets they’ve kicked off because the night is so warm.

she seems oblivious to how Beatrice’s breath hitches at almost every touch.

they’re almost asleep when they hear the explosion, a ship crashing into the cliff-side, tumbling over and over before they hear the pop and hiss of heated metal. a bloom of smoke outside the window.

Beatrice gives Ava a piggyback ride down the stairs just before Ava’s ‘mom’, Suzanne, emerges with her pulse-rifle primed, hair loose around her shoulders.

they stumble into the yard and discover a pirate, a robot, still bleeding from a wound in his abdomen, crawling from the wreck of his ship. Beatrice heaves a shard of twisted metal away from him and finds the surface slippery with blood.

behind her, Ava sways a little, shivers in the cold air, but she’s still standing when Beatrice turns back to her.

the dying pirate tells them almost nothing useful. he’s half-mad, cluching at Beatrice’s shirt until the seams tear at the collar, then turning to Ava. he fetches out a lockbox from his ship, blood spilling onto the ground at the movement. unlocks it and takes odd sphere from inside.

it drops into Ava’s palm as he rasps, “Whatever you do, don’t let them find it.”

then he wheezes, shudders, stills.

they stare at him, Ava’s free hand finding Bea’s, holding tight.

“Is he… dead?” Ava’s voice in the silence and the dark.

“I think so.”

then, in a burst of light and sound, in a shockwave of displaced air, a ship plummets down out of the clouds, pulling up an instant from the ground.

this second ship looms down out of the sky, pirates dropping from it and suddenly Suzanne is screaming at them to “GET INSIDE” from an upstairs window as she takes potshots at the misshapen shapes swarming down lines of hempen rope.

the air lights up with orange and yellow as explosions ripple down towards the crashed ship, towards the inn. Bea flings one of Ava’s arms around her neck and sprints for the door, Ava holding the sphere (or map?) tightly against her chest.

she sets Ava down gently onto one of the bar stools, runs back to barricade the door. her face is flushed, streaked somehow with engine grease and robot blood, which is black and slightly acidic.

they exchange a wide-eyed look, too much meaning in it to parse as explosions rock the floor. Ava has both hands clutched around the sphere.

they both almost scream as Suzanne runs down the stairs in a blur of dressing gown and gun. she has Ava’s crutches in one hand and her rifle in the other. she kisses Ava quickly on the forehead, “Thank the tides you’re safe.” leaves her with the crutches and then goes to fetch an ancient-looking blaster pistol out from behind the bar, presses it into Beatrice’s hands. “You know how to use this?”

“No!”

“Aim it away from your own face.”

and then there are pirates all around the house, glass breaking and fire crackling. Beatrice takes up the rear, pistol pointed at the front door as it bulges under the pressure of pirates flinging their bulk into it again and again.

they climb out of a window, Suzanne producing a kitchen knife and jamming it into the neck of a pirate loitering uncertainly outside the bolted shutters. there, covered by a tarp, is Suzanne’s old motorcycle with a sidecar attached. lantern-bugs scatter out from under it as Suzanne throws the old tarp away, gestures for Beatrice and Ava to climb in as she covers them with her rifle.

there’s a roar from somewhere in the dark and Suzanne fires a shot, hops onto the motorcycle and revs the engine. then they’re moving, pirates parting before them like the ocean neither of them have ever seen, the vast bodies of water that don’t even exist on this planet.

they seek refuge with Jillian, an archaeologist who frequents the old inn, claiming that she can’t make her coffee taste of anything but soap. she examines the orb, reluctantly passed into her hands by Ava, her and Bea wrapped in an old blanket, sitting by the fire in Jillian’s immense study.

Jillian fiddles with it for an age before sighing, looking almost angry with herself.

“I can’t… seem to make this work.”

Ava holds out her hand, silent. “let me try,” and Beatrice makes a face at Jillian when she hesitates.

the pirate gave the sphere to Ava; it’s hers.

it seems much larger in Ava’s small grip. she looks down at it for a while before her fingers start to move, slow but gathering momentum as she presses the little grooves and switches and indents on the sphere.

until it lights up, showing a map of the known universe, and parts of it that are unknown.

“Is that-” Beatrice feels her words drop away, like the ground beneath the pier where she has passed so many hours sitting with Ava’s hand in hers.

Ava turns to Beatrice, eyes bright as a pair of stars, “It’s treasure planet.”

#treasure planet au #warrior nun #avatrice #and yeah what about cyborg shannon & mary her first mate and their (pirate) spaceship/ literally just an 18th century frigate #thinking of shannon growing increasingly fond of beatrice who helps her with her star charts and the calculations for navigating space #both of them of course planning their betrayal but looking at these two girls slowly realising they're in love #furious conversations in the captain's cabin and lilith up in the crows nest half the time. cam pestering her with tea #🥹🥹 ava with morph the little pink blob who sure yeah belongs to shannon but hangs out 'spying' on mary in the kitchen #i just think ava and bea should run away and accidentally join a pirate crew together #it'll be fun (i say remembering the Black Hole Incident)#anyway maybe i will write this idk

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