#salt seems too mild a word for what's going on

[gfcheol]

confidently lost | k. mingyu

pairing: mingyu x reader

genre: smut (this is really filthy i'm so sorry lmao)

word count: 2.8k

tags: dilf!mingyu, divorced!mingyu, babysitter!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, mingyu early 40s), daddy kink, sir kink(?), mommy kink (mingyu wants to make reader a mommy), breeding kink, mild size kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex

summary: it's not easy to work your way through college, luckily for you, your babysitting job pays exceptionally well. and your boss is absolutely gorgeous.

you'd never really been fond of the colour grey. the way moody clouds clogged up the sky with cold indifference; or the concrete jungle of the city urged you to succumb to stressful days - it had always left an uneasy feeling within you. there was no warmth to it, no playful side, no joy, nothing.

although you'd found a new appreciation for it, once you started working for your current boss - mr kim mingyu. grey looked different on him. his suits seemed elegant, rather than arrogant. there were no harsh edges around him, nothing cold in his radiant smile or his salt and pepper hair. he was a kind, dedicated and gorgeous man, who always treated you with kindness, no matter how late he came home. and on top of all that, he was also a wonderful father. he was able to make a color as hopeless as grey shine.

"mr kim", he had introduced himself with a firm handshake, keeping his gaze steady as you felt your whole body flare up. "although mingyu's just fine with me. you're from uh- what are they called again? 'tiny treasures', right?"

you must have looked like a fish out of water then, gawking at him with wide eyes and parted lips, as though he had two heads standing on his shoulder. as much as you had tried, your eyes kept wandering to his broad chest and tall frame, feeling almost entranced by his presence alone. "uh- yes, mr kim. i'm currently still in college, so this is me trying to uh- make some money on the side. your daughter's two, right?"

"eunji's birthday is in december, she'll turn three then. i work from nine to five - her mother only gets her every second week of the month, so i appreciate any help i can get around the house", his smile had almost knocked the breath out of your lungs. even then you had known that this was going to be a problem. "and it's mingyu, sweetheart."

"when do you want me to start?", you'd merely replied, voice sounding disgustingly nervous.

his smile had turned into a smirk. "when are you able to?"

working for him simultaneously felt like a dream and like an absolute nightmare. yes, he might be a kind boss and eunji was nothing short of adorable. even his house seemed almost too perfect to be true. you were very certain of the fact that his job probably payed him handsomely - judging by his designer clothes and the many expensive toys eunji was entertained with. and yet, you felt this strange expanding in your chest sensation, whenever mr kim handed you your payment for the day. maybe he made you feel uneasy with his perfect little life as a confident man in his early fortys. maybe you felt like you didn't quite belong there, despite his welcoming presence.

or maybe, just maybe, it was your massive crush on him that fueled your anxiety. but who was to say?

"oh, shi- did i wake you two?", your ears perked up at the sound of your employer's voice, fingers still entangled in his daughter's soft hair. soft snores escaped her parted lips, her tiny arms holding still holding on to your torso. no matter how much you enjoyed hearing eunji's tiny giggles, you still felt relieved once she finally calmed down enough to fall asleep.

"hm? oh no, don't worry, sir", you replied, voice hushed. "uh sorry- do you mind taking her? my legs are starting to fall asleep."

"oh no, we can't have that", he chuckled, rounding the coffee table to lift her up from your lap, placing a soft kiss on top of her head. there were smile lines around his eyes as his beamed down at you and you swore, you could feel your heart skip a beat.

sure, you were quite aware of the age difference between you two. and yes, you were also quite aware of how stupid it would be, to start fucking your boss as someone who needs his money to go through college. but by god - were you not allowed to fantasize even a little bit?

he was goddamn gorgeous. his chest was broad, shoulders wide, biceps bulging even in dress shirts, and worst of all - his smile. there was always this wolfish glint in his eyes whenever he gifted you with a smile that left you questioning your sanity. it felt both, dangerous and exciting - as if you were breaking the rules just by talking to him. sometimes in moments like these, it did feel like he knew what kind of effect he had on you. and worst of all - he seemed like he found enjoyment in it. although you decided it'd best to bury that thought as deep as you could in the depth of your mind. who could afford to hope for something so naive?

your eyes followed him as he carried his daughter to her room, stretching your legs from underneath you. you hummed in relief at the blood rushing to your feet once again, letting your head fall back on the couch. exhaustion spread through your body, only suppressing a yawn with great effort. you were so ready for bed at this point.

"thank you again for coming in so late", mingyu sighed out, closing the living room door behind him with a soft 'click'. "i know, you usually don't really do weekends."

you offered him a faint smile. "oh please, it's nothing, mr kim. was there an emergency at the office or something? if i'm allowed to ask, that is."

to your surprise, he paused for a second, smile slightly faltering, before he moved to run his fingers through his hair. "it's mingyu, darling", the response felt automatic at this point but still never failed to make you feel all giddy. "i know you mean well, but i feel like i belong in a retirement home everytime you call me by my last name."

"i'm sorry, mr mingyu."

he snorted at that, casually leaning against the doorframe. "so she's afraid of using my name, but not afraid of teasing her boss?"

the heat that spread on your face felt unbearable to you, and yet you merely offered a shrug, suppressing the urge to giggle like a teen with a crush. "who said i was afraid?"

"if not afraid then-", his head tilted to the side, glancing up and down your still seated body. you felt so very exposed under his gaze, sinking further into the couch cushions. "is it nervousness? do i make you nervous, sweetheart?"

"n- do i have any reason to be nervous?" your question may have been bold, but the look of surprise on mr kim's face was worth the embarrassment crawling into your skin.

another pause on his end. his eyes trailed off into the distance, chasing something only he was aware of, his hands busy rolling up his sleeves. "i had a date today."

oh. oh fuck.

despite yourself, you felt your heart sink. how silly of you to hold any sort of expectations in regards to him. what did you think was going to happen? he was a grown man, free to do whatever who whomever he wanted, without any kind of obligation to his damned babysitter. "oh?", you flinched at the sound of your voice, sounding meek even to your own ears. "that's great. i hope it went well?"

just like that, he snapped back into reality, attention zeroing in on you. his smiley demeanor faded, replaced with an intensity you usually only saw from him during very particularly draining workdays. "i know eunji has a mother, i'm not looking for a replacement. she's my everything - i'd do anything for her, so it's... difficult to make the right decision on who's allowed into our lifes."

"your date sounds like a very special lady to be allowed such a privilege." mr kim sat on the edge of the sofa, the distance between you feeling almost too much to bare. he nodded along to your words, keeping his eyes trained on your face. were he any other man you'd try to escape his look, but you found yourself transfixed by him - unable to move even one muscle.

"that's exactly my dilemma", he frowned, arm stretching out across the back of the sofa, hand suspiciously close to the back of your head. "i already have someone to take care of my baby girl, and she does such a fantastic job too."

"that's- so kind of you to say, sir." his fingers brushed against your hair and you felt like you could die right then and there. you couldn't help but lean into his soft touch, a faint gasp escaping your lips. "i- i enjoy working here quite a lot! eunji's wonderful. such a quick learner too."

he hummed in response to your neediness, boldness shining through as he inched closer to you, until you felt the hear radiating off his body. "y'know...", he trailed off, voice raspier than just a moment ago. "all i kept thinking, while i sat there with this lovely lady was how i already have my two girls waiting for me at home."

you didn't feel like breathing anymore. "mr kim?"

"fuck-", his hand travelled from your hair to your cheeks, squeezing your lips together between his fingers in a swift motion. his face was so close now, you could make out every fine line on his handsome face, his breath ghosting across your skin. "you always look so pretty with my daughter in your arms. would make any man think."

his lips were so close to yours now, if you wanted to you could simply lean forward to connect yours with his, yet your remained still under him. "i've- i never wanted to assume intent, sir. i love... being around you and eunji."

"tell me you don't want this, sweetheart. tell me and i'll stop at once."

a whine. "i want you so fucking bad, sir."

the kiss was everything you could have hoped for. he tasted like way too expensive wine, feeling intoxicated just by the taste alone. his hands roamed your torso, trailing up and down your sides, groaning into your mouth. you felt electrified connected to him, static shock alerting your every nerve of his taste, his weight on you, his sounds.

"feel so good, sweetheart", he rasped as he grinded against your hips. "let daddy treat you well, yeah?"

the moan you left out at the nickname was involuntary, arching your back off the couch, you felt like a fucking mess. "oh fuck- daddy."

he laughed softly, toying with the top buttons of your blouse. "not mingyu but daddy?", his tongue swiped across his bottom lip. "wanna be a good girl for daddy? so needy for me, fuck."

one by one, he opened your blouse tantalizingly slow, teasing you every so often with a small kiss to the corners of your lips. all you could do was whine out your complaints, holding on to his shoulders, rubbing your palms against the soft material of his shirt. mingyu hissed at the sight of you in your bra, head dipping low to mouth at the top of your breasts.

pushing your chest out, against his face, you whined out a string of curses. your body felt too sensitive, every touch and every kiss setting you ablaze with want. you tried your best to look for any sort of friction, your panties already clinging to your wet cunt.

"shhh", he cooed, freeing your tits out of their confines. "don't wanna wake up our girl, right mommy?"

your eyes widened, head snapping up to meet his dark gaze. even through your hazy mind, you could feel your heartbeat quickening at his words. he met your expression with a smirk. "would you like that, honey? give eunji a sibling? become a mommy yourself?"

your response was immediate, your lips crashing into his once with newfound need, fingers finding purchase in his greying locks. pushing against him, he landed on his back, lying there with awe in his eyes as you climbed right on top of him. the feeling of his hard on in his trousers overwhelming you as you ground your hips against him in a rocking motion. the friction against your clit, letting you moan out in desperate pleasure.

his hands landed on your hips, your skirt all bunched up, revealing your thighs to him. guiding you into a steady rhythm, he couldn't help but gently thrust up into you. he grit his teeth, hissing at a particular pointed angle. "let me stretch you out first."

"n- no, wanna feel you now, daddy", you responded, hands on his pecs. "don't care if it hurts."

"there's no 'if' in this, baby", he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut in concentration. "are you sure?"

frantically, you nodded your head 'yes', hips still slowly circling against him, addicted to the pleasure shooting through you. mingyu softly pushed against you, hands making quick work of his zipper. with a sharp hiss, his cock jumped free, your mouth watering at the sight alone.

he was fucking huge - without a doubt the biggest you ever had so far. his tip already glistening with precum, you reached out with trembling hands, thumb swiping across his leaking slit. "shit", mingyu groaned out, trying his damnedest to keep his hips from bucking up. your fingertips trailed along his greying happytrail, relishing in the subdued noises he couldn't keep quite in.

shifting in his lap, you pushed your panties to the side, shuddering at the feeling of cold air hitting your cunt. "gorgeous", he said, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs. "and already so wet for daddy?"

"yeah, all f- for daddy." you let yourself slide up and down his length, coating him with your wetness, before aligning the tip with your pulsating cunt. his eyes met yours for a brief second, the hunger in them almost consuming you whole. without any prior warning, he finally rocked up into you.

not even halfway in, you already felt stuffed, tears forming in your eyes as you worked to accommodate his sheer girth. the stretch was deliciously painful, nails digging into the back of his hands.

mingyu did his best to soothe you, fingers rubbing gentle circles into your clit, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "'m so sorry, baby. i know it's too big", he cooed. "you need a- fuck- you need a second?"

as stubborn as ever, you shook your head with a pout on your lips, sinking further down on him. "hurt so good."

"yeah?", he half moaned, half hummed. "you like getting your cunt stretched out by just a- anyone? or is daddy special?"

once fully inside, you felt yourself clench around him, wetness dripping down his balls. the squelch of you moving up his cock sounded almost pornographic to your ears, the added stimulation of his fingers on your clit, forcing soft moans out of you. "no, just f- for you!"

even though the pace was agonizingly slow, you couldn't trust yourself to move any faster, thighs already trembling from the pleasure coiling in your stomach. though mingyu's resolve seemed to run slim, as he pushed himself off the cushions, pressing his chest against yours. the material of his shirt rubbing against your nipples as he thrust into you again and again, new pace making you head spin.

"oh fuck", you mewled, face buried in the crook of his neck. mingyu showed no mercy on you, his motions swift and smooth, fingers still expertly on your clit, working you towards your orgasm. everything felt like too much and yet not nearly enough. your mind was empty, fully succumbing to the heat in your stomach.

"you gonna cum f'me? let me fucking fill you up?", he grunt out his question.

with a shaky nod, you squealed into his shirt. "yes, fuck! please, sir-"

"oh fuck." and with a loud smack against your ass, you finally burst, vision turning white. you felt his pace stutter at your orgasm, chanting his name like a prayer. and all through that, mingyu kept his pace, fucking you through it like his life depended on it.

as soon as you felt your body go limp from exhaustion, he hoisted you up from his lap, laying you on your back, before he started drilling into you once again. with no more regard to your pleasure, he moved almost animalistic, panting right next to your ear. there was something insanely hot about the way he chased after his own release, using your body however he saw fit.

you let out a whine. "need your cum in me, daddy. fillin' me up to make me a m- mommy."

his hips stuttered at that, pressing kisses to your neck as a reward. "you want my cum?" and with one last thrust he stilled inside you, pumping you full. "then fucking take it."

if you'd felt full before, this was nothing compared to it, ropes of cum flooding your cunt and spilling out of you. you vaguely thought about the promise of pregnancy that mingyu mentioned, a soft smile gracing your lips as you pressed a soft kiss on to his temple.

his hands felt heaven sent as he smoothed over the skin of your thighs, feeling content with the silence between you two. when he finally lifted his head to look at you, there was a glint shining in his eyes that wasn't quite there before - and for a moment, you imagined what he might have looked like at your age. "hi."

you snorted. "hi yourself."

"this was amazing", he leaned to kiss you, careful as not to crush you with his weight. "i meant what i said, sweetheart. i don't want anyone else but you - if you'll have me."

the question seemed almost ridiculous as you grinned against his lips. "you're silly to think i wouldn't."

"hmm", he sighed. "all mine now."

#mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #svt x reader #svt smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut

[moondirti]

13. A CHALLENGE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter twelve / chapter fourteen ⇀

summary: you ask for a challenge. miguel gives you one worth your salt

mature | 10.2k words warnings: praise kink, mentorship with benefits, sparring, sexual tension, loads of banter/flirting, mild angst, sexual fantasies (including blowjobs), insecurity, blood and injury, mentions of death, dirty talk, arousal notes: i know y'all hate me after that end

Sunday, 14:45

“How long’s it been?” You urge, voice strained with thinning breath. 

Miguel – for all his insistence that you push yourself beyond normal measure – doesn’t seem to hear you, gazing off into a distant corner. His forehead looks especially flickable from this angle, in this particular moment, and you have to curl your fist to quell the urge as it arises.

“Hm?” He hums, finally snapping out of it when you walk to the stretch of ceiling above him, intruding on his eyeline. The conditioned air of the gym itches the parts of you that are damp with sweat, particularly that exposed by your drooping shirt, draped under your bra to reveal your abdomen. Gooseflesh pocks your skin.

“The time.” 

“Right.” He blinks, lifting his wrist to pause the stopwatch he’d set, then makes a small noise. “Double the last. You’re getting better.” 

“Yeah, well–” To dispense the effects his praise has on you, you turn to make your way over to the pull-up bars at the back. They were your means of getting up on the ceiling, and they’re your way off. “S’not really difficult. I’m just hanging, trying not to throw up.”

“You could start practising on walls. It’d make the whole ‘getting down’ process easier.” He says, almost admonishes. As good as you’ve gotten at defying gravity upside down, you’ve stayed clear of testing your luck by doing so perpendicularly. “Not to mention, accessible. You won’t always have conveniently placed support to help you.” 

“I don’t quite trust it yet.” Because you don’t, and it’s hard to imagine you will. The whole idea feels like a big fuck you to every physics lesson you’ve ever digested. “It makes no sense.” Swinging off the bar, you make sure to land on a wide stance to prevent your tumble. Your extremities have long since numbed, and you’ve already learnt your lesson on how that generates a lack of stability for the first few seconds until adjustment. “If everything in the universe operates on the same laws, I won’t be the exception.” 

“You’re right.” Miguel ducks to fetch the bottle you left beside him, handing it over before you can ask. “You wouldn’t be. Several spiders manage it just fine.” 

“Several spiders also have several one-ups on me.” The cold slice of water cuts through your thirst, tamping the headache you could sense starting at your sinuses. Recovery, in absolute contrast to your endurance, has cut by half. You’re recuperating from exertion a lot quicker than before.

“Like?” 

“Failsafes in case they fall. Web-shooters, assistive gear.” You neglect to broach the topic of your own infallible; him, never too far out of reach. Not only would its mention go against your point, you’re still unsure of the nature of his aid – whether he would catch you if the severity of the situation did not call for it. If he’s here because you need him, or in commitment to a duty beyond your understanding. 

(Tallying what you know about Miguel, you’d bet on the latter.)

“Everyone starts somewhere.”

“Very helpful, thanks.” You’d offer him your drink, but even the thought of his lips touching where yours once did makes you flush with molten heat. Late at night, tucked on your bed as you watch the highway leading to Second Base, you strain to remember what they felt like, mashed to yours in a laser confined cell. If you knew back then how things would end up, maybe you would’ve savoured it for longer. “Experience too. With the constant danger they face, they pretty much have to equip every skill at their disposal.” 

“Is that what you want, then – danger?” He teases, mouth curling in a downwards smile. You’re too quick to shake your head. That word, want, still haunts you.

“You’re missing the point.” 

“Am I, now.” 

“I’m just saying,” Biting your cheek, you scramble for a fitting sentiment. Nothing quite encapsulates the crux of your little tangent, and you can’t help but compare yourself to Miguel. No matter how far the conversation strays, he always finds a link to tie it altogether. Unshakeable, poised. Like the sun, pulling comets into its orbit until they shine brilliantly, their tails forged under the radiation pressure. “A challenge might hit your lessons closer to home. Y’know, thrill, adrenaline – forcing me to resort to lengths I wouldn’t typically go to, instilling in me all the marks you want me to land on.” 

(But if he’s the sun, what would that make you? Pluto, far on the other side of the solar spectrum, barely doing enough to keep its cosmic status? Even dwarf planets have their pull, some force strong enough to accrete nearby matter, and so it seems ill-fitting.)

Your mentor accepts your argument regardless, nodding minutely. 

(Perhaps you’re the comet itself – coming from nowhere, heading nowhere, meant for the one, singular event that could give your existence meaning. That crossing paths with a star, to burn brightly in its influence before dissolving into nothing.)

“Similar to the planking exercise we do. Up the stakes and simulate something real for you.” 

We. Your stomach lurches to your chest and you have to swallow it back before speaking. “Y-Yeah.” 

“Te entiendo. Alright.” He agrees. “If that’ll get you to make progress. Come.” You follow him to the centre of the room, stumbling over hurried strides until you reach the combat training mat. “You remember our first day here.” 

“Feels like centuries ago, but yes.” You respond, assuming he means the premiere lesson of yours, betiding this very spot. You’d christened it by letting him fuck your throat, and that’ll forever be the memory that occurs to you so long as you keep returning to this gym. It’s hard to forget.

“What did I ask you to do?” 

“Er– Pin you down.” Your pitch drops an octave in an effort to mock him. “Three seconds, and you’ll have proved your point.” His inflection is tough to nail down, though – unique to the broad-shouldered form that affords his vocal folds more space, subtly curled where his accent comes through. You end up sounding like a parched frog more than you do him. 

He shakes his head, nose twitching. It’s a vague quirk that says nothing about his amusement. 

“As I recall it, you couldn’t.” 

“As I recall, I was kept quite busy.” You, of course, are referring to his cock and it’s wedging into your mouth. And if he didn’t get the implication on word alone, then your lewd miming of the act fills in what gaps remain. Miguel sighs, waiting for your redolence to subside to continue. Though his weight shifts from one foot to the other, like he’s ridding himself of the tension that swells at your suggestion, and the small action speaks louder than what he likely intends. To think that you might have the same effect on him as he does you, however physical, is a tempting thing. 

“Before that.” 

You acquiesce, arm flopping uselessly to your side. “Sure. Though to be fair, I’ve no knowledge on how.”

“Good.” He crosses his arms. “We’re going to try again.” 

“Right now?” 

“No.” 

“Well don’t keep me in suspense,” Rolling your eyes, you start to fold your sleeves to sit above the elbow. “Or next thing I know, I’m trapped in a cage with Rhino and a knife for defence.” 

That drives a chuckle from him. It’s warm and coarse and low, and with the way your stomach churns at the sound, you hardly care that it’s at your expense. “Proper spectacle that would be. You wouldn’t last ten minutes. The best I’d give you is a weaponless Vulture.” 

“Are you forgetting that I took down a symbiote on my own? Where your first instinct was to throw punches at it.” You huff. “They’re regenerative!” 

“An oversight on my part. ‘Course, I didn’t want to get involved in the first place.” His chin practically sits on his chest now, tipped down to look you face-to-face. It’s the way through which you realise how close you’ve gotten, nose millimetres away from his forearm. He smells infuriatingly clean – fresh patchouli aftershave, soap, clothes fragranced from the laundry, familiar only because you use the same detergent. “Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for you, your opponent continues to be me.”

“And you want us to wrestle.” 

“Given a few caveats.” He shrugs when your expression pinches. “To make it more real.” 

“Okay…” 

“Today will continue as is. I’m going to teach you the basics of taking down a larger opponent and we’ll drill it until you understand.” You cut his explanation into small fragments for better digestion – takedown, larger than you, drills – and show your attendance with wide eyes, following as he circles you. “Pinning me down in a static setting is simple enough. Your challenge is to do so unexpectedly, somewhere outside of this gym. Within the next week, I want you to sneak up on me and staple me to the ground for upwards of three seconds. Anywhere, any time of the day; so long as you aren’t following me on missions, it’s all up to you. Take me by surprise, use it to your advantage. But remember–” 

You cock your head, earnest. As he speaks again, it’s seven trumpets to armageddon, deep punctures to the anticipative silence you’ve built.

“When you come for me, I won’t be holding back.” 

Ribs echoing with the rattle of your rapid heartbeat, you wipe your palms on the loose fabric of your sweats and take longer than you perhaps need to register his dare. He wants you to act much like a hero would on a stealth operation. That’s fine. You can do that. You’ll be taught on how to disable him and all that’s left is the matter of covertness, in which you have an advantage given your newfound ability to walk on the overturned pathways of HQ. Except–

“Wouldn’t your spider-sense–” 

He shakes his head. No. And though he doesn’t state it explicitly, you’re reminded of his claws and how divergent they are to the standard spider-power. It seems, then, that he differs in more ways than one. No enhanced intuition. You couldn’t imagine. 

But it’s new. Exciting. It’s exactly what you needed, and again, you’re left wondering how he’s gotten so good at reading you. If in place for his deficits, he’d been granted a supernatural knowledge on body language. Even now he’s looking, studying your restrained appearance for a hint of your feelings on the subject. You give it to him with a devilish smile.

“That the best you got?” 

“Big talk.” He winds around you, positioning behind your back. “We’ll see how you feel in seven days.” 

“Glorious, having kicked your ass ‘n’ all.” 

“Okay, sparks. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Miguel says, before patting your hip. His hand is heavy, and you brace yourself against the urge to shiver under it. “Most people are left leg-leaning. Not always, but it’s a statistic you can count on for learning. Put it forward. I’ll show you how it’s done.” 

You do as he says, adjusting to an open posture, slanting your torso so your head faces the same direction as your left foot. The man appears in front of you after making a few corrections, mirroring your effort. 

“Because I’m anticipating what leg you’ll resort to, I’ll bring my right leg forth. Always match same side foot. It’ll give you leverage towards your opponent’s vulnerable areas.” You sway a bit when his muscles stretch the taut material of his shirt. As you try to picture what more is hidden by his civilian clothes, it occurs to you that you’ve never seen him nude enough to make that a possible feat. “Assuming you’re shorter than them, aiming for their lower half is your most efficient bet. But you want their focus away from it when you make the jump.” 

Blinking, you reorient yourself away from your tangent. “Right.” 

“So you’re going to reach.” 

“Rea–” 

Suddenly, he’s grabbing for your face. It’s swift and done with enough aggression that you don’t process what you’re doing until your arms come up to defend it. Split second instinct, your spider sense combing through the hairs on your neck. And he takes the obliviously-given opportunity to duck, hooking his foot behind yours, back hand wrapping around your knee to grip onto his other. His head pushes up on your ribs to stand you on one leg, off balance, and faster than it started, it stops. The attack throws you backward, slamming you onto the cushioned floor. Air syphons out of your lungs. 

“When they’re down, you don’t hesitate to straddle them.” He adds. “The blow will probably knock their limbs to the side.” He bridges over you, lowering so that his knees touch the surface above your shoulders and his feet anchor onto the bits below. His weight rests on your upper arms now. You, despite the loss, can’t help but flick your gaze down to his crotch. If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it. “The technique’s called stapling. Pressing down on two points to completely immobilise.”

“Feels awfully familiar.” You grin, only to choke on the spit accumulating by the back of your throat when he not only acknowledges your innuendo, but reciprocates. 

“Used to being on the bottom?” Huffed sardonically, with all the constituents of a flirt yet none of the sticky-sweet charm. And he doesn’t give your stunned-self a chance to quip back either, rising and gesturing that you do the same. You scramble off your back, rubbing the sore spots left by his grip, watching him warily. It’s facile to convince yourself that it didn’t really happen at all. “Your turn. Right foot forth this time. Remember, reach and duck.” 

You stay locked onto him when you throw your fist up at his face, stopping shy of his jaw. He isn’t as ignorant as to believe you, but his elbows draw away from his hips to allow space for your consequent assault. Squatting, you step forward to completely embrace his left leg. Quick calculations tell you that his weakest point is at his knee, so you lower your clutch around it, cheek squishing onto his stomach, before lifting the appendage off the ground. It isn’t heavy on you, all his mass directed to the back leg he now has to balance on. 

And then– 

And then… what? 

He’d done it so briskly that you completely missed his method. 

“Tell me what you did wrong.” Miguel examines. He’s got your head scissored in one strong arm, and if you weren’t struggling to comprehend how he gained the upper-hand, you’d be salivating with how potent his cologne is from this distance. 

You mutter a faint “Agreeing to this.” and hope your bowed pose muffles it enough.

“Overcommitting. If I wanted to, I could shove your neck downward and take you on from behind.” He shakes you off his leg. “Don’t put your chest on my thigh. Lace your right shoulder over it so that your crown hits my ribs. Yeah, that’s it.” He smooths his hand over your back. It’s merely a graze and almost enough to have you collapse out of position entirely. “See how your head is preventing my arm from leaning on you? Good. Now use that, knoc– oomf.” 

You don’t let him finish, driving him up until he tips backwards. The gratification stalls you for a split-moment, pride trembling up your frame, knocking your bones together. But he raises an eyebrow at you from the ground, and you remember the second part of the expectation.

(If this were the real thing, you’d be squashed by now. He’s holding back, guiding you semi-gently through this practice round.) 

With no further ado, you seat yourself on his abdomen. His biceps are too large to pin your calves to while keeping both your knees and toes to the ground, so you spread until you can do so over the bends of his arms. Your pelvis aches with the near-split, and you find you couldn’t care less, shivering in high delight. 

“Huh. Would you look at that.” You wiggle to reinforce your point. “And how did I do for my first time?” 

(Admittedly, it’s a much milder line than what you had in mind; but even you have your limits, and congratulating him on taking your wrestle-victory virginity is just out of bounds.) 

“Everyone starts somewhere.” He says, purposefully echoing his earlier attitude, recognizant of how it irritated you so. The answer pops your ego before it could begin to surmount to anything. “But you wavered, don’t pretend I didn’t see that. Get off. We’re going again.” 

Tuesday, 22:00

Your first attempt at his challenge comes late. 

The logic felt elementary; wait a day before trying anything so he’s caught further off his guard. It was a plan born with sights on his warning – when you come for me, I won’t be holding back – and, admittedly, your anxiety to it. This new equanimity you find yourself within is fragile, a compromise held up on couth alone. You’ve fought Miguel at his best, with claws reared and fangs snarled right at you. It never ended cleanly. And if either of you lose sight of the labour that is keeping it civil – away from that exact past – you’re terrified that things will shatter in pieces that tear you apart.

(There also remains the knowledge that you’d lose, sorely, should the match be equal.)

So, you didn’t want to give him the opportunity to resist at all. To your sleep-deprived self, there were a few steps in ensuring that: 

Find him late at night, following a presumably long day, having just been lulled into faux comfort by his last meal before retiring. Beyond the fact that you skipped a day since his initial proposal to act on it – with a belly full of food, the lights of HQ dimmed low, and a drowsy filter cast by work, he’ll grow lax. Complaisant. At least, that was your theory, based on patterns you’ve observed in yourself. And it had been solid enough to ground your hopes on, especially when all that was required of you is to disarm him. 

Only as you wait for him to emerge from the cafeteria do you realise the various other factors you forgot to take into account. Ones that complicate your lattermost objective.

The bridge is still, a thick cover of quiet befalling the sector. Bobbing outside the asymmetric windows is a waning gibbous moon, its luminescence casting lurid shadows onto the carpets and columns surrounding you. You sit, crouched behind a bench on an offside seating area, tracing patterns onto an adjacent palisade with your eyes. The moulding on it is triangular, like everything else in this building, and the task is mind-numbing enough that it hits you, then and there. Entirely too late. 

He only taught you the one way of tackling your opponent. 

Head on, with no room for stealth in your approach. Unless Miguel comes out of the cafeteria with a blindfold on, he’ll see you running towards him and squander the endeavour with ease. It’s like you to resort to your worst suspicions when cornered, so you can’t help but believe he did that on purpose. Either to test your ingenuity, or for some other convoluted reason you’ve no mind to get to right now. 

Fuck. That bastard. 

Should you back down now, you won’t trust yourself to face him tomorrow. Already, you’ve stalled for far too long, prudent to the approaching deadline. A week's time. Seven days to prove you’re worth your salt, to overcome the obstacles he’s thrown your way. Unlike your other exercises, you weren’t guaranteed anything in return for mastering this. He probably expects you to want it so bad that you become motivationally self-sufficient. And he’d be right. You do. Christ, you’d asked for it – this much needed intervention on the monotony you’ve been living in. It’s given you something to do beyond your lessons, and a victory might encourage him to design more like it. So–

You’ll stay. Work something out – an alternative plan. He hasn’t been in the caf for long. Given the chance he chose to have a sit down meal, you’ll have time. 

“Lyla.” 

The artificial intelligence flickers into being above you, hovering at your shoulder. She appears wildered, blinking owlishly at the source of her summon. You’d never called on her before – until now, you didn’t think you could. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and your throwing caution to the wind seems to have paid off. 

That is, if she’s willing to proffer Miguel’s position. 

“Upgraded from haunting worlds to our very own HQ?” 

You shrug, blaisé to the jab you’ve heard so often. “Promise I’m on my best behaviour.” 

“My, my.” She belly flops onto a nonexistent surface, still level with your nose, to shelf her chin onto her hands and kick her feet behind her. A small smile worms its way onto your expression when you notice her attire; a silk set of pyjamas, bunny slippers and a heart-shaped sleeping mask, pushed back to keep her bangs off her forehead. “Wonder what the boss has to say about that.” 

“The boss can’t know I’m here.”  

“My lips are sealed.” After miming the action, she glitches onto the ground in front of you, peeking from behind the bench to spy on the automatic doors leading into the cafeteria, much like you’re doing. “What’s with the secrecy? Please tell me this is a proposal. You’re certainly underdressed, but we can work what we’ve got. Oo!” She straightens to a ram-rod posture, alongside the exclamation mark that pops above her head,  clothes returning to normal and a clipboard materialising in her hand. “We can add a little jeuje to the space. What’re we thinking? Flowers–” An orange array of digital peonies projects onto the bridge, fat and blossoming with accelerated speed. “Or streamers?” The petals are soon replaced by banners and curled ribbons, drooping from overarching beams. 

Face molten with panic – and a hint of mortification – you wave through her incorporeal form to hurriedly interrupt her tangent. You can only hope that none of the commotion gave away your primacy. 

“No!” Whisper shouting, you bow your head to the floor to look her in the eye. “Nothing like that. Listen, I just need you to watch Miguel and report back to me on his status. Preferably, before he exits the cafeteria. It’ll help me anticipate his approach while I think of what to do next.” 

“Hmmm.” The lifeform approximation takes her sweet time considering it. Your gaze oscillates anxiously between her and the door, your body in perpetual flight or fight. Any longer, and you’re afraid quick-trigger reflex will have you jumping regardless of whether he emerges or not. “Don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I gotcha. Double agent Lyla, at your command!” 

And then, she disappears. 

Her aid does not reassure you. Baby hairs tickle your nape, matted with sweat. The condition persists, extending to your palms, which lay pressed to the tiled floor to tamp the perspiration seeping from them. Adrenaline – the very response you’d predicted – makes you sick and dizzy despite, bubbling up your gut in violent bursts. For all that you should be focusing on a course of action, her words claim a monopoly in your mind. 

Double agent. 

Do you want to know? 

No, you decide. Not now. Whatever it is, it’s bound to hinder your performance. You settle back down.

Moments later, she crops back up. 

“He’s on his way. If I were you, I’d up and turn around. He looks hangry.” 

“Thanks, Lyla.” It’s about the worst thing she can say to you right now. “Go back to… sleep.” 

Giving a final bow of her head, she departs. Her exit marks the milliseconds before Miguel’s entrance – sacred suspense stretching, spreading, only to implode by the schwip of the automatic door. It unlatches, layer by layer, to reveal a wide silhouette, framed by the bright fluorescents of the still-open cafeteria. 

She’s right. Based on posture alone, you can tell he isn’t in the best of moods. It’s the only clarity you’re afforded as the entryway closes off, plunging him – and you – into the void of your surroundings. You strain to see where he begins or ends now, navy-suit obscuring his edges, punctuated only by the red accents on his chest. They become your indication on how and where he moves, the angling of the lines informing you that he’s headed straight towards you. 

In complete contrast to the plod he takes on, your internal dialogue is a tangled mess of stray worries. An old, feral part of you – the girl who had to fend for herself for a year, untreated to the woes and safeties of regular food and board – claws out with a vengeance. She’s scared, she has nothing to lose, she’s plump with horror at the sight of a prowling hero, which had only meant one thing for her – and the sheer force of it all crushes you into choked submission. Perhaps it’s foolish to think you’ve moved on from your past when old habits return so easily. So she is still you, and it takes a good bit of convincing – of spotting and counting backwards from ten and breathing real slow – to prioritise your objective in face of the sudden regression. 

By the time you manage it, in fact, he’s already a few paces away. 

There goes your plan. 

Frantically, you spring off your haunches, shooting to the side to hinder his track in an bid to salvage what’s left of it. It’s clumsy, lacking all the grace necessary for you to have even the chance of success, and when he stutters short of stepping on you, you make matters worse by curling around his ankles, striving to destabilise him by tugging at the roots of his support. 

It fails. Obviously. 

(In a rather anticlimactic way.)

He releases an exasperated sigh, staring down at your writhing form with what you can only imagine is regret at having ever agreed to this. “What are you doing?” 

“Um–” You stop, glancing at him with one, hesitant eye. “Tackling you.” 

Miguel blinks. Once. Twice. His foot bounces, pushing you off. Then– 

“Up, before you hurt yourself.” Unphased. Strict.

You clamber to a stand. He gives you a once over, shakes his head, and brushes past you to continue his route. As he walks off, you catch a quiet huff, followed by a mutter – the reflection meant only for himself to hear.  “Tackling me. Honestly.”

Wednesday, 10:20

Your second attempt finds you asleep under his desk.

Not deliberately, of course. You didn’t drag a pillow and comforter to his lab like an impromptu nap would lend you an upper hand. The position that brought it forth is hardly even a comfortable one – tucked under a squat table that has you bending your neck to fit, raised high off the ground on a hovering platform, in a cavernous office whose only lightsource seems to be the overhead aperture and orange monitors. They beep multiversal jargon and blare the occasional alarm, which never fails to send your heart rate sky-high – and if you hadn’t at all been convinced in your plot, then you would’ve left after the first couple minutes wait. 

It’s torturous. Depressing. How he’s able to think, let alone work here, is beyond you. It can only be an optimal environment for what you set out to do – and perhaps that’s a point you should take up with him, should he care about being snuck up on by a more competent threat. 

But you dozed off anyway, made weary with all your fretting, legs pressed close to your breast, cheek slotted upon them. It was cold, and he hadn’t arrived yet – off being the responsible spider-hero that he is, conducting city patrol while you tarry for the opportune – and Hobie’s gifted cardigan is snug enough around your frame that it serves as a blanket of sorts. Your course of action, set on an unremitting loop in your mind, was the last straw – a lullaby, cradling you down onto security. Fully drafted, practised, with no room for mistakes given the lessons you learnt last time. 

Even submerged in sleep, it’s all you think about. 

On account of an oversight, you’d panicked. Lept at him with no regard for the tactics you’ve learnt, instead of rerouting an alternative or preparing for contingencies. He’d taught you to tackle him head-on, and while that isn’t ideal for the covert-component of this challenge – like on that bridge, where he would’ve seen you coming from miles away – you can still make do with what you’ve got. That’s why you’re here, early in the morning, waiting for him to come to you, all while remaining oblivious to your presence under his desk. Not only does it grant you cover while he stands mere centimetres away, it ensures his hands are too busy to defend him when you strike, raised to tap away at his screens.

Those are the foundations you worked out on your chagrined walk home last night. The logistics – intricacies you have to calculate spontaneously – can be dealt with as they come up. Like sneaking in undetected. (Accomplished successfully.) Or whether space will allow you to lunge out onto him when he appears. (You practised it first thing – one eye on the door in case he comes in – and established that with a bit of improvisation, it’s possible.)

Your fingers twitch, triggered by muscle memory into acting the attack out on a smaller scale. It’s odd that you recognise it – still somewhat unconscious, suspended in an hypnopompic state where both your dreams and reality intersect. Elements of both topple over one another, porcelain dominoes that splinter on impact. You feel your fingers twitch, yes, and the scrape of your chapped lips – things you abstractedly assign as real – but they’re strewn between memories that run like worn film, singed at the edges. 

A warm hand cupping your neck, callused fingers rubbing lightly over the curve of your shoulder. Shallow breaths, fanned across your lashes, struggled in keeping still. 

Multi-coloured motes, flipping through a catalogue of colours in dark corners. 

A headache, nipping the nerves leading to your brain. Pain, excruciatingly itchy above your elbow, up the back of your arm. Whiplash, smouldering agony across the junction of your shoulder. 

A voice, hummed from the depths of a broad chest. Resonant, rugged. ‘Don’t move’ – the demand so steady it could’ve been gospel. Him, keeping you stable. Him, the only constant you know.

For a moment, you believe you’re still there. Buried under mounds of grey rubble, nestled on his lap. Oxygen depleted, injuries severe. No hope of escaping or checking in on the population of Earth-15, whose fate you screwed by merely existing on the same plane. The past number of weeks were fable, then, conjured by your sick mind to help you die easy. Creating a story besides the one that ended you; where you and Miguel worked something out.

And if it’s true – if you truly imagined it all – then that’d entail you never grew out of your hatred. You never got to rest on a bed, or take a shower, or bask in a filling meal again. It’d mean you didn’t leave any legacy beyond that of Wraith; destroyer of worlds, bane of his existence. 

(And that you never counted as anything more to him than just that.)

Gradually, the pseudo-dream morphs into a nightmare born of stressful thought, and at its peak, it shakes you so hard you wake up. Bones jolting out of your skin, legs ready to kick outwards; raptured in fight-or-flight until you remember where you are, why it’s so cramped – because his desk is obnoxiously short and not because a building toppled over you – and how you got here. 

You’re thankful you’re able to collect yourself so swiftly. Had you smacked your head on the belly of the table, or otherwise panickedly flailed about, then you would have alerted the man currently standing in front of you. His upper body is cut off from your sight, but you’d recognise those muscled thighs anywhere. Clad in his digital suit, little patterns shimmering on its surface. You see them clearer in your proximity, correlating them to the figures you’d observed on his monitors. Parallel lines and concentric circles, like maps of the spider-verse projected onto a navy backdrop. 

How long were you out?

Despite your semi-awareness to your surroundings, you hadn’t heard him come in. Nor did you feel the platform drop to allow him to step onto it. You brush the confusion off, figuring it’d do you no good, and rub the drowsiness from your eyes while catching yourself up to speed. 

You’re here to tackle him. The voice in your head begins chanting the plan again; leap out, grab his forward leg, ram his ribs with your head and pray it’s enough to tip him over. That’s one.

Two: you’re a quiet sleeper. You can’t imagine the embarrassment had you not been – if he were to catch you napping in his office by following the sound of your groans. You suppose it’s a frivolous thing to get hung up on, but you remember how your college roommate would talk during her nightmares. It never failed to capture your attention, even with headphones clasped tightly to your ears.  

Which leads into your third remark– 

He doesn’t realise you’re here; the most important thing considering. You’re still in the clear to go ahead. 

Right now, Miguel is a smidge too far away for it to work out. You knead the sore flesh of your nape, stalking his feet for the slightest movement. They stand on the other side of the platform, verging near its brink, tapping in cogitation. Then, when he swipes a screen away from his direct view, his weight leans onto the back one. The manoeuvre brings his pelvis lower, cut-off rising to his midriff. It’s all you can do to remain dignified, gaze locked on anywhere except his hamstrings and where they round out to form a pronounced behind. 

Would it be wrong for you to abandon your objective on justification of lust? It strokes some primal part of you seeing him so dedicated to his work. You’re instantly overwhelmed with the urge to crawl out and service him like this, on your knees, while he maintains his concentration. To give him a soft mouth, soft hands, maybe elicit an iota of pride over how well you behave. It’s depraved – you won’t deny it – but in your darkest moments, nothing consoles you like the thought of his unequivocal praise. Acceptance. There’s no one it would matter more from. 

(No one it could matter more from. It’s true that he’s the only constant presence you’d ever had, even before your world went to ruin. Though you’re unsure of whether it’s in good providence, or if you’ll ever fully accept the fact.)

Miguel steps closer. You repress the reverie, slapping yourself softly to land back on target. A bit more to his left– yes, that’s it. He’s in front of you now. 

When you’d practised, your head had to be out from underneath the desk for the manoeuvre to work. Pushing up into a squat, you shuffle forward. All you need is a distraction so he doesn’t catch you peeking out in his peripheral, and it comes in the form of child laughter. 

Distant, as though it’s been passed through a speaker. With the way it repeats, incessant like that of a fond video playing over and over, you can appreciate that it isn’t happening live. Perhaps it’s a subject he’s keeping his eye on, or he’s slacking off with a movie. Not that it matters, of course – so long as he’s honed in on anything other than you.

His knee is at your eyeline. You scoot further. The low metal of the desk slips over your head. Now or never. 

Pouncing, you wrap a gable grip around the bend of his leg, using the momentum of your squat to spring upwards. It’s bull-like when your forehead slams onto the exposed expanse of his ribs, toes skidding for acceleration as you force him to balance on the one limb, driving onward. The force could’ve concussed, had he not been cushioned by brawn. It’s certainly enough to almost throw him over, in any case. He stumbles backward, arm slipping across your back, and the scuffle is so promising that you let yourself relax slightly.

That’s your fault, you admit. 

He exploits the slip-up to wrench your arms off from around his knee, using the appendages to pull you out from underneath him. With a frankly painful tug at the wrists, he twists you so your back is facing him, before pinning them in one strong grip. You’re shoved onto his desk that way, unceremoniously bent at the hip, nose ramming into the reinforced durasteel. Warmth trickles from it. A metallic taste fills the back of your mouth. 

“¡Maldita sea! What the hell?”

Pain crackles up your nose, where ichor continues to bloom and slip from your nostrils. His aggression perhaps shouldn’t surprise you – he did say he wouldn’t be holding back – but it’s parallel to the treatment you received as Wraith, and you can’t help but assume that he resorted to what he was used to in all the adrenaline.

“That hurts.” Groaning, you wiggle your fingers in a plea for release. His pelvis flattens on the plump of your ass, and it burns the longer he continues to press into you. The situation is almost reminiscent of the fantasies you create when alone; rough-treatment and all.

“Christ.” He hisses, backing off at once. Despite asking for it, you mourn his absence, rubbing the brand left by his clothed crotch, sheepishly turning back to look at him. The instant he sobers up, he’s opening the drawer to his left. “I didn’t realise it was you.” 

“Who else...” You murmur, ducking to shield your bloody nose from his attention. It’s done in vain, though – he already has a towel in hand, heading towards your face. Erroneously, you think he’s passing it to you and reach out to grab it – only to brush across his knuckles when he instead presses the white cotton to your lip. “Security that big of an issue?” 

“You got in, didn’t you.” 

“Har har.” As the red is wiped off your skin, he steadily lets you take over, dropping the towel to allow you to tamp the flow on your own. 

“How long have you been under there?” 

“Ah–” You pretend to occupy yourself with the task at hand, waiting for the heat to diffuse from your cheeks before you speak again. “Depends on what time it is.” 

“Half past ten.” 

“Two hours then.” You’d come in at eight. “Give or take.” 

“I’ve been here for one.” He adds, prodding for a more satisfying explanation. 

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t snooping for intel or anything.” A necessary preface and not at all a bid to steel yourself for your confession, the prospect of doing so filling you with shame. “I fell asleep.” 

“You–” Like his stutter, his brows spasm at a rapid pace, creasing together in a flash before smoothing out to form a more pleasant expression. With eyelids fluttered shut and lips quirked at the edges. Amusement. Your stomach cartwheels. “You fell asleep.” 

“Sure.” In complete contrast, you imagine your expression is solemn. Loss is an ugly and hopeless beast, roaring in your gut. You place the towel on his desk, starting to make your way out with a petulant march. “Like this place isn’t built for it, you gloomy jerk. I mean, where are the lights?”

(If he managed to overpower you despite doing everything correctly, then what chance have you got?) 

The universe has a sick sense of humour too, it seems. Your argument is interrupted by the border of the platform, where you teeter over a fifteen foot drop. Fear blazes through your nerves, suddenly awake with the knowledge that you’re hovering mid air, no fence or handrails to hold you in. 

Miguel chuckles from behind you, sounding way too pleased with himself when he asks. “You need help getting down?”

You throw a dirty glare over your shoulder, hoping it compensates for the humility you have to succumb to. “Yes.” 

His arms stay crossed over his chest, holding out. 

Fucking fine. 

“Please.”

Thursday, 13:05

You plonk the heavy bag of scraps onto your table, sighing in relief as the weight redistributes off of you. 

All morning, you’ve snooped around HQ with a nimble hand. It’s vast, after all, with many winding halls and unfrequented corners, of which you’re probably the only person to have walked through in weeks. Accompanying you, a makeshift pouch and a cover-up story; if any outsider should inquire – then you’re exploring the building that’s been your home for the last month. It would be suspicious, if the venture could not be so easily misconstrued.

No. You’re not worried. Far from it, in fact. You’re sure that the gadgets you pilfered won’t be missed. Some even had a thin coating of dust when you picked them up, their uses long neglected in favour of newer technologies. You’re merely giving them a new purpose, reshaping bits and bobs to suit your goal. 

(A far-fetched one, for certain. But it’s wild enough that he won’t expect it. 

That’s what you need. To stop playing by his rules.)

“Lyla.”

The AI glitches into translucency at your beckon, saluting as though you were a general and she a cadet. “Lyla á la espionage, reporting for duty!” 

“No. Not this time.” 

“Theeeen…” 

“Can I count on your discretion?” Squinting, you stare straight through her pink-heart glasses, like lying is an expected part of her programming. Her last remark occupies a small portion of your mind. Double agent. You still haven’t asked, and you’re running at a speed too fast to jump over that hurdle now.

“Perhaps.” 

Shaking your head, you do away with the ambiguity. “I’m hoping you’re good with tech.” You say anyway. “I need help.” 

She only grins, wickedly, skipping over to peer into your bag. You spread it open for her, laying out the stolen paraphernalia. Then–

“Wraithy.” She adjusts the moniker so that it rhymes with baby. “I am tech.”

Saturday, 2:00

Nueva York streaks past you in blurs of blue and purple. 

The sky lifts its buildings from the top up, spires pierced into its inky surface. You count the panels that pose a stark, golden contrast to the night-drenched landscape, lit up by residents whose lives are framed in the tiny windows. It’s a worthwhile distraction from the vertigo damaging your systems – all your efforts directed in looking forward, not up, as the ground shrinks farther and farther away above you. Yet with every metre, your distress worsens, distending to become a ferocious force. 

Eventually, not even city gazing is enough.

You’ve trained on ceilings. On balconies. But the bottom-side of an elevator is another matter entirely, especially as it moves with zipping speed. You’re terrified that, at any moment, it’ll wobble and send you plummeting to your untimely death. And Miguel, who currently stands on the flip-end of it, won’t be able to process your presence or scream for help by the time you hit the ground.

That’s the calculated risk you convinced yourself into making when you sought him out today. It’s evolved beyond the point of learning a lesson, or whatever prompt you’d initially proposed to get him to agree to this. Now, or in the way it has been for the past two days, it’s personal. Your ego is bruised but not battered yet, and if the cuffs on your forearms have any sway in it, then you’ll get your solatium soon enough. 

The apparatus is impressive, by standards of the day it took to hurriedly construct it. A smooth fit to your wrist, with narrowly hammered metal and a small compartment designed to hold your personal, synthetic formula. Lyla had pulled schematics from a large archive, handing you one she deemed ‘friendly for beginners’. You begrudged the coddling, if only because you yourself were worried about your competency with it. 

You tested it, naturally. It’s functional. The fluid is durable, if not sticky. If worse comes to worse, you can rely on the prototype to catch yourself. That’s what you tell yourself, at least, all the way up to the top floor of HQ, which comes at a gradual halt of the lift.

Eager, you hook your fingers over the brim of the platform before flipping over to the right side up. You somersault so your landing isn’t as heavy-footed, and blood bursts down to your numb legs as you reorient yourself with gravity. It’s all you can do to wait until you regain feeling in them, before following the man out the door. 

He’s multiple steps ahead already, traipsing with a tired gait. You match it, careful to set your toes down first so as to not make noise. The floor isn’t one you’ve been to – and it isn’t so much a floor as it is a singular hallway, lined with tilt-and-turn glass windows that gleam like all futuristic things do. The aesthetic is juxtaposed by a frankly retro carpet, shades of yellow and brown cut into a pattern you recognise from the bridges in the lobby. 

Plastered to the edge, away from the subjection of the spotlights down the middle, you wonder where he’s going. It’s gotten late – you’ve been shadowing him for the better half of a day, since Friday afternoon after your lesson. The plan was to tackle him on his way out, right as he was about to leave to go home, but it’s two a.m. now and he’s at work. Still in hero attire. Wandering a corridor you’ve no reference to, with sight set on the door at its end. 

If he waited this long to get to it, then it must be important. That’s what you argue against, anyway – that he likely arranged to complete this task at night when he would be ensured total privacy. How questionable is it, then, that you’re violating that?

You could turn back now, find him later instead. Yet today marks your final day before the deadline he set expires, and you want at least one more chance to try should this attempt turn to shit. 

The right glove of Miguel’s suit disappears, digital projection flickering to white as the nanotech retracts into his palm. You notice the act only because his fingers soon flick out, a key pinched between them. It’s red and patterned with the same arithmetic lines as his ensemble.

Smart. 

Once he arrives at the door, he uses the pass to unlock it. It comes open with an effortless swish, sliding completely open to allow him access. He lingers for too long, though, and you press closer to the wall in case he suspects your pursuit. He doesn’t turn around though, instead hitting a setting on his watch that causes the entryway to slip shut. 

Before you can catch up. Before you can sneak in.

Your heart drops. 

Floundering, you run to pull at the lock. It doesn’t budge. Nor are there any other ways in, the narrow hall composed solely of this door at one end and the elevator on the other. You can’t go in by any manner except pass through, and with every slap of your hand on the wall, it becomes increasingly apparent that your powers won’t miraculously emerge like they have before.

Nails digging into a fist, you reassure yourself that not all is lost if you give up now. It’s an unofficial loss, made outside the scrutiny of anyone besides yourself. And though you’ll kick yourself to sleep over being so inept in your own abilities, at least he won’t come to the same conclusion. That’s what matters – doesn’t it? His opinion of you.

Giving a final, aggravated sigh, you’re about to relent when you catch sight of it – a silver lining, adjacent to you. Levelled on the same plane as the door, separated only by the right wall of the hallway, opened to the high atmosphere air – a casement, hinged to a window much like the one you ogle at it through. Leading into the room he just entered. Just a short jump and swing away. 

You shiver at the notion, first instinct loud and conclusive. No. Absolutely, positively not. It’s a ‘jump’ over a hundred-story fall. Even if you manage to crawl out of the first opening with your sanity intact, you’re nowhere near experienced enough to make it to the second. Unless–

Your belly lurches with pre-emptive nausea, and you sink to your knees to massage it without retching. You can’t believe you actually consider the reckless idea, sitting with your poor excuses for web shooters, triggers flat on your palm, looking far flimsier than anything you could trust. Your refusal to walk on walls comes back with a vengeance, laughing in mocking echoes at the simple obstacle you can’t overcome. 

Whispering, you try your last alternate. “Lyla.” 

There’s a lag before she appears, glasses skewed upon her nose. “Huh.” 

“Do you…” You rasp, swallowing the bile surging up the back of your throat. “D’you think you could, y’know–” When words fail, you gesture to the locked door with the cock of your head. 

“Oh-ho-ho. No can do. I’ve done a lotta favours for you sister, but this is crossing the line.” 

“Okay. Okay, sorry for asking.” Your chest tightens. The corridor narrows. The shapes on the carpet warp to resemble the plunge off the end of a skyscraper. You have to ask to abate the panic. “What’s in there, anyway?” 

“Find out on your own accord.” She doesn’t take the bait, fur coat rising with a brief shrug of her shoulders. “Good luck.” 

And in a blink, you’re on your own again. 

You must sit like that for half an hour, rocking back and forth in anxiety that refuses to settle. It gnaws on your energy until the passion depletes, draining out, leaving you to wallow as an empty husk. Every so often, you press your cheek to the cool glass spanning the side of the hallway, wishing the problem had magically amended itself since the last you checked. But the ground remains where it is, bottoming endlessly down below, and so does the window to the room, built just out of reach. 

Of your concerns, there’s a resounding question that doesn’t quite fit. Its edges and curves search for a spot to click into place, but you aren’t able to find it – not until you give the piece further contemplation. 

Why haven’t you left?

If you’d given up hope, then why haven’t you gathered your wounded pride and salvaged the rest of your night? You could’ve been in bed by now, cosy under a heavy comforter, ruminating over your failure in a safer setting. Yet you’ve chosen to stay and prolong your torture, egged on by the reminder of what you couldn’t do. 

You’re not waiting for him to emerge. That hadn’t even occurred to you. 

(And a tiny part of you already knows the answer, keening by the base of your skull. It just takes some work to admit.)

It’s that stupid, idiotic, dangerous philosophy he’s instilled in you. The ideology that gets heroes killed. The conviction that marks scars on their body or gives them the peace of mind when walking on walls and swinging across heights that could permanently ruin them. 

What had you spread out underneath him, cupping your knees while his tongue lathered your wet cunt. Or when his fingers shoved into your pants, scissoring you open to the seconds on his stopwatch. The thing that’s kept you coming, fighting, over and over again despite receiving the brunt end of your endeavours every time. 

Resilience.

You’ve internalised it. You’re here, where you wouldn't have stayed a month ago. And it’s forcing you to face the second lesson he’s been trying to teach; a value impossibly scarier. Courage. 

You know you won’t rest until you embody that too. 

Rising, you take your first step towards it by unlatching the fastener to the window in front of you. The pane upturns, pitching open like a gluttonous mouth. Frigid wind rushes in, biting at your cheeks. You breathe in the crisp freshness of it and ignore the threat it might pose to your welfare. Pessimism is a hulking burden. It’ll only weigh you down.

The rest follow in a clumsy sequence. 

You sit on the edge, sticking the soles of your shoes onto the wall outside. It fixes in that newly familiar way, like how it does when you’re upside down, sucking onto the perpendicular surface. You don’t stand up despite the mild relief that washes through you, though – you understand now not to let your guard down until the task is done.

Keeping a firm grip around the window for stability, you scoot off the support it provides your bottom. You’re hanging out, posted on the external side of the hallway. There’s nothing but air underneath you. You don’t linger to process it, moving on to the next operation before dread knocks you out. 

Tapping the button on your free hand, you test your web shooter one last time. Once to equip, twice to release. Once to equip, twice to realise. 

When you sling it to the adjacent slot, your gaze is bolted forward. Never, ever down. Nothing exists, you cry to yourself, nothing exists but this small jump. And the web holds firm when you tug on it. You’ve tested the fluid against your own mass. It’s held strong. You’d have to be a novice scientist to have overlooked that; and you’ll be fine. 

Nothing exists beyond this small jump. 

(Except for maybe the cosmic forces you pray to. You invoke God, the sun, the stars. Even the moon, who gently glows down on you. It hits you, then, that you’re the closest you’ve ever been to any of them. 

That verity reassures you just enough.) 

You jump forward.

Tears bud on the corners of your eyes, scleras burning with the whip of air, sinuses scorching alongside it. Your organs hurtle to your feet, and your heart beats like bullets to your chest. It’s a vile, sickening sensation – akin only to the paralysing disbelief after finding out you’d brought an early apocalypse to your world. Nothing has required more bravery from you than enduring it, but…

You don’t fall. 

In fact, your angling is so flawless that you glide into the space between the window frame and casement. The grace ends there, however, as momentum throws you hard onto a piece of furniture, toppling over it to smack head-first on the tiled floor. Pain blazes up your shoulder, jerked back by the web you forgot to release. You blink to diffuse the black dotting your vision, slowly coming to terms with the havoc you’ve wrought. The commotion had made way more noise than intended, and it seems you aren’t the only one who thinks so. 

Sure enough, the light in the next room flicks off. It’s a choice made with the careful contemplation of a trained hero; if Miguel suspects an intruder, then he knows that he’d have the upper hand in the dark, within this space he’s far more familiar with. You feel around for the seat you tripped over, crawling behind it for cover. 

As your vision adjusts, you’re able to make out the advent of his faint silhouette. His pants are looser than that of his suit, his arms bare – judging by the fleshy colour, hardly illuminated by the ambient lighting outside. The change would confuse you had you not been honed in on your challenge, reconciling stealth as you calculate your next course of  action. The pound-force per square inch of your splitter-web function isn’t high enough to shoot across the distance you want – that being the expanse between you – so either you move closer, or he does. 

The circumstance mirrors how things played out in this lab. Although this time, he creeps away, cautiously navigating the space with a prowess that can only be explained with night vision. Perhaps it’s a part of his spider-granted abilities, or otherwise he frequents the foyer often enough to know when to side-step to avoid incoming furniture. 

Unfortunately for you, you don’t have either luxury. Thrill rockets within you, striking every nerve like a pinball game gone wild, fuelled by the fortitude your indiscreet stunt afforded you. He’s taking far too long to search his surroundings; at the rate it’s going, you’ll have lost your will before he comes close enough to wrestle onto the floor. You decide it’s much too intoxicating a sentiment to sacrifice, then, settling on the former bet. 

Move closer it is. 

You don’t run at him like you’re inclined to do. That hadn’t resulted in your favour the last time. Instead, you stay on all fours, bound inching in the opposite direction he takes on. You use the bulky chattels surrounding you to escape his notice, ducking behind the shaded shapes until you’re mere inches away. 

The web shooters practically hum on your flesh now, mimicking your excitement as you point them to the angles intersecting his arms and torso. You hope your aim is as good in this less perilous scenario, the ploy contingent on your initial shot. Binding his extremities together would reduce possible scrimmages to zero, which buffs your chances of pinning him down to a pretty percentage.

And you make sure he spots you before you fire. 

(Nothing satisfies like the slight widening of his eyes when he realises it’s you.)

The bombardment allows him no room to escape, discharged in every possible way as you run a three-sixty around his thrashing form. Your webs secure his arms, yes – but also his legs to one another, and his hands flush to his hips. For extra measure, you even go so far as to switch into long-form shots to wrap the final product once, twice, thrice, so he’s adequately swaddled and cuffed. 

You don’t know how he’s still standing once you’re done. It can be seen as rubbing it in at this point when you tip him onto his back – but really, you just want to hit every aim he’d set out for you.

Within the next week. Check. 

Sneak up on me. Check. 

Anywhere, any time of day. Check. 

Staple me to the ground for upwards of three seconds. 

As you crouch down to straddle his abdomen, you count. Check. Check. 

Miguel’s face is hard to read, shrouded and pursed in an indecipherable lour. You bite your lip with the appreciation that, despite his vague disapproval, your pride is still wholly valid. 

“I won.” You croak, voice hoarse with misuse. 

He shakes his head, slowly, then quicker when you combat it with an eager nods. 

“I won. I won. I wo–” 

“Web-shooters were never part of the challenge. ” 

“Call it ingenuity,” You smirk, tapping on the metal contraptions. “You should add it to your list of traits befitting a hero.” 

“Let me go.” He growls.

“Not until you admit it.” 

“Let me go.” Firmer. It's smouldered by a fire you can’t locate the source of, for all that his tone rings familiar. 

“C’mon, O’hara. I can see how badly you want to cut me the credit.” Arching down, you only mean for your next bribe to be heard more clearly, yet your chin brushes against his and his cologne hits you like a brick wall. Tension crackles in the same way it did then – when you’d been at the wheel of a cop car, hurtling towards a fate that’d always been coming for you. Promising ruin. Promising change in the sense that things could never be the same again. “It’s as much of a victory for you as my mentor, I think.” 

“Hardly, seeing as you followed me home.” 

(Home.

Of course it doesn’t go in the way you expect, though. Nothing ever does.)

“Wh–” All of a sudden, things start to make a whole lot more sense. You look around like the revelation will paint your setting in new colours. “You live at work?” 

“I own the building.”

Your bravado shrivels to a minute thing, becoming a fraction of what it was. Just like that, he captures the upper hand again, all the while still dormant underneath you. The sun – you remind yourself. Always the sun to your comet. 

“Alright, well.” You mumble, nipping the soft tissue of your cheeks. “I still won.” Though the proclamation holds foolish meaning now; not at all worthy of the lengths you went to. 

Miguel’s hips thrust up, jostling your thighs, which remain pressed on him. Your core keels with the movement.

“Let me go.” He emphasises again. You shift to do exactly as he says, succumbing to the crushing pressure of your diffidence – only to be interrupted by his continued warning. It’s tricky. Devastating. It stops you right in your tracks, tearing the fibres of your chest apart with mad violence. Yet the implosion is only as powerful as the various fantasies that’ve gone into this very moment, and you can only attribute your reaction to your depraved self and not the filthy words that exit his mouth.

In truth, you have to hold on to his leg to make sure you heard him right. 

“Lest I change my mind about fucking you silly, you bold little thing.”

chapter fourteen

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[rafetopia]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲

- 𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝

pairing: virgin!pope heyward x virgin!fem!reader

genre: soft smut and lots of fluff

words: ~3.8k

warnings: outdoor sex (on a roof), protected sex, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, loss of virginity, mentions of food and alcohol

summary: a date night on the roof and a love confession lead to your first night with your boyfriend

It was a beautiful Saturday night, the sky was clear making all the beautiful stars visible to those who wished to look at them. There was a fresh breeze dancing through the late summer air. It was a quiet night, scattered seagulls were singing in the distance, mixed with the sound waves crashing softly onto the shore.

You were sitting on the roof of “Heyward’s Seafood”, together with Pope, your boyfriend. The two of you had only started dating recently, which added to the slight nervousness you were feeling in your stomach. This obviously wasn’t your first date and yet, something felt different tonight. He was going all out since his parents weren't home tonight. It was their 21st anniversary and like every single year before, Heyward took his wife out for dinner and dancing. Pope had been in charge of closing the store and as soon as he was done, he had invited you to date night on the shop's roof. He knew how much you loved watching the stars at night, it had been your favorite thing to do since you were a little girl.

He had spread out blankets and even made you pasta, your favorite food. Well, all he had to do was cook pasta, roast pine nuts, drown them in pesto, and put some parmesan cheese on top and it still took the best of him. But even after almost dropping the pesto and burning the pine nuts, he still managed to make everything look and taste just as you loved it the most (minus the over-salted penne but you let that one slide because it’s Pope). He even got you that cheap wine you were always dragging around with you when you were hanging out with him and his friends because you knew all they were drinking was beer. JJ used to laugh at you for that, but after multiple smacks to his head by not only Pope but also Sarah, he quickly learned to shut up about your drinking preferences. Pope also knew what a sweet tooth you had, which was why he knew he couldn't miss dessert. He had stored some ice cream in the freezer box, which he had hurled up the tiny ladder. He almost have fallen back down if it wasn't for JJ, who had helped him prepare everything last minute.

“How does it taste? And be honest please, I can handle it.” He asked, his left eyebrow rising as he looked at you with hopeful eyes.

You took a second to finish chewing and swallowing but you didn’t need long to think of an answer. “It’s perfect, baby. I love how you made the pine nuts extra roasty.” You smiled genuinely, but Pope seemed to capture your response more critically than you intended.

“I burned them, didn’t I?” He said, all excitement leaving his voice. “I’m so sorry, I knew I should have made new ones��”

“No, no!” You exclaimed as you stuffed the last few noodles into your mouth. “I said they’re perfect, Pope and you know, I never lie.” You smiled, while you tried to chew your food down as fast as possible. “They are way better than when my dad does them.” You added, before taking the empty plate out of his hands and crawling onto his lab.

“I guess that does mean something, considering your dad is a chef at the country club.” He smiled, almost believing you.

“See.” You giggled, as you softly wiped away the stain of red pesto left on his upper lip. “He always takes them out of the pan way too early, you can barely taste that they are supposed to be roasted.”

For normal people, that would have been a lie, because no one on that island was able to cook as well as your dad did, but for your taste buds, they were always way too mild.

He smiled at your statement, even though he knew he kinda fucked up a little bit. But to his advantage, your mind didn’t stay long with the pasta because as soon as you saw the box, something else crossed your mind immediately.

“Baby, what’s in there?” Your eyes lit up as you saw the smile crawling over his lips, knowing exactly what that meant. He knew how much you loved Ice Cream and since everything was (almost) perfect tonight, you knew what must be in there.

You knew you were right when he opened the box and pulled out a box of ice cream and two spoons. “You know I set all this up, so we could watch the stars together and now you’re sitting with your back to them.” He chuckled, softly as he guided a spoon full of Ice cream to your mouth.

“First of all, I can see them behind you, and second of all, you are way prettier than the stars.”

He tried to hide a smile but he was so flustered, it was hard for him. He loved receiving compliments from you but still, he wasn’t very used to them. You loved seeing him like this, you loved getting his cheeks all hot and flustered, it made you giggle and sent even more butterflies through your core.

You took a sip of your wine, that he had even filled into a wine glass. You didn't even know he knew what a wine glass looked like and he probably didn’t and just took the weirdest looking glass in the cabinet but you were still surprised. You were even more surprised that he decided to drink wine with you tonight, knowing he would get teased endlessly for it if his friends saw him. You appreciated what he did for you tonight, so much that you couldn't keep your eyes off him. He always looked pretty but tonight it was different. He was dressed in a black shirt and some black basketball shorts, a look he knew was killing you. You were obsessed with him dressed all in black and you knew exactly that was why he chose this particular outfit tonight.

The two of you kept rambling on about whatever came to your mind while slowly but surely emptying that box of Ice Cream. Well, in the end, it was you who ate most of it, since Pope was the one who did most of the talking. You couldn’t help but smile at every single thing he said, no matter how boring you would normally think the topics were. After a while he stopped talking, as he looked at your smiling face, wondering what it could be that amused you so much.

“What’s so funny?” He asked. You noticed how unsure he got, a normal thing for him when he caught himself talking without a break. “Am I talking too much? I’m talking too much…”

“No, no!” You chuckled, giving him a reassuring smile. “You know I could listen to you for hours.”

You looked down into the no empty Ice Cream box, the feeling of guilt rushing over your face, something that didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Oh, don’t worry, I mostly got this for you.” He smiled softly, knowing you would feel bad anyway. “Really baby, you know I don't even like strawberries that much.”

“True.” You chuckled, as leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his lips.

He quickly retorted the kiss, putting the empty box away, before placing his hands on your waist. The kiss started slow and sweet but quickly turned more passionate as you felt the wine circulating through your veins, giving you the courage to let your hand travel down to his pants, where your hand started massaging his growing bulge. Quiet moans escaped his lips, as your hand slipped into his pants, and quickly the two of you noticed that night, might be night where you went all the way to the end. When you started dating, you quickly found out and neither of you was very experienced in that matter, which made you decide to wait a little bit. There had been many times where you thought this was the night but you always ended up stopping before the actual act. This time felt different though. His hands had wandered under your dress by now, where he quickly noticed the lack of fabric that came with you only wearing a lace thong.

You smirked as you felt his dick twitching under your touch, combined with the sweet moans escaping his beautiful lips. His hands were now wandering up to your tits, where he once again was met with the lack of fabric. You heard a quiet “damn” escaping his lips, as his thumbs traced over your nipples. You let your head fall back as his lips traveled over your neck, kissing every single inch of your skin. You tried to control your moans but the sensation from his thumbs on your nipples and his tongue on your neck was too much for you to stay quiet.

“Baby…” You whispered, your hands finding their way back inside his pants.

“I know.” He mumbled between his kisses, before turning his attention back to your mouth.

Before he could do anything, you had pushed your tongue inside him, not caring to wait for him to take the lead. You gently slid under his pants, so you were holding his hard dick in your hands. You slowly let your hand wander up and down, while your thumb brushed over his tip. You knew how much he loved it when you did that, his twitching erection being the proof. His right hand was now sliding down to your thong, where he laid his finger on your soaking, but still covered clit. This wasn't the first time he made you wet like that but it was the first time you thought it might lead to more. You needed more of him and as if he could read your thoughts, he gently pushed the fabric to the side, before placing his finger back on your clit.

The sudden feeling of direct skin contact, made you moan out loud even louder. He noticed how needy you grew, so you let his fingers trace over your entrance, causing you to look at him with pleading eyes.

“Can I…?” He asked carefully, not being sure if he was going too fast.

“Please.” You whispered, nodding in support of your answer.

He was so gentle as he let his fingers slide inside you. You were already soaking wet but he was so scared of hurting you that he took them back out just to spit on them. You didn’t expect him to do something like that but it only made you want him more. He gently pushed them back inside, causing you to gasp out in pleasure. You shot him an assuring smile before leaning back in for a kiss. You let your hand slide up and down his length while he pushed his fingers back and forth into your core. He started slow but soon began to match your movements, which made it very hard for you to concentrate.

“Pope…” You whispered, “I… I love you.”

He stopped and looked at you, eyes widened in surprise and you were just as surprised as he was. “I…” You stumbled, but he placed his index finger under your chin and guided it up, so you’d look him in the eyes.

“I love you too.” He smiled. “I think I’ve been in love with you since you moved here.”

“But Pope, that was in third grade.” You chuckled, now your eyes were filled with surprise.

“I know.”

This was enough to send you over the edge. You smashed your lips back into his, without leaving him any room to breathe. After what felt like hours, you stopped. “I’m ready. Need to feel you inside me.” You whispered.

He stopped his movements as the excitement rushed all over him. “You sure?”

"Absolutely." You smiled, “If you are.”

“100%!” He exclaimed. “But I don’t… JJ gave me one but It’s downstairs… I think.” He mumbled, earning nothing but a smile from you.

You leaned in for a kiss and whispered: “Pocket inside my bag.”

Pope internally smiled at the way you were always prepared for everything. It was one of the reasons he was so in love with you. He gently pulled your dress over your head, leaving you all exposed in front of him. He took a second to admire your beauty before you pulled off his shirt. You too, needed a second to take him in. It wasn't that you hadn't seen him like this before, you did countless times at the beach but you fell in love with him all over again every time.

“God you’re so pretty.” You mumbled, leaving him all shy and flustered.

“I believe that’s my line, baby.”

“But you’re pretty too.” You giggled.

He smiled and pulled you in for a kiss, while his hands wandered from your waist down to your ass. Your hands were placed on his soft-toned chest, feeling his muscles playing beneath his skin. You were still sitting on top of him, so he signaled you to get up, for him to be able to pull off his pants. Once they were off, he told you to lie down and climbed on top of you. You pulled him in for more kisses, while his hand wandered down to your thong. He easily let his fingers slide under the fabric, his touch sending goosebumps all over your skin. He let his thumb dance over your clit, while his index finger slid inside. You let out a loud moan, leaving a smirk all over his face. It quickly turned into an expression of slight embarrassment, as he remembered where the two of you were at.

"What's wrong?” You asked slightly confused.

“Nothing baby, it's just… what if anyone hears us?”

“Then let them hear us.” You giggled, “But I can try to be more quiet if you want.”

“You know what? No.” He grinned, the thought of other people hearing how good he made you feel suddenly turned him on more than he thought.

And he did make you feel very, very good. The thought of actually being vulnerable like that for someone had always freaked you out a little bit but with him it was different. He made you nervous but not in a bad way. You were nervous indeed, but it was more exciting than anything else.

The deeper his fingers dug inside you, the more you wanted him. Your left hand was placed on his shoulder, while your right one was looking for your bag. You grabbed it and pulled out a tiny colorful package.

“Are you ready?” You asked, earning a nod from your boyfriend.

“Are you?”

“Hmm… I think so?” You answered, more unsure than sure.

“I uhmm… I can…” He stuttered, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

With that, he went down but not without covering your body in kisses, causing you to giggle at the sensation. The moment his tongue met your folds, your giggle turned into moans. You had never felt this way before, as he had never used his tongue on you before. He struggled at first, not really knowing what to do but the louder your moans got, the more confident he became. Pope had always been a quick learner so it didn't take long until he had figured it out. He twisted his tongue inside, hitting exactly where you needed him to hit. He even added his thumb to your clit for support- causing you to see stars even though you had closed your eyes.

You felt something in you tighten, it was unfamiliar but it felt so good and it got only stronger the faster and more eager he got. Before you knew it, your high rushed over you, causing you to almost scream his name into the night. Your angled legs slid down next to his, as you desperately tried to contain your voice. Your hands that were tangled in his hair cramped together, sending a slight pain through his head but in this moment, Pope would’ve rather died than stopping you in any way. He looked up at you, trying to get a quick glance at you since he had never seen a girl orgasm before, at least not outside of the internet and most definitely not caused by himself. He was so amazed by your beauty, that he didn’t realize he was still staring once you opened your eyes again.

“What?” You whispered, still trying to catch your breath. “Did you just watch me? Oh my god, how embarrassing.” You mumbled as you felt your cheeks turning all hot.

“You are so damn beautiful, you have no idea.” He said, his fingers softly caressing over your thighs. “This was the hottest thing I've ever seen.”

“Then you really should look into the mirror more often, pretty boy.” You grinned, before signaling him to come closer and kiss you. You tasted yourself on his lips and to your surprise, it was better than you had always imagined. “I think now I'm ready.” You giggled, as you let your hand travel down to his underwear.

You let your hand slide under the fabric, where you quickly felt him harden under your touch. You handed him the condom and he removed his boxers. You were sitting next to him, preparing the extra blanket he had brought, while he tried to roll over the condom, struggling.

“Here, let me help you.” You said, as you led your hand slide over his length, up and down until he was more than ready. Pope’s mind had already drifted back to pleasure land, but you were able to roll it over with ease. You laid yourself back on the blanket, as he crawled on top of you. You swung the other blanket over him, which earned you an appreciative “thank you” from your boyfriend. You spread your legs as he was looking to push it in but you both soon found out that it was actually way easier if you guided him.

The moment he slid inside you, you both let out a moan, almost synchronized. It did hurt a little bit though, which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Are you okay, baby?” He asked, his voice filled with concern. “We can stop if it hurts, I’ll stop.”

“No.” You whispered, “It does hurt a little bit but I’m sure it will stop soon. You did good preparation work.” You smirked, causing him to smile himself.

“If you want me to stop, just say it okay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You smiled, before pulling him in for a soft kiss.

He slowly continued his movements, careful not to hurt you. He enjoyed every second of it but couldn't get the thought out of his head that it might not feel the same for you. He got convinced quickly though, when your hands traveled down his back, nails digging deep into his skin, so deep that he was sure it would be visible tomorrow morning.

“Just like that, baby.” You moaned out, “You can even go faster if you want, it doesn't hurt anymore.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes baby, please.”

With that, he sped up his pace, still careful but faster than before. He was close to you, legs angled and face over yours, because there wasn't a second where he didn’t want to look into your eyes. He leaned in for a kiss, which you retorted quickly, while you wrapped your legs around his torso, pushing the blanket off him in the process. You would’ve been sorry but you needed him to be as close as possible to you and judging by the sweat on his skin, he didn’t seem to mind much. With your newfound position, you were able to push him even deeper into you, a fact both of you welcomed very much. As his movements got faster, your moans got louder and he soon realized that he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. Your nails dug deeper into his skin and he wanted to hold out longer for you but it grew harder and harder for him to do so. Especially as soon as you moved your lips to his neck, which almost sent him over the edge.

“Faster baby, can you go faster?” You moaned out, to which he sped up his movements.

“Fuck…” He whispered, and soon after, his orgasm washed over him.

He sounded so beautiful, as he moaned into your ear, so loudly, that you were sure someone must've heard the two of you. As soon as he felt like himself again, he collapsed on top of you. He wrapped his arms around your body, and laid his head on your chest, perfect for you to straddle his head. You loved tracing your fingers through his locks, and he did as well since it always helped him calm down. You were somehow able to grab the blanket that you had lost earlier, so you covered the two of you with it. Your fingers went back to straddling his head, and before you knew it your eyes fell shut. You both were tired, so tired that you were pretty sure you both fell asleep for a few minutes. As soon as your eyes were met with the beautiful night sky once again, you tried to wake up your sleepy boyfriend.

“Pope baby, wake up.”

“Hmm, too comfy.” He mumbled, and you were pretty sure he fell back asleep right after.

“Baby, you are still wearing the condom, we need to get cleaned up.” You chuckled, as you tried to keep yourself awake. “I don't want it to get lost in me.” You added, as you once again tried to shake him awake, less gently this time.

“Hmm, am wake.” He mumbled as he lifted his head.

“Careful, baby.”

He carefully sat himself up and pulled out of you. To your surprise, everything went over smoothly and you were able to get up without leaving behind a mess. He wrapped it up in some tissue and the two of you got dressed.

“I’m pretty sure my parents are back by now.” He said as you gathered all the things he brought on the roof.

“If so, they probably heard us. And if that’s the case I’ll never be able to look them in the eyes ever again.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yep.”

You were lucky, Heward's truck wasn’t there yet when they climbed down the roof. The two of you put everything away. When you fell into bed a few minutes later, he pulled his arm around you so you could snuggle your head onto his body. You both fell asleep within seconds but more connected and in love with each other, than ever before.

add yourself to my obx tag list here

#outer banks #jas writes ❥ #pope heyward fluff #pope heyward smut #pope heyward #pope heyward x reader #pope heyward fanfiction #pope heyward x fem!reader #outer banks fanfiction

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Satiated

Astarion x F! Dark Urge

18+ violence, beheading, blood drinking, arousal at violence, sub/dom if you squint, p-in-v, sex with armor on, vulnerability, aftercare, complicated feelings, porn w/ very little plot, deranged shit and I'm not sorry

With Astarion starving in the Underdark his bloodthirsty friend sees his hunger, knows it quite well. And with a promised death in their future, seeks to help him sate himself...

-

Their time in the Underdark could have only been days but seemed to drag on endlessly. The lack of sunlight making him miserable. Snappy.

He knew he was being unfair when she asked quietly if he was alright and he scoffed at her. "Please. Spare me the coddling."

There was mild hurt in her eyes but she held her hands up in surrender. "Sorry, Star. I wont ask again."

He almost sighed, compelled to call her back and apologize. But he was nothing if not stubborn.

Honestly, the lack of sunlight was just salt in the wound. The true torment was hunger.

Nearly no wildlife available, and what was stalking around was not easy prey. If the blood in these beasts was any good anyway, he did not feel like risking life and limb every night to get some likely rancid blood.

Sure she had offered her neck a few times but she needed her strength, and it wounded his pride to feel like a charity case.

So the answer to his plight had been the spoils of combat. Any time they felled a duergar, a drow, he was draining the bodies dry.

The first few times his companions had shot eachother looks but she turned them by the shoulder, speaking quietly into their ears. Leading them away to let him feast.

He really did appreciate her, though he was struggling to show it recently. With her bloodlust he knew she understood on some level. Looked at him when he got like this with gentle recognition instead of disgust.

When they reached the Grymforge he felt delirious in hunger. Looking around at all the walking bodies, he could smell the blood.

He set his sights on the Drow, already promised dead to the Myconid's. A full meal. They just needed to get the idiot out of the rock fall and he could be sated.

When it finally came time to kill Nere and his followers he miraculously harvested all of his adrenaline and did his part, firing down arrows from on high. Watching her dance her violence into their foes.

Oh he did love watching her work. Her movements were always so joyful, a wide smile she didn't seem aware of splitting her face. Blades plunging so smoothly through chests, across throats. He adjusted his trousers as subtly as he could from his perch. Hearing her laugh, such a beautiful sound for such violent deeds.

Gods no wonder everyone was afraid of her. He should be too. And yet...

Afterwards the pleasantries were exchanged, the slaves freed, blah blah blah. His eyes were glazed over, all of his restraint focused on maintaining decorum. Mouth salivating, fangs aching.

His patience snapping, he connected to her tadpole. Hells below, can we PLEASE finish this up?

She glanced over at him, a small smile pressing the corner of her lips.

"Get out of here before I change my mind." She growled at the duergar.

"Astarion, help me with the head." She commanded. "Karlach, Lae'zel, take the remaining gnomes to the boats and make sure the path to the elevator is clear. We dont need any surprises."

"Aye, Soldier!" Karlach barked, Lae'zel nodding next to her.

"With me." She whispered, dark eyes meeting his. He raised an eyebrow slightly.

Surely she didn't need help with a beheading. He had watched her do much more strenuous violence quite easily. Ignored the twitch in his armor at the thought.

The Drow's slack form lay in a heap on the rock floor. He saw a shiver go down her spine as she straddled over the body.

"Sorry Astarion, we've got to do this first. Then we'll get you fed."

So she did plan to help him. Through the delirium he felt a tingle of fondness for her.

He could only nod, not trusting his saliva soaked mouth to form words.

She pulled her blade, chest heaving. Deeply aroused he realized, he could smell it radiating from her. He moved back to the shadows next to her to give himself some privacy as his own arousal spiked. The little remaining blood in his body pooling in his lower half.

She lifted the body to a sitting position, holding the torso steady between her knees, gripping the hair for leverage. Pressing her blade down on the throat.

He was confused by her technique at first. Surely it would be easier against the ground? Then realized what she was doing. Gravity. Keeping as much of the blood in the body as possible.

He stifled a moan, hunching over slightly. Gods he felt feral.

Back and forth she sawed through. Her eyes glazing over in pleasure. A slack smile pulling her face. Hips subtly grinding into the torso. Lost in herself.

He understood why she had sent everyone away.

When the head finally came free she gripped the scalp, smiling serenely. Free hand trying to catch the pooled blood pouring from the neck. Finding him in the dark.

Well? Her eyes said, pupils blown.

Shocked that he had forgotten his hunger for a moment he dove on the body.

Lapping and slurping he was lost. Laving his tongue along the plateau of flesh. Stopping to pull the pooled blood in her palm into his mouth, licking her fingers clean. Vaguely aware of a whimper from her lips.

Most of the blood gone from the wound he sank viscously into the lower neck, finding the base of the jugular. A tide of hot blood bursting into his mouth, rolling his eyes back. Oh gods he could barely stand it.

"There you go," She purred, pushing his hair out of his face. "You're doing so good."

His eyes met hers in a craze, a deep growl from his chest. The sensation of finally being fed and her soft words melding into something he had never felt before.

If he had more sense about him he might have laughed. From being forbidden from drinking from thinking creatures to being praised for it. The same person he had broken that chain with showering him with sweet words.

He gripped the body, his whole being focused on the singular task of getting more. More. More.

Some stray blood left his lips, dripping down the neck. Her eyes met it, lips parting.

Before he knew what was happening she leaned forward, licking it up in one small stroke. The tip of her tongue meeting the edge of his lip.

Did she...? Does she drink blood? He had never considered it but now it fired a piston of lust in his pelvis.

He pulled off of the wound, pressing his hand hard against it to keep as much in as he could.

Catching the nape of her neck and pulling her into his mouth roughly.

Pushing the mouthful he held into hers urgently.

He saw her eyes hitch back. Gripping his forearm. Throat working, moaning between swallows into his copper mouth.

Hells Below, he was going to go mad.

He latched back on, still ravenous. His eyes locked on her.

She stared at him with the same intensity. Eyes darting to the smeared blood he left in his wake. Back to his eyes. Her need apparent.

He pulled her by the throat to inches from his clamped down mouth. Pushed her jaw open roughly.

She whimpered hotly, tongue coming out to lave at his mess. Could feel the heat of her, their cheeks nearly touching.

Her tongue kept swiping at the seam of his lips as more blood slipped out. He nearly lost it when she devoted her tongue just to him, moaning sweet little calls against his jaw.

The vigor came back to him with a vengeance. The blood that wasnt fireworking across the base of his skull shooting straight to his pelvis.

The flow to his mouth getting weak he fell on his back, pulling the body over him. Loud choppy pants as he lifted his hips up. All decorum lost, he was vulgar in his need. The angle pushing the blood out. Pouring into his open mouth. Closing his eyes in deep ecstasy.

"Oh, Astarion..." She hushed, coming to kneel behind him. Her thighs caging around his head, looking down at him. Fingers running through his hair. "You've been so patient."

He nodded, looking up at her.

"You must have been so hungry." She reached forward, finger catching a stray drop traveling down his jaw.

"I'm sorry I made you wait this long." Parting her plush lips and licking it in. Seeing the edge of her tongue swirling around her fingertip.

Finally releasing the drained body he sucked his breath through his teeth.

Throwing it off of him he reached up, catching her face in both hands. Pulling her sweet mouth upside down into his. Drowning in her.

She cupped his jaw, kissing him slow. Searing. Pulling his lip into her mouth and biting softly.

He moaned into her, arching his head up for more. The blood sliding hot between their lips.

Gods she was so warm, so soft. It never failed to shock him just how heavenly she felt. Her hair falling curtain around his head. Her scent hitting the back of his throat. Jasmine, coffee, orange blossom. He wanted to be smothered by it.

Not able to stand it any longer he opened the fastenings on his armor, freeing himself from the painful cage of his arousal.

She pulled away slowly, a trail of their saliva between their lips. Looked at his length, his hand pumping along it, with lidded eyes.

Flipping she straddled over him, high on her knees. "Would you like some help?" She rumbled, fingers tracing along the fastenings on her own armor.

He nearly froze, sex was something he still felt... complicated about. And yet, he liked her. Really liked her. Trusted her. Or at least as close to trust as he could muster.

And Gods was he attracted to her, tall, curvy, scary. Very scary. Yet somehow still alluring, big doe eyes and soft plush lips. A mesmerizing contradiction.

He nodded. Gripping the chainmail on her hip.

"If we need to stop, say serpent. Okay?" She smiled, undoing the fastenings. Gods she wasn't even wearing underclothes, her perfect cunt hovering over him. A trail of wetness already pooling between.

"I like the choice of word. How devilish." He purred, watching as she lined herself up to him.

"Glad to see you found your voice again, Star." She smiled. Teasing his head in circles at her entrance. "What would I do without your voice drawling at my back all day?"

He was about to respond but she slammed her hips down. He almost saw stars, head thrown back.

"Mean." He gasped, to her evil giggle.

"Cant always let you get the last word." She smiled, trailing her hand tenderly down his cheek. His breath caught in his throat.

Her hips began to rise and fall. The cold bite of her armor against his hands his only anchor. The molten pressure of her cunt unbelievable. He was already panting.

"Gods you feel so good." She moaned, rolling her hips. Trying to hit the spot below her navel that he could find with his fingers. He arched his hips, saw her eyelids flutter, rubbing against it.

Her pace was slow, arching into him languidly. Pulling nearly entirely out then sliding back down, all the way to the hilt.

He was already writhing under her. Simultaneously needing her to pick up the pace but calling for his undoing if she did.

"While I'd enjoy riding you all night, we don't have much longer till our friends return." She mused. "So,"

Her hips began slamming into his, fast and angry.

He choked out a moan, the very same life that had been returned to him attempting to be pulled from his pelvis. Barely holding on.

He wouldn't come first. Reaching up to rub her clit.

"Gods your stubborn." She admonished, swatting his hand away.

"Let me help you find release, just one more time." She murmured, cradling the back of his head. Leaning down and catching the lobe of his ear in her mouth, nibbling and suckling.

Oh that was cheating. He groaned, hips fucking up into her hard. Nearly lost.

Her pleasure not being the forefront throwing him. Didnt she want to find her end?

"Please come inside me, Astarion." She whispered hot in his ear. Tongue licking a line up the sharp edge. "Please, beautiful."

He shuddered and with a great contraction behind his navel he was gone. Strangled whimpering moans, head thrown back. Gods above and below it felt like she was pulling his soul out.

Hips stuttering into her. Her's still rising and falling, wrenching him for all he was worth. He gripped fruitlessly at the rubble around them. Panting sharp little moans. Trying to find grounding in her chainmail thighs.

"Serpent," He groaned, the overstimulation too much.

Her hips stopped immediately. Pulling off of him and wiping him clean gently. Gingerly redressing his fastenings before hers. Her fingers sure but careful.

He stared down, dumbfounded. He had never had a lover attend to him before.

Felt the need to turn away from her, sitting up. Suddenly too vulnerable. Leaning his head into his hand, the heel pushing into his cheekbone.

"You okay?" She asked, attending to her own needs now. Tone kind and undemanding.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" He quipped, glancing at her. Trying to shake his mask back on.

She laughed, standing. Readjusting her armor with a few jostling pulls. "More than any of us know, I'd wager." She sighed.

"Hey, I dont want you to wait until it gets this bad again. Lots of people need killing and it's my pleasure to help. Truly."

Reaching her hand out easily to help him up.

He looked up at her, framed by the light of the cave in opening. The burning heat halo around her head. Her face serious again but eyes still warm. "You with me?" She asked after a beat.

He clasped his hand around her wrist. "Always."

~

#the feedback im getting is ya'll like the sick shit. freaks #(pointing at the mirror) #astarion smut #astarion x dark urge #astarion x tav #lyrics from: eat your young - hozier

[wrathofrats]

Wrathhhhh, if you feed up to it/inspo strikes may be gets something where RainDrop takes Bug to bed for the first time?

I have fantastic news and 4k of me being weird.

Ao3 link

I got carried away raise your hand if you’re surprised.

4k of jealous dew, brat phantom and mean instigator rain.

It’s slightly toxic and dubious but they’re all having fun and enthusiastically want each other ok but just know it can read a bit dubcon until the middle.

Warnings for a bit of size shaming, degrading, dew acts like he hates phantom but he’s lying, dp, lots of fun weird jealousy, yeah idk what I was doing here

Phantom tried to focus on the plate in his hand. He dunked it back into the water, rolling his eyes in annoyance at the small speck of caked on food that simply wouldn’t come off. The water was a couple degrees too hot, leaving his skin red and uncomfortable. He could hear a mild chatter behind him through the sound of water sloshing and the abrasive sponge on the ceramic. No words to make out, but a more intense conversation at least.

Whatever ghouls' presence that was behind him was coming closer. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, a nervous reaction or his sensitive quintessence acting up he never is quite sure, but the air around him starts to smell like salt water and smoke combined with the dish soap that covers his arms.

“Told you phantom would be in here” rain sing songs to a much more unsatisfied dew.

“And I’ll blow you about it later, can you just hurry up?”

Phantom drops the dish back in the sink, a problem for whoever found it next. He shakes the water and suds off his arms before turning to face the two in front of him. Rain seemed happy, a light neutral expression on his face. He tucks a piece of black hair behind his ear as he watches phantoms own body language. Dew however seemed less enthused to see him. His shoulders slump inwards towards rain, arms crossed in front of him. He’s not even looking at phantom, instead staring at his boyfriend like he’s about to drag him away himself.

“Dew and I have a proposition for you” rain starts, giving phantom a once over for any signs he may run. He’s still the anxious new bug they know, eyes full of something akin to fear and intimidation just from rain approaching him. It makes rain feel powerful in an awful way that he knows is greedy.

“Yeah of course” phantom only looks rain in the eyes, not bothering to look over at dew, an action neither of them have missed.

“We think you’re cute bug, we see the way you look at us” rain flicks dews hand as he rolls his eyes at the word cute, “wanted to come ask if you’d possibly like to join us tonight, wanted to know if you’d be our good boy”

“Are you sure?” Phantom asks. Phantom tries to study them. Is it a joke? Are they making fun of him? Rain keeps his friendly expression, dew resigning to stare at the floor instead.

“Very, I think we could have a lot of fun with you if you’d let us”

“Then I want to hear it from him”

Dew nearly growls, his eyes wide at the sentence. The simple but cocky tone having him want to abandon the situation and tell rain he told him so. Knew he was a shit head that didn’t know how to behave correctly.

If dew was being honest with himself he would be more than happy to spoil the little quint with rain if he acted as sweet as he seems. But an ungrateful brat? No one deserved his rain, especially such a greedy thing. It only makes it worse when rain cocks his eyebrows at him expectantly, cueing him to tell phantom what he wants to hear.

He’s more than baffled, even if he shouldn’t be. Rain wanted a challenge, and he was going to get one.

“I want you to join us phantom” dew mumbles.

A bright smile breaks out on phantoms face. Rain beckons him with a finger to follow them back up to his room.

Dew would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that his enthusiasm was a bit cute. Maybe he just wanted to be sure dew was ok with him joining. Maybe dew was wrong.

Phantom doesn’t hesitate to kneel on the bed once they walk into the room. Surely a known and practiced move, probably how Swiss makes him wait during their usual shenanigans. His hands sit crossed in his lap, his eyes focus only on rain to wait for his next instruction. Dew hopes he can be good, especially if he was this well trained already.

He pads over to card a hand through his hair, tugging at the black and white strands. Phantoms eyes close as he gasps and leans into the pressure on his scalp. He doesn’t try to pull away, even opens his eyes with a look that practically begs dew to pull harder.

“That’s a good boy, you gonna keep being good for us bug?” Dew asks, rubbing at his skin.

Phantom nods in return. His head stays nestled in dews palm, practically purring at the soft touch. It’s nice, much softer than either of them assumed the other would be.

“Oh, see dew? I knew he was a sweet boy.” Rain coos. It’s silent as he walks over to the bed, both ghouls watching for his next move, to tell them what to do. It’s an unconscious reaction in dew to immediately listen to rain, even if he’s supposed to also be in charge here. He knows he’s not, only allowed to have his fun as long as rain approves of it.

Rain stops in front of dew first, pulling him in for a small kiss. Nothing more than a peck on the lips. It’s short and sweet, rains hand lingers on dews neck for another second as he pulls away, staring at the fire ghoul with a loving smile.

He steps in front of phantom next. Another loving touch to the side of his face, something to hopefully calm whatever nerves the new ghoul has. It was supposed to be another chaste peck to the lips but before rain can stop him, phantom has his fists in his shirt, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens much farther past what rain had intended. Lips slotting together easily as phantom licks into rains mouth. Dew can’t help but watch in horror, he’s sure if phantom was any stronger he would’ve had rain in his lap with the way he’s pulling at him. The wet smacking sound from their lips makes dew ball his fists in the sheets to keep himself from forcefully dragging phantom out of rains grasp. It doesn’t help that phantom fucking groans as rain bites his lips.

Finally rain pulls back after what feels like an hour. A line of spit connects their lips and dew is certain phantom is fucking looking at him for a reaction. A horrible smug look on his face, purely waiting for dew to say or do something about the interaction that just transpired.

“That wasn’t very sweet of you bug, thought you knew better than to take more than you’re allowed” rain lightly chastises him.

“Sorry” phantom whispers, his head turned to dew just to catch his eye before turning back to rain “guess I just got excited”

Rain can’t help but smile. He can’t bring himself to punish phantom yet, especially since he looks apologetic, can’t fault him for wanting to kiss him so badly.

“It’s alright just can’t let you get spoiled now can we?”

Dew stares, baffled. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What?” Rain looks at him with a knowing smirk. Practically daring him to do something when they both know he won’t.

“You’re just going to let him get away with that?”

“He doesn’t know any better droplet, stupid thing just got desperate” rain practically purrs, turning back to phantom “didn’t you sweetheart?”

They all know the truth. Dew knows he knows better, rain knows he knows better, and phantom certainty knows, that they both know, that he knows better. But to dew it feels like phantom is truly testing his limits. He wants to see what will get both of them to break.

“And since when do desperate sluts get what they want?” Dew asks, also looking at phantom. Rain still has a hand on his cheek, making phantom nuzzle into his palm innocently.

“I certainly give you what you want dewdrop, even when you act like a jealous bitch. So why is this different?” Rain scolds, not even looking at him. “Dew likes to give me a challenge sometimes stardust, but you wouldn’t do that would you?”

“No sir”

Rain could just beam at the obedience. A pang of pride in his chest at how well phantom listens to him. It’s adorable honestly, how enthusiastic and compliant he is to rains words, not to mention the thick air of jealousy between him and dew. It all goes straight to his ego, only fueling him to be worse.

“You can’t let him think he can get away with shit. Honestly shouldn’t even be allowed to touch you since our play thing has forgotten its place” dew sneers.

“Didn’t think you were in charge here dewdrop” phantom taunts back.

“Excuse me? I have mo-“

“He’s right, you’re not in charge here darling and you know that” rain cuts dew off before he can finish his sentence. “Are you just jealous? Upset that phantom is getting more attention than you? Do you not trust me to take care of my angelfish?”

Rains tone is sickly sweet, daunting like the call of a siren. It has dew immediately quiet, listening to rains words as if his life depended on it. A part of the jealousy fades out of him, grateful for the way rain smiles when he looks at him.

“I do, just-“ dew attempts to stammer out an excuse.

“None of that then. Show phantom how sweet you can be to me”

Dew is on rain immediately. He easily rips his shirt off of him, discarding it next to the bed. His hands run down his lithe torso, hot kisses trailing behind them. Praising any inch of skin that rain will allow him to.

He runs his hands slowly down to rains sweatpants, giving a small look over to phantom who seems more flustered than he should be given the proposition. The quint can’t decide where to look, doesn’t want to look either ghoul in the eyes, doesn’t want to stare directly at rains tits, he settles for shifting his gaze wherever he can. From dews hands that grip rains waistband, to the floor, to rain looking down on dew hungrily, his arms now crossed in front of him, pushing his chest together. The slightest bit of cleavage that forms makes him want to drool.

“Want you to watch phantom, eyes over here starlight” rain whispers. Phantom swallows thickly, allowing his eyes to settle on dews hands.

Dew finally pulls at rains sweats, slowly revealing him to phantom. It’s a teasing pace, both ghouls watching to see his reaction. See how worked up they can get him without actually touching him.

The band finally stretches past the swell of his ass, loosening around his thighs, enough to drop to the floor. Rains skin is perfect, hairless, smooth, phantom thinks he may be drooling as he watches dew thumb over his hips with a possessive look on his face.

Phantoms breath hitches as rain bends over in front of him to kick off his pants completely. Still slow and teasing, as if he’s showing himself off. Rains completely exposed in this position, plump little ass practically in phantoms face, his cunt fully on display for phantom to gawk at. His folds are already slick and shiny with arousal. Phantom would do anything to taste him.

“Like what you see phantom?” Rain asks, standing back up to face him. He stands over him, looking down while phantom continues to stare at his chest.

“Fuck- “ phantom chokes “you’re so pretty”

“That all starlight?”

“Please rainy, let me worship you, let me play with your tits” phantom begs

And oh, that goes straight to rains head. The glassy eyed thing staring at him like he’s a marble statue, carved by the delicate hand of a master. It’s awful, he considers letting phantom touch him as he pleases until dew has his hands on his waist, pulling him back with a snarl.

“Absolutely not. Hands off”

“Dew” rain warns.

“You haven’t been good enough to touch him” dew growls again, staring phantom directly in the eye with a look that would be threatening to him if it was anyone besides dewdrop.

“And you’re still not in charge.” Rain scolds, tearing himself from dews grip. “Don’t be selfish, I gave you your attention. Didnt think it would make you so spoiled”

“But rainy” dew protests.

“Honestly I don’t think either of you have been good enough to touch me”

Dew and phantom look at each other in shock as rain moves to sit in the chair across from the bed. Thighs hiked up on the arm rests in a lazy position giving a perfect view of his cunt to the other two ghouls. He moves his hands down his thighs slowly as if he’s teasing himself, a wicked smile on his face.

“Think you two should make up, put on a show for me” rain rubs up between his folds, barely brushing his clit that is on display. He bites his lip at the electric shock that courses through his body from the small touch, a gasp on his lips.

“You don’t mean what I think you mean”

“You know I do. Make up with him and then if you do well enough you two can share me”

Phantom and dew stare at each other for a second in some kind of pseudo dominance contest. A silent argument of who will submit to the other, admit what is in their eyes, defeat.

“Gonna let me fuck you baby boy?” Dew asked, low and gravely as he crawls over to phantom who looks like he’s about to claw him if he lays a hand on him, “put on a good show for rainy? Sure you make such pretty sounds when you’re actually behaving”

“And who said I have to be the one whimpering like a whore? You seem to need to be rains bitch all the time, I might as well make you mine too”

Phantom sits up to face dew too, a mischievous look in his eyes. Another silent argument to see who backs down first without actually laying hands on each other. Dew wants a fight, more than happy with physical force, but the satisfaction of phantom possibly asking dew to fuck him is enough to keep him still in their stand off.

“You’d look so pretty though stuffed with my cock. I know you can be such an obedient little thing, maybe I just need to get you all stupid and cock drunk so you’ll be good” dew closes in, his face only inches from phantoms. Phantom can feel his hot breath on his neck, lips practically touching the sensitive skin. He doesn’t want to give up, doesn’t want to give dew the pleasure of knowing he’s won.

It’s hard to think. Between being able to smell rains own arousal, seeing him slowly play with himself at the sight of the two on the bed, and dew who is practically closing in on him. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that dews harsh words and degrading tone weren’t getting to him.

“Just say yes bug, tell me how much you want me”

Dew grabs phantoms chin in his hand, looking down at him from hooded lids. There’s a dizzying feeling in his head from the way dews other hands roams his body. Pets over his hip, plays with the waistband of his pants asking to get rid of them. He wants it. He wants dews hands on him, wants him to shame him for giving up so easily. Doesn’t care if dew gets cocky about it, just wants to be touched finally.

“Please, do something just touch me, need you” phantom starts to babble. His hands fly to dews to help in tearing off his own clothes. He tugs at his pants with dew before ripping his shirt over his head. There’s no time to process his state of exposure before he’s throwing himself onto dew.

“God if I knew you’d be this easy I would’ve bent you over a long time ago” dew laughs.

“Shut up, just do something, anything” phantom growls. He roughly tugs at dews own clothing as dew simply lays back and lets him. He has a cocky aura to him, a smugness about letting phantom act desperate after his stunts earlier.

“Gotta stop groping me like a slut and then maybe I’ll fuck you like one”

Phantoms off him in an instant. He lays back against the headboard, thighs open as his cock sits red and angry on his belly. Dew can see everything in this position, phantom completely on display for him. The way his cock fucking leaks from being hard for what seems like hours now, his little hole that is basically begging for dews cock in it, he looks more obscene than dew would like to admit.

“Stop fucking teasing then and prove it” phantom groans while dew and rain just watch him. Rain still sits on his throne like he’s waiting to be impressed. A slow slick sound comes from his fingers as he continues to lazily stroke his cunt.

It’s a challenge, something to provoke dew into being rougher with him and they both know it. Phantoms dragged down the bed in a second, knees pushed up against his chest.

“Shouldn’t have to prove anything to you when you’re already whining for it. You’ll fucking take anyone as long as it gets your little dick off won’t you?” Dew spits sloppily into his hand, smearing the saliva around phantoms hole. It’s barely enough glide for two fingers as dew shoves them in haphazardly. Phantom scrunches his face at the burn, a small whimper coming out of his mouth.

“Yeah? Is that all you needed?”

“Just fuck me already please-“ phantom squeaks as dew leans down to tease at his cock. He mouths over it, cleans the pool of pre that gathered on his stomach. He can feel it twitch over his lips and if dew thought he had any more time he would be more than happy to continue to savor his taste.

“Gotta get you stretched out. Don’t want to hurt you” dew coos, scissoring his fingers to open phantom up.

“Make it hurt fuck- dew please make it hurt” phantom cries as dew kitten licks at the tip again.

Dew can’t help but let out a shaky curse at the quints begging. He tears his fingers out to spit again in an attempt to lube himself up enough for phantom, even despite the pleas for it to hurt. Dew thinks he may black out. Getting phantom underneath him is satisfying enough, but for him to beg him to hurt him? Let him make a mess of him in front of rain? Dew truly doesn’t know how he can control himself.

“Yeah, I got you baby boy don’t worry” dew reassures him. He’s cute, even despite his awful mouth.

They both groan in unison once dew finally pushes into him. He’s slow, watching phantom for any signs of actual discomfort, but phantom looks like he’s about to cry if he doesn’t cum soon. He arches off the bed, hands fisted in the sheets below him. There’s a pretty flush down his chest as he pants trying to adjust.

“Please move please dew you gotta move come on” phantom cries.

“I’ll make such a mess of you, promise I’ll take care of you”

Rain still watches in amusement. Seeing his dew fuck the brat out of the sweet ghoul below him is more than entertaining. It’s beyond arousing to see him so commanding, watching as he completely takes phantom apart on his cock. He fingers himself open watching the two desperately fuck each other. Slick leaks from the three fingers stuffed inside of him and onto the chair, hot and messy. He can’t help himself, can’t help the little grunts and whines he makes as he watches dew fuck phantom hard and fast into the mattress.

He can tell they’re both close, the insults and degrading words fizzled out into curses and moans that have rain trying to not bring himself to edge too just watching them.

“Stop, off of each other” rain calls out retracting his own soaked fingers from himself.

Phantom nearly sobs as dew does what he’s told and pulls out. He scrambles to grab at him to keep inside to no avail.

“No rain please I need it” phantom begs

“If you stay quiet I’ll let you both cum in me, give you a little treat for being good yeah?” Rain pets over phantoms hair, laughing a bit at the tears in his eyes before laying next to them.

“Didn’t think you two should be allowed to have all the fun. Especially since you’ve been whiny brats this entire time”

Rain beckons dew over with a finger, silently telling him what he wants. He’s already loose and slippery from playing with him, doesn’t take any effort for dew to slip right inside of him. He’s hot and wet and so fucking pretty that dew doesn’t know if he will be able to last.

“You too bug, come here” rains calls

“I- will I fit?”

“Baby I think aethers thicker than the two of you combined, more worried if you’ll even get me off like this”

It’s mean, degrading, rains harsh tone and uninterested expression making dew and phantom both desperate to please him. They can barely comprehend their own thoughts, long since close to their own edges. Phantom isn’t sure he will last either just being in rain, let alone with dew pressed tightly next to him.

It’s almost too much. Phantom barely fits despite rain chastising them for not being enough. It’s slick enough that he pops right in with a sick wet sound, making all 3 curse with each other.

“Can’t move rainy, too much” phantom cries. His limbs shake, thighs trying to keep from bucking into him even though he knows he will cum almost immediately.

“I know, let me cum around you two and I promise I’ll give you whatever you want” rain pants as he reaches down to circle his own clit. He’s sensitive, borderline painfully so. Can’t help but clench down every time he touches himself even though he’s stuffed to the brim.

It doesn’t help dew and phantoms situation, even just his tight cunt clenching around them has them both teetering on the edge of their own orgasms.

“Too close raincloud, it’s too much I won’t last please-“ dew calls out, vision blurry as rains continues to leak around them

“Cum for me then, fill me up” rain gasps. His fingers twitch as he gets closer.

It doesn’t take much, phantom and dew both painfully hard and sensitive, just a couple more strokes is all they need before they are both filling rain beyond his limit. It’s hot, too much as rain also cums around them, feeling his own slick gush out of him.

He’s gross, a complete mess as dew and phantom pull out to gawk at the sight in front of them. Rain is fucking gaping, cum and his own arousal leaking out of him. It’s obscene how ruined he looks, pussy swollen and abused.

“You ok raincloud?” Dew asked, slightly concerned as they all come down from their highs.

“M fine angelfish” rain pants. He’s flushed and tired, panting from exhaustion and how sore he’s starting to feel. “Proud of both of you, happy I finally got you to get along”

“Dew started it” phantom finally speaks up.

“Fuck you bug” dew laughs

#I got so carried away #it could’ve been worse but I needed to stop jfc #the band ghost #ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #fanfic #wrath writes #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #phantom ghoul

[patrophthia]

hi, can i please request ravenclaw!hijabi!indian!fem! reader giving theo something she doesn't find spicy at all but he almost dies when he eats bc he's an european white boy and the only seasoning he knows is salt pls?? thanks xx

the way you worded this is so funny!!! ily omg and as an asian who cannot handle spice well i feel for this european white boy, but you asked so i shall deliver!!

too spicy for your heart | theo. nott

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

yeah the title is an aespa lyric so what 🤨🤨

You’ve been crunching on your snacks for a good fifteen minutes now, your fingers slightly tinged orange. Theodore has been eyeing you and your snacks —not that you aren’t one in his eyes, for an even better twenty minutes.

Based off of the packaging, the smell, and from what seems to be textures of the snack. He concludes that he’s never had it before, and though the redness of the snack scares him a little, he decides to be brave (a trait Slytherins —like him, tends to lack) and ask you about it. “What’s that?”

“Just something my mum sent me,” you answered, tilting the bag in his direction whilst watching him. “Want some?”

His eyes narrows onto the bag, his hand moving from where it was resting and onto his thighs: a safe distance from the potential threat (is it really though?). “Is it spicy?” He asks slowly.

“No?” You answer him slowly, not too slow for him to be suspicious yet not too quick for him not to be either. “I used to eat all the time when I was little so I doubt it’s spicy, just try it.”

You nudge it towards his direction once more and when it seemed as though he wasn’t going to try it on his own accord anytime soon. You took one of your chips and held it out for him. “Come on,” you say; having half a mind to tease him about being such a big baby about it. “Trust me it’s not spicy.”

Theodore eyes drift between you and the snack in your hand and took in a deep breath. He trusts you, he knows you won’t lie to him, especially when it comes to things like these. His lips part, and let you feed him your snack. His lips close and it takes him a second before his bites into it.

It’s okay, flavorful; that’s what he thought of it on his initial bite. It’s definitely flavorful, that’s what he registers when he begins chewing it. It’s so so incredibly flavor— ah fuck, what the fuck. Theodore coughs, choking slightly at the sudden heat.

He’s polite though, so he shuts his mouth as his hand flails aimlessly, silently hoping that you’d get his message and get him something to spit it out on. You do get his message and grabs him a tissue with a concern look. He takes it gratefully —though you can’t really tell just how grateful he was from how often he was coughing.

He spits out the snack, staring at you with wide eyes —as if you were something mythical he could only imagined as a child because how on earth could someone have been digging into the bag as much as you have and have no reaction to the spices at all.

“Are you okay?” You ask after a bit, a hand gliding up and down his back soothingly.

“No,” he croaks out, “my girlfriend’s witch.”

You bite back a smile, trying not to point out you were in one of the four houses within a wizarding school. You fail though: “and you’re a wizard, Theodore. What’s your point here?”

His eyes is still wide as saucers, still recovering as he glared at your bag of snacks —and this time you laugh, you actually laugh at his downfall. “How can you eat that? How can you say that it’s not spicy it’s so—”

“It’s as mild paprika.” You baffle him. Theodore shuffles away from you, sure he’s never heard of —or fully had a taste of paprika in his life (he doesn’t even want to try it), but he’s certain that he shouldn’t trust you on this.

“I don’t care if it’s mild as paprika,” he murmurs, “I can’t believe I’m dating someone who eats that because she wants to.”

You laugh again, and though it normally soften his heart; Theodore is frowning this time around. “What are we supposed to do when we live together? How are we supposed to feed one another?”

Theodore doesn’t pay attention to how his heart skips a beat at your words; not letting the idea of the two of you living together get to him. “You cook your own food,” he huffs, “and I mine.”

“And season it with what?” You have a smile on your face that he hates —it’s too pretty to look at, you’re too gorgeous for your own good and he hates it. “Salt?”

“Yeah,” Theodore mutters, “and pepper if I feel like adding a bit of heat.”

When you giggle at his words this time around, he doesn’t even bother to pretend hating how your glee comes from his suffering. Maybe you’re a bit too spicy for his heart, but he’ll learn to build up his spice tolerance for you.

#theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #Theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott crack #theodore nott blurbs #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott humor #theodore nott fanfic #🧳: my writing #🍰: 600 with patro!

[hiddencitydweller]

Deep Waters

Pairing: Leo x GN!Reader

Angst with a happy ending!

Summary: You and Leo decide to take a trip to the beach, but things quickly go south when you are caught up in a riptide you can’t escape from.

Warnings: Drowning, riptides, near-death experience, mild cursing, slight innuendos

Word Count: 4.2K (this got away from me REAL fast lmao)

A/N: Hey and welcome to my first one-shot! Actually, welcome to my first fanfic in general! I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head and figured someone else might enjoy the pain I put this poor turtle through. Hope you enjoy! (I promise it’s a happy ending!)

As soon as the two of you made your way through the portal onto the sandy shore, the slider made a beeline for the water, and dragged you along with him. You squealed and giggled as you nearly tripped over your own feet in your haste to keep up with your boyfriend. When you finally reached the water, he let go of your hand and splashed in with so much force you found yourself covered in the spray. Squealing again from just how cold it is, you reached out to smack him for the sudden drenching, but he was already out of reach.

---------------------------------------

The beach was your idea, but with how Leo commandeered the whole trip, you’d think he had come up with it all on his own. 

You laughed and waded farther into the water, letting it reach midway to your thigh. You watched as Leo continued to swim and splash in the water. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you were unable to stop yourself from marveling at just how natural he looked in the water, how happy. The last few months had been difficult for everyone in your little turtle family. Healing from the devastation the Krang had left behind was nothing short of challenging, and even that word seemed too insignificant to cover all of the hardships and breakdowns you all weathered (and continued to work through). You fought back a shiver thinking of those strains, of everything you lost and the more you could have. It all made these moments, however small, that much more meaningful.

You had him, and he had you, and in this moment that was enough. 

Unaware of your train of thought, Leo finally took a break from his splashing around to face you, a look of unadulterated joy and contentment gracing his usually tense features. Your smile widened as he smirked and made his way towards you, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“And what are you doing all the way over here?” he asked, wrapping his wet arms around your waist, causing you to shiver against the cold.

“Oh you know me, just enjoying the view,” you replied with a smirk of your own, hands resting naturally on his plastron. 

“I knew you were just into me for my looks,” he said as his smirk widened.

“Well it certainly wasn’t for your subtlety.”

He laughed as his hands tightened on your waist. “Oh I’ll show you subtlety.” You squealed as you felt yourself being lifted out of the water and thrown back in away from the shore. You splashed back to the surface with a gasp and pushed your now drenched hair back from your face, hearing Leo laughing all the while.

“Leo! I was trying to keep the salt out of my hair!” You crooned half-heartedly as you tried to ring the saltwater from your hair. 

“You thought you were going to go to the beach with an aquatic turtle and not swim? Pft, I thought you would know better than that.” With a flick of his hand, Leo sent a small wave of water splashing into your face. You cried out, trying your best to protect your hair from the assault, but the attempt was futile. Oh is that how he wants to play this? With another cry, this time of determination and vengeance, you jumped on him, pushing him beneath the waves. The two of you grappled with one another, playful sending splashes into the other’s faces. 

“Well sorry not all of us are literally born to be in the water!” You exclaimed after you’ve both calmed from your small battle. You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep yourself from floating too far from his warmth, and his hands found their way to naturally sit on your hips. 

“Are you finally admitting that I’m better than you at something?” You rolled your eyes at the challenging spark in his gaze.

“Oh no no no, I never said that. Aquatic turtle or not, I’m sure I can match you stroke for stroke.” To emphasize your words, you released one of your hands from their hold around your boyfriend’s neck and lightly dragged a finger down his arm. You felt a shiver run through him that you were sure had nothing to do with the chill water now up to both of your shoulders. You fought to keep the victorious smile from your lips and maintained a look of innocent neutrality.

Leo’s hold on your hips tightened as he pulled you even closer, your bodies now flush together. “Care to test that theory?” he breathed, lips just inches from yours. A soft laugh escaped you, blowing a breath of hot air over his lips. He closed his eyes and leaned in. 

But you weren’t going to let him win that easily.

“Sure,” you said, too loudly for the intimacy of the moment, as you gently pushed away. You laughed at the startled expression on your boyfriend’s face, his arms still out stretched to where you had been just seconds before. You could already hear the whine of him missing the feel of you in his arms, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss that same warmth. But you’d be damned if you let him get the better of you. “So how about a race? Last one to that buoy,” you pointed to a small floating figure a few yards away, “has to give the other one thing of their choosing.”

Upon hearing this, Leo’s dejected face lit up with mischief. “Anything of their choosing?” He asked, trademark smirk already back in place. God that mouth was going to be the death of you.

“Within reason,” you replied, the same mischief dancing in your eyes.

He made a face and looked to sky as if thinking long and hard about the proposition. “Okay, but you can’t whine and be a sore loser when I win,” Leo said as he drew his shoulders back and stretched his arms. You gently shook your head, knowing regardless of how this race ended you would be anything but a loser. 

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, Faceman,” you scoffed, lining yourself up next to Leo to create a makeshift equal starting point. “Ready?” At his nod, you continued, “On my mark. Three, two...” before you finished the countdown, you took a large breath and dove into the water, making sure to create as big of a splash as possible as you vehemently kicked your legs. Hopefully the spray and slight head start would distract Leo just enough to give you a chance at reaching the buoy first.

You felt your heart racing as you kept pushing your arms and legs to move you forward in the water. If you weren’t underwater, you would’ve laughed at the burst of adrenaline you felt pulse through you. It had been so long since you felt such a surge of energy in a playful manner and not during a fight for your life. You relished in the feel of your body humming as you continued to push yourself towards the buoy and the tantalizing prize it held.

The salt of the ocean stung your eyes and turned everything around you into a blurry background. Luckily, you could still make out the faint shadow and shape of the buoy just a few feet ahead. With another frantic kick of your legs, you angled your body upwards, head breaking the surface of the water with a gasp as you take in some much needed oxygen. You treaded water for a moment as you gathered your bearings, praying you wouldn’t be met with the smug face of your favorite turtle in blue. Pushing your now thoroughly salt-infused hair out of your face (Oh April is going to have WORDS about your hair care later, you’re sure of it), you glanced around the buoy. A smirk found its way to your face as you noticed the only sign of him was the bubbles and ripples coming from where you came. You let out a “Whoop!” knowing you’d managed to best the turtle literally at his own game. Oh you are never going to let him live this one down! 

Judging by the speed and movement of the bubbles and ripples heading your way, you guessed you had maybe thirty seconds before Leo reached you. Still riding high on the adrenaline of the game (and the fact that you actually won), you quickly maneuvered yourself to the other side of the large buoy, hiding and thinking of the best way to make a dramatic reveal that even Donnie would be envious of. 

But that moment never came. 

As you leaned back against the buoy, hands covering your mouth as you tried to contain your giggling, you suddenly felt your legs aggressively swept from under you. In a split second, your body was being quickly and roughly pulled back into the water by an impossibly strong current, farther from the shore and away from the buoy. Away from Leo.

You involuntarily let out a small yelp as you are suddenly dragged under the water, causing the air to leave your lungs and water to take its place. You frantically start to move your arms and kick your legs, trying to make your way back to the surface. But which way was the surface? The riptide, as you quickly realized it to be, had you pinned in its current, spinning and pulling you around so you no longer knew which way was up. You had no idea which direction the surface and the air you so desperately needed were. For all you knew, you could be pushing yourself further down into your own demise. With that realization, panic truly set in. The ripples of adrenaline that were so thrilling earlier now turned the blood in your veins to ice. 

Your lungs burned as they fought for oxygen, and pretty soon you could no longer resist your body’s urge to take a breath. Sea water once again filled your mouth and your lungs, causing the burning to intensify. You couldn’t think, couldn’t call for help, couldn’t find a way out. This was it. You’d fought aliens and mutants for years, but this unrelenting force of nature is what was going to finally kill you. 

As your vision began to grow dark, you thought of your life. All you had seen and done. Late night pizza and game nights with the turtles. Nights out on the town with April. And most of all, Leo. Cuddling with him on the couch. The small smile he saved for you and only you. The way he would grab you from behind and nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck when you weren’t looking. The two of you dancing around the kitchen as you laughed and your dinner inevitably burned on the stove. 

You kept your thoughts focused on those blissful memories, those moments of happiness, as you finally succumbed to the dark.

----------

“On my mark. Three, two...” Leo was suddenly blinded as a large spray of water hit his face, causing him to sputter and frantically wipe at his eyes, even if his turtle biology meant he really didn’t need to. By the time he opened them again, he saw that you were already a few yards ahead. 

“Hey that’s cheating!” he yelled with a laugh before diving in himself.

Splashing and playing around in the water had been amazing, but this? This was a completely different story. He could feel himself swiftly glide through the water as he swam with all his strength, unleashing his pent up tension on the now churning waves. His arms and legs burned slightly from the exertion, and he reveled in it. Reveled in the complete freedom he felt as he quickly chased after you. 

Even from so many yards away, the bubbles caused by your frantic kicking obstructed his view of you. Anxiety at not being able to see you niggled at the back of his brain, but he pushed it down. You were here, right in front of him, with no one else around for miles. You were safe.

And beating his ass.

Leo put on another burst of speed, trying to think of any way he could gain an edge on the lead you had so unfairly taken. He already knew exactly what he was going to do with his prize, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let your underhanded start to the race derail his plans. 

He thought back to the way you had looked after he had dunked you in the water, skin glittering in the dying light, lovely curves framed in the sunset reaching the horizon behind you. Your beaming smile (even as you berated him for the state of your hair) left him breathless in a way the pushing surf could never do on its own. You were the picture of perfection. He still couldn’t believe that after all these years you were his. 

The smile his thoughts pulled to his face dropped an inch as he realized the bubbles leading to the buoy had stopped, meaning you had made it to the finish line. Damn it! He resigned himself to the gloating you were sure to subject him to as he angled himself towards the surface. 

“Okay there’s no way that counts! You so cheated at the beginning!” Leo was already exclaiming as his head broke the surface of the water. He looked around, his feigned exasperation turning into confusion when he wasn’t met with your bragging smirk. You had beaten him, hadn’t you? Surely he hadn’t bypassed you without knowing it. He looked back the way you both had come, but sure enough there were no ripples, bubbles, or you to be found. 

“Y/N?” he said, anxiety again starting to pull at the back of his mind. He took a deep breath. Surely you were just wanting to rile him up for a grand reveal, or maybe you wanted to jump out and scare him. With this thought in mind, he edged around the buoy to see if maybe you were hiding there, but the other side remained empty as well. Swimming closer, he felt a slight tug and surge of water around his legs, the remnants of what must have been a strong current now fading away. A strong current...

Leo felt his heart seize as he looked past the buoy and into the vast open water beyond. He remembered his father’s warnings about riptides and the immense power and danger they possess. Leo himself had never really been afraid of them, after all he was predisposed to be a natural in the water. But you on the other hand... 

He dove back into the water, steering himself in the direction of the current. His mind was spinning with dread as he pushed his arms and legs hard and fast. How long ago had the riptide taken you? What if it had changed directions? What if it had dragged you even further down? What if he couldn’t find you? What if, if he did, it was too late?

He shook off the thoughts with a growl, even as his chest tightened in panic. No, he would find you. After all you had been through together, all the plans you still had yet to do, there was no other option. He frantically scanned the water ahead of him, double checking every bubble and varied flicker of light, straining for any sight of your bright blue swimsuit. The very ocean and sun above seemed to be mocking him with short glimpses that turned out to just be tricks of the light. Leo’s muscles burned, but he kept going, kept scanning, kept trying to calm the racing of his heart and the panic seizing every ounce of common sense he had left, until suddenly, there! 

Just a few yards ahead, you were suspended in the water, limbs floating aimlessly above you, any fight you had clearly depleted. The bright blue of your swim suit shown against your skin like a beacon, and Leo made a beeline towards it. Just as he was a few feet away, arms outstretched towards you, he saw your eyes shutter and fall closed as the tension in your body seemed to leak out. 

No, no no No NO NO NO! Leo wanted to scream, to cry, to beg you to hold on just a little longer. With another frantic kick, he reached you, arms encircling your now limp form, immediately angling his body upwards. He kicked and twisted his core until the two of you finally broke the surface, him gasping for air and you bone-chillingly silent in his arms. 

“Y/N? Y/N?! Come on, please wake up, I’ve got you,” Leo looked down at you in his arms, one hand coming up to press against your face as he pleaded with you to just open your eyes and end this nightmare. But nothing changed. Your eyes remained resolutely shut, and your chest stayed still. 

As the family medic, Leo was well-versed in CPR, but to do it in the middle of open water was out of even his abilities, and he knew it. He looked back to the shore. The riptide had dragged you about a half a mile away, well past the buoy and safe waters the two of you had enjoyed mere minutes ago. He had to get there, had to get you on land if he had even a chance at saving you.

“Hold on Y/N, I’ve got you, just please hold on,” his voice broke, but he looked determinedly back at the shore. Clutching you to his chest with one arm, he fought with all he had against the still fading current. He kicked his legs and surged the arm not holding you forward and back, trying desperately to keep your head above water. Leo watched as the shore slowly, too slowly, got closer and closer. His mind reeled with panic as he silently begged with the universe or anyone that would listen to get you both to the shore in time, to let your eyes open.

Finally, Leo reached the shallows of the beach. He planted his feet on the ocean floor and lifted you bridal style in his arms as he continued his race to the shore. He nearly fell, his body jarring as it shifted from the relative fluidity of the water to the harsh gravitational pull of solid land. He felt himself pitch forward, but managed to keep both of you upright on his shaky legs. As he ran, you stayed limp in his arms, head lolling back and arms dangling to the sides. Leo whimpered at the sight and pushed on until he finally made it the dry sand.

Immediately, he laid you on the ground and started doing chest compressions. His limbs were shaking both from the overexertion and the panic coursing through them, but he continued to apply rhythmic pressure, never faltering in the beat. After a few seconds, he lifted his face and shaky hand to yours, plugging your nose as he forced air back into your lungs. He couldn’t help the shiver of absolute dread as he felt just how cold and unmoving your usually plush and warm lips were against his own. 

He pulled back and continued the cycle again, his movements and breathing becoming more and more frantic as time went on. “Please, please wake up. I can’t-” he choked back a sob, tears already flowing freely down his face. This was actually happening. He was losing you. He wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough. All those plans for the future had been ripped away and thrown into the deep waters. He was on his fourth cycle of chest compressions now, putting what little strength his adrenaline and panic would give him into the action. “Please mi amor, please, please, please,” he was too exhausted, too panicked to do anything but beg as he threw everything he had into saving you.

He looked down at your still expressionless face as he shifted his hand up to cup your jaw, a sob finally escaping his own lips. He brushed his thumb against your cool cheek before raising his hand back up to plug your nose so he could again try to breathe life back into you. As he angled his face downwards, your chest heaved and water gurgled from your mouth. Hope flaring, Leo quickly brought himself back upright and tilted you on your side, gently patting and then rubbing your back as you coughed and heaved sea water onto the beach. 

After what felt like an eternity, water stopped pouring from your mouth and you were able to draw in a much-need, if shaky, breath. You heard a voice cooing at you from above, telling you to breathe, that you were okay, that you were safe. You latched onto the voice, even though you couldn’t see its owner. Breathe, okay, safe. You followed the voice, breathing in as much air as your battered lungs would allow. You stared at the infinite shore ahead of you as it all came rushing back. The race, the riptide, the endless pushing and pulling you down, down, down. Your shoulders shook as you struggled to draw in breath again. You had drowned. You had been dragged deep into the waters, never to see your family again, never to see Leo again. But here you were, on the shore, out of the water’s devilish grasp. The voice continued its mantra, and you felt soothing circles being rubbed into your back. That voice. You’d know it anywhere, how could you not?

You shifted your weight so that you laid on your back and no longer stared at the expanse of water. You looked up, and there he was, tears still streaking down his face as his eyes scanned yours and landed on your gaze. For a moment you both just looked at each other, the only sounds being your grating breaths and the crashing of the ocean behind you. He was here. Despite the water’s attempts, you were here, looking into his beautiful, heartbroken face. The terror was still there, but hope surged in his eyes as he continued to look at you, still silent for once, almost as if not wanting to disrupt the dream.

Not breaking eye contact, you reached up a shaky hand and cupped his cheek, thumb rubbing away some of the tears. He immediately leaned into the touch, a shuttering breath ripping out of him. “Oh Leo,” you managed to croak. 

That seemed to break the trance. The tears renewed their freefall as Leo’s face crumbled. He pulled you into his arms until you were sitting in his lap and crushed you to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he buried his face in the crook of yours, letting out shuttering sobs that broke your heart. As he had done for you earlier, you whispered comfort into his ears, saying you were all right, that you were here. You felt your own eyes misting over as he desperately clutched to you, still shaking with emotion. 

You stayed like that for a long time, Leo’s sobs slowly quieting and his shaking lessening. Finally, he pulled back just enough to see your face, which was now wet with your own tears. Ever so gently, he lifted his hand to trail his fingers along your face, wiping away the wetness he found there. Closing his eyes, he pressed your foreheads together. “I thought I’d lost you,” his whispered, a single tear escaping his closed lids.

Your chest ached at the utter agony that laced those few words. You couldn’t imagine what he had just gone through, seeing you so unresponsive, dragging you to shore. If the roles had been reversed... You shuddered at the thought.

“I know love, I know. But I’m here, thanks to you.” You kept your hands interlocked around his neck, needing to keep him close. “It’ll take a lot more than a little water to take me away from you,” you reassured with a watery smile. At that he pulled slightly away and locked his gaze with yours. You sucked in a breath at the pain in his eyes. 

Dragging your hands from his neck to his cheeks, you pulled his mouth towards you, sealing your declaration with a kiss. You felt him melt into the contact as his hands found your waist and pulled you that much closer to him. The kiss was soft, desperately slow, as if you were both trying to memorize the way the other moved and felt. Finally pulling away for breath, you rose your eyes to his, as you both finally relaxed into the comfortable silence. 

“You know, even though I definitely won the race, I think I’ll give you the prize,” you said cheekily. You smiled as you were rewarded with a soft chuckle from Leo. 

“You better, especially after you cheated to begin with,” he snarked back, lightly pinching your waist, causing you to squirm in his lap.

“And what does my hero wish to receive as his reward?”

His gaze softened, once again pulling you close. “Stay with me,” he whispered.

You felt yourself melt under the weight of his words. “Always.”

#leonardo x reader #rottmnt leo #rottmnt leo x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise leo x reader #rottmnt oneshot #leo x you #leo x gn!reader #gn!reader #tmnt #tmnt leo #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt x reader #tmnt x y/n #leo x y/n #leonardo x y/n #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt x you #save rise of the tmnt #save rottmnt #unpause rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rottmnt #unpause rise of the tmnt

[fandom-go-round]

Sea Salt Like Glitter: Part Three

Summary: You’re a forest ranger. Trees and mammals are your specialty. Mermaids in the ocean? Way outside your area of expertise. Good News: They like you. Bad News: They like you a lot

Mer! Sun x Plus Sized! Reader x Mer! Moon

Part One , Part Two , Part Three (Here!), Part Four (Coming Soon)

Hi everyone! Sorry this took a second, I decided to split the last part into two parts so have a (slightly shorter) part three. Things are heating up here, plot and otherwise. I hope that you enjoy!

Warnings: Different Species, Kissing (Mer), Grinding, Slightly Suggestive Use of Tentacles, Cross Species Interactions, Mild Flirting, Cross Species Courtship, Bodily Harm (Reader), Head Injury

            Three months have gone by since the potential poacher boat incident and you’ve relaxed again. No one has come to try and steal your boys and they’re happy as clams. They’ve been very insistent about spending time with you and even if you don’t really get it, it’s nice to be wanted. Tonight is going to be another meet up and you’re going to be brave. You’re going to bring your swimsuit.

            Moon has not so subtly been trying to get you to swim with them. Every time you’ve denied him, partly because he’s too mischievous and partly because you’re afraid you’ll embarrass yourself. The mers are already going to swim better than you, there’s no reason to prove it. Unfortunately, they’ve discovered your weakness in the months you’ve gotten to know them; puppy dog eyes. Sun had begged you to come into the water and you couldn’t resist, not for long. You agree to head down to the beach a little before the sun begins to set so you can spend time with Sun before he gets to be sleepy.

            You ignore how odd it feels to go to the beach in something other than your uniform, enjoying the feeling of warm sand between your toes. Sun isn’t on the beach yet and you set your things up, placing a towel and your bag down. Better to bring snacks and water and not need it then be craving something later.

            “Friend!” Sun’s excited call has you turning and you wave, giving him a smile. He’s halfway out of the water when he freezes, smile disappearing from his face. You frown back, making your way over to him.

            “Hey Sun, everything alright?” The call of his name seems to snap the mer out of it, Sun giving a low rumble and leaning towards you. He rubs your cheeks together cutely, eyes half lidded. A part of your brain tries to tell you what it means but the thought doesn’t last as Sun begins to happily talk.

            “Excited to swim today! What wearing?” His claws come up to gently pull at your shoulder strap at the question and you wave him off, making sure to fix the twist.

            “It’s a bathing suit, it helps me in the water.” He doesn’t believe your words at all but takes his time looking you over. You shift a little and offer an explanation, even though you don’t need to justify yourself to him. “Usually I wear a t-shirt but I thought it might drag me down and that’s where the one piece came from.” You silently added that since no one was there you wanted to try out this new one; its cute but not something that you would wear out. Sun gave a coo, nuzzling you again and sliding back towards the water.

            “Cute!” He chirped, grinning wider when you look a little embarrassed. “Swim with me!” You laughed, shaking your head and moving towards the water.

            “Yeah yeah I’m coming.” You were thankful you had put skin protection on before Sun got here. There’s no way the mer would be patient enough to wait. Sun let out a few excited chirps before sinking all the way in, doing flips and jumps as you waded in.

            The water was cold and you winced, wishing that you had brought a wet suit for a moment. Too late to back out now though. You took a deep breath and dove under the water, beginning to kick out towards Sun. He wasn’t far off shore but it was deep enough you couldn’t touch the bottom. Not that Sun was going to let you float alone, oh no.

            The moment Sun could wrap his tail around you he did, pulling you close to his chest. You gasped, half in surprise and half because he was warm. It wasn’t something you noticed on the beach but here in the water there was a very noticeable temperature difference. You happily wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him tow you through the water.

            The two of you played games as the sun began to set and you barely noticed. Sun would throw you into the air and then race to catch you, you would take off and try to swim as far as you could. Sun wanted you to dive and you went back to shore to grab goggles, the mer showing you things underwater. There was a beautiful coral formation nestled in the rock formations and even though you weren’t too confident, you let Sun swim you out there.

            You were in the middle of watching a crab try to catch a small fish when everything scattered. Your heart began to pound as a dark shadow fell over you and you hoped it was Moon. Without turning to look you shot towards the surface, dark laughter following you. Your head breached the surface right as a tenacle wrapped around your foot and you were able to take a deep breathe before Moon pulled you back under.

            He easily flipped you to see him and you scowled, shaking your fist at him. He snickered, wrapping another tentacle around your other leg. It was the first time you had seen his complete form and it was as impressive as it was intimidating. Moon was just as long as Sun but his torso was shorter, more of his upper half being tentacles. Each one was as thick as your arm at the ends and tree trunk sized at his waist. His lights were also flashing faster tonight and you hoped he was ok.

            Moon dragged you through the water, hands on your arms and tentacles wrapped everywhere else. You didn’t flinch away, even as you moved a couple to better spots. It didn’t take long for you to need air and you gestured towards the surface. The squid gave an exaggerated pout, leading the two of you in a lazy loop-da-loop before heading up           .

            It took you a moment to regain the ability to talk, mostly because your lungs had been burning more than you thought. Sun popped up next to you, tugging you towards him. Moon didn’t let you go completely, wrapping a tenacle around Sun and turning things into a cuddle party. You happily soaked up Sun’s warmth, shuddered as you realized it was much colder than before.

            “Bad swimmer.” Moon taunted, tentacles squeezing your legs. You huffed, kicking at him a little. He gave you another squeeze and pressed closer, cold water dripping onto your shoulder.

            “Trust me, I could be a lot worse. There are some people who don’t know how to swim.” Both mers made faces at your admission and you laughed. “Humans only really have to know how to walk ya know.”

            “Swimming better.” Moon replied easily, as if that logic meant he won the mock argument. You rolled your eyes and Sun laughed quietly, his eyes starting to drop. It didn’t take long for either mer to fall asleep or wake up, depending on the time of day. The lack of sun made Sun sluggish but it didn’t seem to bother him as much as sunlight bothered Moon.

            “You can go get some sleep Sun.” You gently reached out to rub his cheek. The mer purred like a cat and leaned into your touch, eyes closing all the way. It took him a second before he sat up and shook his head, one hand coming up to smack his face.

            “No no, not yet! Something important to talk about!” You raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of them. Moon was deliberately avoiding eye contact and Sun was struggling to stay awake. Anxiety curled in your gut but you ignored it, giving them a nod.

            “Ok, what did you want to talk about?” Neither knew exactly what to say, Sun staring at Moon and Moon refusing to look over. Sun made a frustrated sound, tail coming up to hit his mate. Moon hissed, flashing teeth in no real threat. “Is it a bad thing?”

            “Not a bad thing.” Sun immediately reassured you, shaking his head. You weren’t convinced and Sun could tell, pinching your cheek gently.

            “Delicate.” Moon rumbled from behind you and you turned to him, Sun nodding out of the corner of your eye.

            “Yes yes, delicate!” Now you were getting even more nervous. You took a deep breath, figuring if you had to rip the band aid off, might as well do it quickly.

            “Do the two of you have to leave?” Both of them seemed startled at your question, eyes  wide. They started to coo and click, pulling you even closer. It was a little hard to breathe but you didn’t fight it, waiting for them to switch back so you could understand them.

            “No no no!” Sun was the first to realize they had switched to mer, hands stroking your head almost feverishly. He always did love touching your head and hair; it took a while to get used to. “We not going anywhere.”

            “Want you to stay.” Moon spoke at almost the exact same time, his face buried in your shoulder. His breath was warm, even if his skin wasn’t and you shuddered at the duel sensations. Both noticed and began to hum, your skin suddenly feeling hyper sensitive.

            “I-I want to you to stay too.” You cleared your throat and ignored the sudden flash of heat going through you. Keep it together damn it. Your friends didn’t need to know you were feeling that way about them. You barely even acknowledged you were feeling that way. At least out loud. And out of bed.

            Moon made a displeased rumble, nibbling gently on your skin. Your heart was starting to pound and you were getting dizzy. Something was going on and you didn’t understand. Sun cooed and you met his eyes, realizing that they were blue instead of white. He smiled when you focused on him, leaning close to rub your noses together.

            “Pretty pretty. Be with us?” Sun phrased it as a question but you were still missing too much context.

            “What do you-?” Your question was cut off by your loud moan, the mers freezing in the water around you. Sun had moved his tail between your legs and the warmth rubbing just right had you responding. Moon let out a sound suspiciously like a groan and you whimpered as his teeth sank into you shoulder. It hurt but he didn’t bite hard enough to draw blood. Sun gave an answering groan and rubbed his tail against you again.

            “Ok time out!” You were proud that your voice was strong, hands coming up to form an ‘X’ across your chest. “Waaaait a minute!” The mers paused what they were doing, two sets of bright eyes on you. You cleared your throat and began to disentangle yourself from them, ignoring the pouting and slight whines.

            “We need to talk about this.” You put on your best scolding voice and it seemed the work, the mers coming back to themselves. Sun’s eyes changed back to white and Moon retracted most of his tentacles. One still helped you float and it stayed respectfully above the belt.

            “Mad?” Sun sounded nervous, hands fidgeting anxiously in front of him. You sighed and gave a smile, shaking your head. The good news was that the cold water was helping you keep a clear head.

            “No Sun I’m not mad. I just, we were getting a little carried away and I want to make sure we’re all ok with… whatever this is.” Sun relaxed at your words, looking relieved. Moon grumbled but nodded, letting you collect your thoughts. You took a deep breathe, ignoring how embarrassed you felt. “This… is a thing right?”

            “Want it to be.” Sun confirmed, swimming small circles in the water. You could tell that he was anxious but you needed to understand what was happening.

            “Mate.” Moon was always the blunt one of the pair, gesturing to himself and then Sun. Sun gave a nod and you nodded as well. They had explained it once an though it took a bit, you understood they were a bonded pair. “Mate too.” Moon began to trace out a triangle, you being one of the corners.

            “Me?” Your voice was higher than you anticipated and Moon snickered a little.

            “Yes!” Sun was quick to reassure you, swimming over. He reached for you and waiting until you nodded before grabbing your arms. He helped you float as you tried to process.

            “How does that even-?” You cut off your own thought, not finishing it out loud. Moon gave a rumble and you watched as his lights began to flicker faster.

            “Compatible.” He reassured you and even if you didn’t get it, you get enough. You want to deny that it’s not possible, that you don’t know what they’re talking about but you can’t. You’ve noticed the linger touches and look, the way they like to circle you. You had ignored it and said that it was all you, not them. And now you’re trying to think through it.

            “When did you decide this?” You’re not trying to distract them but you do want to know. Sun laughs, rubbing your cheeks together quickly.

            “Defended our territory, saved Moon. Lots and lots of things.” He sounds love struck and you can’t help but laugh a little. Moon moves closer, wrapping tentacles around both of you but nothing too much this time.

            “Want to be with you. Defended us, we defend you.” His words are rougher than Sun’s but have the same emotion and you nod back.

            “I want that too.” Both of them perk up, fins flaring out and you keep going. “But not tonight.” Sun whines loudly and Moon huffs, tentacles slapping the water a bit. “Behave you two. I’m not ready yet and I’m too cold but we can do this next time, I promise.”

            They perk up at the mention of ‘next time’ and after sharing a few clicks they agree. Sun sinks under the waves and you float with Moon a little bit before he drops you off at shore. He nuzzles your cheek like Sun and you nuzzle back; only now do you realize that it must be like kissing for them. His eyes watch as you walk back to your cabin, ruby staring for longer than necessary before sinking under the waves.

            You feel like you’re floating when you get to the cabin. You walk in easily and drop your bags by the door. Future you can take care of that. The entire day feels like a dream; you never would have guessed this is what your swim would bring. Getting ready for bed is automatic and later you’ll curse yourself for not feeling something off earlier.

            You brush your teeth and then decide that you want another glass of water. Walking into the kitchen, everything is dark and quiet. It’s only when you grab a glass off the counter that you pause. Your curtains are closed. Your curtains are never closed, not in the living room.

            Pain explodes on the back of your head and you slam into the counter, air leaving your lungs. You gasp, the glass in one hand and the other scrambling against the sink. You half turn, trying to throw the glass behind you and you take another blow to the head. You don’t have enough time to question that’s going on, consciousness leaving you faster than you can count.

#fnaf #fnaf security breach #sun x reader #sun imagine #sun x moon #moon x reader #moon x y/n #sun x y/n #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf au #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf dca #sun x reader x moon #daycare attendant x reader #mermaid au #mer sun #mer moon #daycare attendant imagine #daycare attendent

[dwarf-hat-enjoyer]

Howdy! Hope you're having a good day😁

Could you please write a comfort story where a reader who feels unattractive due to her body weight, who struggles to take care of herself due to her mental health, finally feels loved romantically & comforted by Harvey?

❤️‍🩹 One Of Those Days 🩺

synopsis: A farmer already troubled by insecurity seems to be having -you guessed it- one of those days. When even their reflection in the mirror seems to be laughing at them, it'll take some grit, spit and a shoulder to lean on to help them out of their funk. Luckily, their boyfriend Dr. Harvey has two of those. <3 Insecure+Fem!Farmer X Harvey, 2nd person POV, romance, hurt+comfort, SFW, mild angst.

w.c.: 2k words!

content warnings: Body image issues, spiraling, mental health issues, struggles to take care of oneself, hurt/comfort, mild-to-moderate angst.

A.N.: YOWZA, this hit a little close to home 😭 But I'm grateful for the request!!!! It was really comforting and even healing to write the things that some people need to hear, myself included :,) enjoy!!!

Some days, the mirror was nothing but a silver prison.

Guilt pricked at your conscience for how vain others would think you were, helplessly enraptured by your own reflection. The only reason for it could be vulgar self-adoration, after all, with the way your eyes would wander to even the faintest counterimage in a passing window. In fairness to yourself, you knew that most wouldn't think twice of the gesture. Everyone indulged in a little modest grooming from time to time, whether it be to fix a stray hair or touch up a wrinkled collar. Oftentimes, though mostly in public, you hardly thought of it, yourself.

If only it were the case in private. Instead, here you stood before the mirror of the farmhouse bathroom, kept company by only the old buzzing lights above and the reflection before you.

What a flawed human being.

Your outfit from the earlier Flower Dance lay crumpled in a neglected plastic laundry basket, and you stared at yourself in the pajamas you had just changed into. It was your second year of attending the event, and somehow, even when you were nothing but a greenhorn with grass-stained knees and nary a friend in town, it seemed easier your first time around.

They seemed distant, once upon a time. Strangers, those townsfolk were, acquaintances at best and at worst, mildly unfriendly. You didn't think about them so deeply, but time had a way of dribbling salt into weathered wounds. Wounds that had been opened long ago, but stung at the sight of these young, thin, healthy and beautiful people prancing about in their suits and dresses in a scene that belonged on the cover of a spring magazine.

If the mirror was a prison, then your mind was the warden. And if your mind was the warden, then it was a cruel one.

You could tolerate not being the most beautiful person on the field. You could appreciate how lovely the others all looked, but the worst part of it all was the slithering voice in the back of your head and the nasty things it told you. Why bother trying if you'll never be as pretty, it whispered, why bother with anything at all, when you'll never be as smart? As successful? As lovable and worthwhile?

Just that morning, you'd nearly given in to that very voice. It constricted your thoughts and mind as you woke up alone in a too-empty bed. Why bother going to the Flower Dance if you'll only look and feel like a dirt-stained joke?

In the midst of your spiral, you slowed. Reality seemed to become real again, if even just a tiny bit. Even the mirror in front of you was a mite less intimidating than before as you recalled the note Harvey left on your nightstand. The one that prompted you to crawl out from under the suffocatingly warm sheets at the break of six in the morning to read it.

Oftentimes, you were the one leaving notes instead. But you remembered what he wrote to you that morning; something about getting out early to help with the festival setup, although your sleep-addled brain drunk with self-deprecation felt stung by his absence.

Even then, in a quick, scribbled and hasty note, Harvey was loving. He called you his love. He sternly reminded you to eat the breakfast he'd left for you and to take a shower and brush your teeth, and even doodled a few hearts around the paper scrap he'd written on.

He loved you. He adored you. Why did being loved feel so numb? Did you even love him the way he deserved?

"Honey? Are you alright in there?"

A knock on the bathroom door startled a sniffle out of you. When did you begin crying? You cleared your throat with a small cough and mumbled a meek reply about feeling sick.

He didn't sound convinced.

"I'm- I'm a bit worried," he admitted. You remained silent, giving him time to elaborate, "At the Flower Dance, you seemed pretty out of it. If you need some space, it's perfectly healthy to take some time to recollect your thoughts, but..."

He paused. It was just a moment, a brief crack in the conversation.

"But I'd hate to leave you alone at a time you need somebody."

Those words, those damn words finally got you to choke out a sob. It was a miracle he'd stuck with you this long. Even getting him to move in was the kind of good fortune you'd never earned, neither with your body or personality.

"Come in," you beckoned him quietly, against your better judgement.

When the door creaked open, you had already been readied by the rapid-fire insults spat by the voice to expect the worst. He would sneer at you for being weak. A crybaby, too- maybe he would even be disgusted by your dishevelled appearance. Or Yoba forbid, disappointed in you for letting one bad day bother you so deeply.

Oddly enough, he didn't seem any of that. His jacket from the dance earlier had already been doffed along with his bowtie, leaving him in the gentle blues of his button-up and suit slacks. The worst thing he regarded you with was worry.

In the very back of his eyes, you saw his love.

"Let me guess," he sighed sympathetically, "one of those days?"

You nodded with a weak, wry smile, wiping tears unshed from your eyes. How did he always seem to know?

When you raised your arms wordlessly, the silent signal was quickly recognized. You felt his arms close around you in a gentle, enveloping hug, muffling the thoughts that clouded your harried mind. The steady rise and fall of his breathing as you rested your head on his shoulders brought you softly to your senses, and slowly, you tried to match his rhythm.

In, two, three, four...Out, two, three, four.

In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four.

The thoughts grew duller. They weren't gone, but you didn't feel so suffocated and trapped by them.

You didn't feel alone.

Another smile played at your features; a genuine one, as you felt the slight tickle of his mustache when he pressed his lips to your forehead. The habit normally came out in times like these, when you needed a little soothing. It wasn't quite a kiss, but his affection was clear in the way that he kept you as close as he did.

"Do you want to talk?" Harvey asked earnestly. "It's alright if not. Distraction can also be a healthy way to cope with or recover from unpleasant thoughts. We can watch some TV, have a snack...?"

Talking would've been a tempting offer, if calming down hadn't been such a chore already. It would've dragged you back down to dredge all your self-doubt back up, and although you saw that Harvey was trying his best to give you the ultimate choice, the both of you knew well enough which one would be the healthier option.

Soon enough, you found yourself under a thick knitted blanket (a thank-you gift from Granny Evelyn for your regular leek deliveries throughout the spring) and curled up your couch, a movie set on low volume playing on your ancient television set. It wasn't a great movie, perhaps not even a good movie, but it was just the right amount of familiar to ease you into a more comfortable state of mind. The soft humming of the microwave buzzed behind you, dotted with the occasional pop of a popcorn kernel. The rest of Harvey's suit from the Flower Dance lay draped over the back of the couch, traded in for some more suitable nightclothes.

Harvey eventually arrived with a bowl of popcorn in hand. Sitting beside you, he draped an arm over your shoulder and gave your temple a quick yet meaningful peck. Awkwardly, you absorbed him under your blanket in an amoebaesque fashion, giving him just enough time to put the bowl on the coffee table before engulfing him to near completion. The corners of his mustache curled upwards in that endearing smile of his.

Time passed. Perhaps too much, perhaps too little. Scene by repetitive scene, the movie passed itself by, leaving you both in a comfortable silence. Your mind was calm. The thoughts had passed, for the most part. Like jellyfish in a reef, troublesome feelings floated through you still, but you knew that they were temporary. They would always come and go, but by the night's end, jellyfish were still bound to the current. They'd drift away. The reef had been there long before, and the reef would be there long after. Scars would always fade. Life would carry on.

"...You're right, Harvey," you chuckled softly. "I was having one of those days."

He shifted curiously to face you. Your mind was clear. You were ready.

You told him about the Flower Dance today. You told him about the countless times before that where you'd felt unhappy, unattractive unworthy and unloved. There were times as you spoke where your voice faltered or cracked, but you carried on, not because you felt the need to be strong, but because you felt safe enough to be vulnerable. Harvey listened quietly and intently, your every word committing deeply to his mind. All the time you spoke, he held your hand, giving you encouraging squeezes where you stumbled and holding it closer where you grew silent.

He understood.

Your eyes finally met with his as you finished your explanation. He wasn't sneering, disgusted or disappointed- Harvey was concerned. And still just as in love with you as you were with him.

"I've...Had a lot of these issues too," he admitted tenderly. "I don't want to draw attention away from your issues. I just want you to know that I understand where you're coming from, love. Feeling like your body isn't good enough, feeling like your efforts aren't good enough, just feeling like you yourself aren't good enough."

"But you are," Harvey affirmed you. "For one, I've never looked at you and thought that there was something wrong with you or the way you look. Your body is your own and that's why I love it- scars, cellulite, rolls and all. The flaws you think you have don't make you unattractive. Every little detail you look at in the mirror and feel insecure about, I could write a love poem about the exact same thing."

You snorted a little. "Alright, Elliott. Might as well grow out your hair and move onto the beach."

Harvey rolled his eyes at your comment. After a playful pinch to your side, he continued, "And secondly, the only thing we can ever do in life is our best. Judging your own accomplishments by those of other people is just going to get you down. Just because your life doesn't look like someone else's doesn't mean you're not living it as well as you can. I'm proud of you for all that you're putting forward, even if it's just to get out of bed and do your chores on the farm. When you struggle with this feeling of inadequacy on a daily basis, it's important to focus on what you can do instead of what you can't, you know?"

"Someone dabbled in psychology," you teased him.

"That and I have a good therapist," he shrugged, smiling guiltily. "Something you could benefit from, yourself. We can talk about it when you're ready?"

It was a start. You nodded in agreement.

A startling noise from the television caught your attention. The movie had ended.

However you felt, you couldn't describe it. You still carried the weight of your feelings with you, but it didn't feel as heavy as before. It wasn't quite numb, nor did those feelings go away, but you felt more ready to carry the load, knowing that you wouldn't be doing it alone. You had Harvey. You had your friends in town. Even your farm animals and their antics, they were reason enough to keep pushing forward.

"I love you, Harvey."

It wasn't a grand declaration or something that had to be said, but you wanted to say it, if only to see the pink tinge in his cheeks when you did. You stifled a laugh at his shocked expression. Just by looking at him, anyone else would think that it was the first and not the thousandth time you'd told him.

He couldn't even look you in the eye when he said it back, the sweetheart.

"I...I love you too."

~FIN~

#stardew valley #harvey stardew valley #stardew harvey #stardew valley harvey #stardew valley fic #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley farmer #harvey sdv #stardew valley headcanons #stardew #sdv harvey #sdv #sdv farmer

[practically-an-x-man]

Whatever Keeps You Around (Rick Flag x Eris)

Summary: Based on this prompt, Eris runs into an immortal surprise in a very mundane place. (Title from First Time by Hozier)

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: Mild jealousy, mild possessive themes, some mentions of violence.

____

"Go see if they have any bread you like, hon."

Eris nodded, ducking past him and half-jogging up to the shelf of artisanal bread in the corner of the store. This was why he'd picked this store, even though it was small and pricey and overly-organic: Eris claimed it was the only place in New Orleans that made bread the right way, whatever they in their mind deemed the right way.

All Rick knew was that it cost about eight dollars a pop and was loaded with spices he couldn't identify, and that Eris could go through three loaves a week if he let them. Usually he did. The one perk to working for Amanda Waller was the paycheck, and that allowed him at least enough wiggle room to buy the right kind of bread.

She jogged back up to him, two loaves wrapped in paper in her arms, just as Rick had finished thanking the deli clerk for his cold cuts and cheeses. Eris tucked the bread into the shopping cart almost delicately and promptly plucked the deli bags from his hands to inspect his selections.

"Oven-roasted turkey? Not the herb kind?"

"Outta stock. I've got thyme and stuff back at the house if it really bothers you," Rick replied, "What kind of bread did you pick out?"

"Honey-rosemary and something they call rustic medley," Eris muttered, "I'll be the judge of that."

"Sounds pretty good," he agreed, "Maybe we can make butter to go with it."

Eris tilted his head, something Rick stupidly misinterpreted as a lack of understanding.

"I saw it online, you just put heavy cream and a little salt in a mason jar, shake it u-"

"I'd be willing to bet I'm more familiar with making butter than you are, Flag." Eris cut him off, sharp as always, "But why?"

"I dunno. Seems like fun."

"You have a real strange idea of fun. And this is coming from someone who lived through tapestry being the popular hobby." they jeered, but tossed a carton of heavy cream into the cart as they passed the dairy case. Rick tried to hide his smile. If anyone was the definition of 'actions speak louder than words', it was Eris.

He stayed close to Rick's side as they wandered the store, occasionally tossing things into the cart on what looked like pure whim. Cans of tomato soup, the ones Rick remembered mentioning were his favorite because they reminded him of his childhood, made their way in alongside pretzels and peanut butter and bars of high-cacao baking chocolate. It was far too bitter for his tastes, at least in anything other than baked goods, but Eris could snack on it like a Hershey bar. She liked it for the same reason she liked the artisanal bread, he thought. Nostalgia, or the closest thing to nostalgia they could find.

"Lasagna tonight? Or should we just find something to stick in the oven?" Rick asked, frowning at the prices of the pasta boxes on the shelves. Eris was back at his side in a moment, moving so quickly and silently that he would have jumped if he wasn't used to it.

"Hm. Neither. Make your pot pie." he decided, and Rick felt him lean in against his side, "I have a taste for it."

His mother's recipe, the one he'd tried so hard to get right after her death, now lived on as a favorite in the mind of a centuries-old metahuman.

That one made him feel good.

He knew Eris wasn't one for public affection, but he still couldn't resist wrapping his arm around their shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of their head. He pulled back quickly, before Eris could wriggle away or complain about looking soft, and waved a hand at the produce aisle they'd left in their wake.

"Go grab me a bag of baby carrots and some green beans, then," he said, then paused and corrected, "In a bag. Not just loose green beans."

"I know that, smartass." Eris huffed, rolling her eyes at him as she walked away. Rick suppressed a chuckle.

There was someone else in the produce aisle, apparently trying to decide between a starfruit and a cherimoya. They were half a head taller than Eris, with wavy brown hair halfway down their back and a flowing blue sundress swishing around their knees.

Rick didn't pay them much mind, and was about to turn and grab a can of biscuits when Eris froze in his tracks.

"Julius?"

The taller figure whipped around so fast it must have given them whiplash, and their eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Rick could see, even from afar, that their features had the same strangely archaic look as Eris' own, though perhaps a continent and a few centuries apart.

"Oh my- Eris?" they stammered, then gestured vaguely at themself, "And it's- er, Wisteria now. Wisty."

"Wisty." Eris repeated, as if testing out the name, "You're... very not dead, for someone three hundred years old."

"Made a deal with a witch a while back. And you're... very tame for how I remember you."

That made a grin flash across Eris' face, quick and sharp and promising only dark things.

"Try me."

But Wisty didn't flinch. She just smiled right back, though this one was nostalgic, almost soft.

The thought struck Rick like a bolt of lightning.

Eris had a type.

Underneath the flowing fabric of her dress, Wisty had to be at least as tall as Rick himself was, and just as stacked with muscle. Old scars littered what bare skin was visible around her clothing, like she'd been a fighter in a past life- or perhaps still was. And she knew not to flinch at those shark-smiles Eris threw at her. Just like Rick did.

The thought made something strange bubble up inside him. He wasn't sure he liked it. As strange and twisted as Eris' affections could be, he'd never before had competition for those affections. It was actually one of the best things about being with them, knowing they'd always drift back to him at the end of all the chaos.

It wasn't Wisteria's arrival alone that had him so tense. What really got him was the set of Eris' posture as he spoke to her: leaned back slightly on his heels, shoulders loose, head tilted ever-so-slightly in curiosity. Casual. Relaxed. The only time he'd ever seen Eris truly relaxed was when they were alone with him.

"We should catch back up." Wisty decided, a smile slowly growing on her face, "Go... spar like the old times or something. I'm a lot tougher than I used to be."

"I don't doubt it." Eris said, their spine automatically straightening at the promise of a good challenge.

He deserved this, Rick thought. This was some sort of cosmic payback for those two years he spent pushing her aside in favor of June, for snapping at all the times they suggested making him into a metahuman like them - it was all to keep him safe, to keep him around.

Well, here was someone who'd stuck around. Who'd played the long game, the centuries-long game, the way Rick was always so afraid to commit to. Who could hold their own against Eris, when she still had to pull her punches against him.

"What do you think? My lance and your spear, or hand-to-hand?" Wisty asked, playfully throwing up her fists with a broad grin. Eris returned the gesture, bouncing on his toes a little.

It was like he'd forgotten Rick was there, just ten feet back. And even as much as he wanted to call out, to remind them... he couldn't move. All he could do was watch it all unravel before him, the can of biscuits still held tight in one hand. Suddenly his mom's old recipe didn't seem to matter much.

"It'll be like before. You and me," Wisty said, "The old war god and the king's footsoldier."

Then there was a different kind of tension in Eris' posture. The shift was sudden, her chin lifted and her shoulders drawn back, all joviality transformed into something more guarded.

"I'm with someone." he said, each word crisply spaced, and brushed past Wisty with smooth, disciplined steps. They grabbed a plastic bag and shoved a handful of green beans into it, pausing only to pluck a few wrinkled and undesirable vegetables from the lot and toss them back. Wisteria turned, fixing them with a tilted expression.

"You told me you wouldn't love another. You told me love was too painful. You told me... that I was the last one."

Eris snatched a bag of baby carrots, holding them tight in her hand as she turned.

"I was wrong." they said, chin set and eyes blazing, "And if you do a damn thing to him, if you hurt him thinking that'll bring me back to you, I'll kill you where you stand. And I will feel no remorse."

With that, he stormed his way back to Rick and tossed the vegetables into the shopping cart.

"You were staring." they muttered, taking the can of biscuits from his hand and dropping it into the cart alongside the rest of the groceries. Then, to his surprise, they folded their fingers into his own. For Eris, that was the equivalent of a public strip tease. Rick gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Yeah, I know. Couldn't help it." he admitted, knowing better than to try and duck around it, "First time I've ever seen one of your old friends. Didn't realize there was anyone else... like me."

"She wasn't like you." Eris huffed, ducking around his arm to give the cart a brisk shove, "Nobody's like you."

"It's alright if she was." Rick argued, "I know I'm not the only person you've loved, doll. That's okay."

Eris opened his mouth to respond, then reconsidered and shook his head. It must've been a lot to explain, or something they couldn't bear to speak in such public company. Their posture was still tense, shoulders stony, and they didn't spare so much as a single glance back at the produce aisle.

"Nobody's like you." she just repeated, even more set and sullen. Rick decided there were two ways he could take that: a sign that this love was real, or a sign that the pattern would end up repeating itself in a few years. He decided to take it as the former. The latter, true as it might be, felt far too pessimistic.

"Rome!" a voice called from behind them, and finally Eris turned. Wisteria had caught up, and fire a glance between the two of them. Rick met her eyes calmly, and found something strange swimming there. She returned her gaze to Eris, unflinching. "A hundred years. Rome. Then we'll have our fight."

Rick could hear the other half of her words: because he won't be around by then. Maybe he should have been offended by the implications. He didn't bother. He'd always known there would be someone after him. He didn't expect to meet that someone, but... this was life with Eris. He'd learned to get used to things like this.

"Fine." Eris agreed, though the firm look never left her eyes, "I will meet you on the steps of the Colosseum in one hundred years exactly. We will have our fight."

Their grip tightened on his hand unexpectedly, right on the verge of being painful. Wisteria's eyes fell straight to it, and she frowned a little. Eris must not have been any more affectionate in their prior life.

"But you will get no love from me then." they concluded, "They will bury my heart when they bury him."

Rick saw hurt bloom across Wisty's face, a shocked and helpless sort of pain, but Eris just spun and gave the cart another brutal shove towards the checkout lanes. Rick found himself pausing an extra moment, looking into Wisty's shockingly crestfallen eyes and debating an apology.

In the end, he just shut his mouth and trailed after Eris, leaving Wisty where she stood. He had a sense that speaking to her would only make things worse. It was better just for him to be, in her mind, some speechless nameless thing at Eris' heels. It was probably safer for the both of them.

He caught up to Eris just shy of the checkout lanes, right as they set a rotisserie chicken in the front basket of the cart. She glanced up at him as he approached and offered him something like a smile. It was a little pointed, a little irritated, but he didn't mind that too much.

"You're mine." she muttered, possessive like a wolf to its mate, "Until they put you in the ground, you're mine."

"I love you too, wartime."

#my ocs #oc eris #my writing #oneshot #shortfic #the suicide squad #rick flag #oc x canon #light angst #happy ending

[knifedancer]

Winds of Change - Hope Ending

You've selected the HOPE ENDING!

Light angst, implied happy ending.

Go Back | Dark | Salt | Bittersweet

~~~~~~~

Words from broken sentences filtered through the darkness, a familiar voice increasingly tinged with desperation and pain.

“You’re cold to the touch…”

“Could be mild hypothermia from the rain…going to wrap you in my shirt.”

“Don’t be surprised if you find me in a state of undress.”

“Your bleeding has stopped, that’s a good sign.”

“Marinette, I’m going to use my pant leg to bind your head injury…..this may hurt.”

“It’s probably strange to hear… I’ve always looked forward to our spats...”

“…Life would be empty without you in it.”

“Don’t you dare die on me.”

“…your Miraculous cure would be helpful now…”

“God, you shouldn’t have been the one to get hurt!”

“It’s all my fault…”

“…Adrien is going to kill me…”

“I swear on all the Miraculous that Lila will fucking pay!”

“Just keep breathing.”

“…I was such an ass…”

“I’ll keep you safe, Marinette.”

“When this storm passes, we’ll head straight to the hospital and... You’re going to be fine.”

“I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry… for everything…”

“…we’ll defeat Monarch together…”

“Please…please don’t die.”

“…I don’t know if I’ll ever get to say it but I…greatly admire you…I think I might love you…”

“Please stay with me.”

“Please…open your eyes…Please…”

Marinette tried to push through the haze in her mind, feeling like she was fighting to surface from deep under water. She felt drops of moisture on her face, dully wondering if they were still stuck in the rain. Her eyelids fluttered open, taking in the sight of the blond boy cradling her against his warm bare chest that trembled with each breath he took. Though his eyes were closed, she could tell they were red rimmed and observed the dampness of tear tracks down his cheeks.

‘Is Felix…crying?’ the drowsy girl thought as she mentally tried to move her body, her limbs feeling as if they were made of lead.

~~~

It had been a few hours and Marinette had yet to awaken, his fingers had grown too numb from the cold to check for her heartbeat. She was so still that Felix was sure she was at death’s door. He didn’t know what else he could do for her, so he held her cocooned to his chest in an effort to keep her warm with just his core temperature. “Please…open your eyes… Please…,” he begged, allowing a few new tears to fall. How he still had any left to shed, he did not know. It seemed the well of sadness within him was bottomless. He thanked his lucky stars that he was not anywhere near Gabriel to be akumatized…

Suddenly a small, cold hand brushed his cheek and his eyes flew open in shock where they met hazy, unfocused blue. Felix’s voice failed him as he stared at the girl in his arms. She was alive! – pale, injured, and concussed but alive. And she was awake! Thank heavens!

Her voice came out as a pained but concerned whisper, “Fe-lix…are – are you h-hurt?”

He couldn’t help himself, he started to laugh. Hours of holding her limp, cold body after she took a blow for him…and that was what she was worried about? “I’m perfectly fine, my dear. You’re the one that took a hit to the head. A hit meant for me.”

She winced, her eyelids closing slightly against the dim light of the room they were in. “Ah, I wondered why my head felt like it was split open… I’ve had worse—”

“Why did you do that?!” Felix cut her off, his eyes wild with a mix of fear and anger.

Marinette winced at his raised voice, feeling like she was just punched between the eyes. “It was going to fall on you, I couldn’t…”

His voice dropped to a whisper, his shaky hand cupping her face as if she was something precious, “I was so worried, Marinette. Please don’t ever do that to me again.” Unable to stop himself, he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to her bandaged brow, taking a shaky breath against her hair. “You need to stay awake, but you shouldn’t move around too much. The storm seems to be lightening up so we should be able to get you medical care soon.” He positioned her so that her forehead was against his neck, securely wrapping his arms around her once more.

She was only able to hum an affirmative in reply, feeling the exhaustion of the day catching up with her. Groggily she combed through the haze of her memories that seemed to be jumbled together. Her leg injury, the storm, the roof caving in, Lila…and Felix’s voice coming through the darkness. “…did…you mean it?”

She felt him chuckle silently before he answered, “Mean what, my dear?”

“…that you loved me.” The body beneath hers suddenly went rigid and his heartbeat raced where her nose rested against his pulse point. “…that you’d protect me…and you know my identity…”

Felix turned his head as much as he could to look down at her, knowing he could not see her eyes from this angle. “How…”

“I…I heard you…in the darkness…your voice…”

Tikki flew into Felix’s view, staring into his eyes as if daring him to lie; willing for him to tell the truth. He swallowed hard and opened his mouth to reply when Marinette interrupted him again.

“…need to get you…new suit…now that you’re on the team, Argos…” His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest. However, any words he planned to say died in his throat as one slender finger wobbly rose into his field of view and weakly poked him on the nose. He blinked, aware of the hand falling limply against his bare chest but was stuck staring down the bridge of his now ‘booped’ appendage in bewilderment.

Duusu broke into a fit of giggles and a smug smile spread across Tikki’s face. What had he gotten himself into?

~~~ Ladybug POV: 6 Months Later ~~~

“Alright, boys, let’s see drill sixty-two today!” Ladybug called out as she settled onto the edge of a roof to watch her team train. With a carefree grin, the former antihero Argos – now known as the hero Phénix – traded playful blows with the new recruit he had suggested for the Snake, Kobra. Their suits taking on golden highlights as their movements caught the light. Felix had drastically changed over the last few months, no longer the troubled and lonely boy that had betrayed them a year before. His scowls had slowly become soft smiles and quiet chuckles around Marinette, still hesitant to fully express his emotions when out of suit or the privacy of her room. He blossomed under the sincere friendship only she could offer.

They had plotted Argos' retirement – with a little help from his unsuspecting and devoted mother – framing a rather destructive akuma for him being trapped in the rubble, Ladybug took the peacock brooch and cursed him to lose all memory of the Miraculous. Wayzz had confirmed that the old temple could do so but that the knowledge was lost with the Order. What mattered was that Monarch had no idea if the Guardians could do so or not. Tikki, for her part, provided a pretty light show from her hand as the 'curse' took effect. Ladybug looked determined while the de-transformed teen's eyes became blank and passed out. Marinette had watched the replay on the news and felt they were rather convincing. Amelia and Felix showed their superior acting skills in the weeks following as they convinced everyone around them to believe it.

This fabrication had to be done to protect him, the few recovered Miraculous in their possession, and their future plans. Chat had become withdrawn due to issues in his personal life and, although no one except Ladybug remembered it, had been akumatized again. Seeing Chat Blanc once more had brought back so much repressed trauma that Argos started spending nights in the shadows on her balcony, watching for akumas, and risking their connection being revealed. He didn't remember being turned to dust by Chat as he defended the shell-shocked heroine but had held her when she could no longer keep the words from spilling from her mouth. Marinette would never forget the grim look on his face paired with the empathetic glow of his eyes as he dried her tears.

An older Bunnyx, one with eyes that spoke of a haunted wisdom, appeared to them soon after the fight and had then cryptically explained that it was time for new holders and new identities... To play these close to their chests and to trust no one, not even the rest of the team, until Monarch could be defeated. Chat had been oddly sad over the loss of Argos, but the young Guardian knew he was still secretly among them. Her hero partner became even more distant, telling her that his home life had deteriorated further, and he struggled to escape to help out in the fight as he was under even more surveillance than before. When Chat did appear for patrol, he would try to bond with the new holders. However, it was still very much a work in progress – especially with the cat hero’s old grievances about his place in the team still dangling over his head like a hangman’s noose. That coupled with some sort of internalized hysteria expressed in sporadic aggressive behaviors that left her concerned he might be approaching some sort of breakdown – concern and a tingle of dread down her spine. Felix seemed angry for the hero, likening Chat's situation to his cousin's...which was understandable after the peacock holder finally confessed Monarch's identity to the shocked bluenette in the privacy of her room.

Marinette had sworn to Felix that they would get Adrien out of that house and from the clutches of his crazed, terrorizing father! Sure, the two of them had not worked out… Ladybug stared off and frowned as she recalled that disastrous period of her life.

~~ Flashback~~

Gabriel had disapproved of their relationship and tried to bribe her to leave. She had steadfastly refused; Marinette had faith that Adrien would stand up for her. However, the teen model, deciding it was more a matter of trust and perceived immaturity, had thrown himself into ‘proving’ to his father and gain his approval. She had watched as Adrien was bogged down with additional extracurriculars, photoshoots, and supplementary lessons. At first, they had still tried to meet up, but planned dates were inevitably canceled or put on hold indefinitely. Lila doubled her efforts in keeping them apart during the day and his bodyguard constantly hovered nearby to whisk him away. However, it wasn’t until she started wearing a feather-shaped sentimonster brooch Felix had insisted on making her for her safety – linked to a necklace he wore tucked into his shirt – that Adrien seemed to distance himself from her at school, followed by his texts slowly trailing off to nothing. The bluenette had explained to him why, the model had claimed to be relieved and understood, however his actions expressed resentment. Her faith in him had been shaken but her hope held on by a thread, excusing her feelings of abandonment and hurt as a mistake.

Marinette had finally gotten the message over a holiday break when a full-page photo spread of Adrien and some copper-haired heiress enjoying a romantic evening together in Italy was published online. Paparazzi had even caught them sharing a kiss on a starlit balcony at a ball. Her denial and that tenuous thread shattered along with her heart. She stumbled against and gripped her balcony railing as a sob ripped from her throat, her vision blurred with tears as she choked on her overwhelming emotions. Within moments a panicked Argos had landed heavily on her balcony, having sensed her heartbreak halfway across the city regardless of the furiously buzzing chain around his neck. He caught her in his arms before her legs gave out, muffling her agonized wails against his chest and whispering words of comfort into her hair until she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. Tikki had dutifully recounted how the antihero had carried her slumbering form back to her bed and tucked her in.

‘I thought it was some kind of miracle I had not been akumatized,’ Ladybug thought amusedly, ‘now I know it was only because Monarch had left for Milan Fashion Week.’

Felix took it upon himself to confront Adrien upon his return to demand answers. He found out that his uncle had essentially been selling his own son off for monetary favors from investors and the model had gone along with it in some misguided scheme to continue dating Marinette. Ever her stalwart defender, the outraged peacock holder had spelt out just how monumental of an error his cousin had made before storming off to return to her side. The secret bug heroine had not had time to dwell on that information before she was summoned to defeat Chat Blanc, approached by Bunnyx, and began planning a new identity for her ally…

~~End Flashback~~

Ladybug shook herself free from those memories, refocusing her gaze upon the playful sparring match that had devolved into a game of rooftop tag. Phénix launched himself from one roof to another, his indigo-colored peacoat flaring out to reveal the shimmery peach and tan tones of the interior that, in the golden light cast by today's sunset, gave him the same fiery appearance as his namesake. Ladybug watched with a smile as he threw back his head and laughed; his white-striped, blue mohawk shifting in the breeze like a crest of feathers. Gone were the blue tinted skin and magenta-colored eyes, replaced by a half mask over naturally creamy skin. It resembled three peacock plumes whose quills started from the tip of his nose – forming a miniature faux beak – and flared out over his eyes and brow ridge. The ellipsoid pupil of each ‘eye’ feather substituted by his now blue and gold-ringed irises; a delicate t-feather shooting straight up the center to bridge the gap between the two peaks and covering part of his forehead. The edges of his mask seemed to crinkle like a real feather when he smiled or furrowed his brow – an optical illusion his kwami was quite proud of.

‘It’s good to see him smile and laugh so freely,’ Ladybug thought happily, proud of his metamorphosis.

Felix had saved her from the storm in China and nursed her injured form. While his confession had been a shock, he did not expect her to reciprocate and even fully supported her quasi-relationship with his cousin – simply stating that he was happy if she was. Their subsequent friendship felt natural and easy. Argos became a trusted confidant and protector to Marinette, a huge support for Ladybug and Chat Noir in their fight against Monarch, and then became an integral part of the team as Phénix. He had even begun assisting her with the Grimore and her Guardian duties! However, the two teens had grown even closer over the weeks since her heartbreak. Spending almost every evening on her balcony or in her room whispering secrets and pouring out emotions that they had kept bottled up. Comforting, supporting, and commiserating with each other. They had become each other’s ‘safe haven’ where no word, thought, action, or feeling were forbidden nor degraded. They could be who they truly were without judgement, it was freeing! It was in that air of safety that she had watched him blossom into the cordial man before her now. At this point, on the cusp of the final battle against Monarch, she could readily admit that she trusted Felix with her innermost thoughts, her welfare, even her Miraculous…

Thinking back to that horrible day in the rain and his desperate, whispered words, Ladybug’s expression turned contemplative. He had seen her at her best and worst, had saved her countless times – emotionally and physically, and remained diligently at her side as a pillar of unwavering support. Whose gentle encouragement had slowly helped mend and reform her torn emotional landscape.

‘I trust him with my life,’ the spotted heroine eyes met Phénix’s warm gaze for an instant before her lips curved into a small smile. As if sensing her thoughts as well as her emotions, the pale blond returned her smile.

‘Perhaps it’s time to trust him with my heart as well…’

~~~~~~~

Go Back | Dark | Salt | Bittersweet

#miraculous ladybug #felinette #marinette dupain cheng #felix x marinette #marivanily #felix fathom #felix graham de vanily #argobug #cross posted on ao3 #hurt/comfort #mild fluff #New peacock hero #protective felix #hopeful marinette #choose your own ending #HOPE ending #pov felix #pov marinette #tikki #duusu #my ocs #light angst

[lostdreamr-blog1]

Running Never Helped Anyone

Requested: Thank you Anon for this request! Hope this is what you were looking for and more!!

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Female!reader

Warnings: mentions of depression, mild swearing, some fluffy fluff

Word Count: 1.8k

Dean and Sam were out on a hunt a few states over while I was supposed to cover an easy one near the bunker. Dean wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of me hunting solo, but he agreed that it shouldn’t take more than a day and that I should have no problems. His exact words were, “Call if you need anything but you can do this in your sleep.” Which is the complete opposite of what happened. One nomad vampire turned out to be a whole nest and shit hit the fan quickly. I managed to get out with a decent sized cut on my side that needed stitches and a few bruises.

Which is why I was currently sitting on the bathroom floor bawling my eyes out as I pushed the needle in and out of my skin. I don’t know if was the pain that was escalating my emotions, but I could feel myself start to go down that dark hole I worked so damn hard to get out of not that long ago. My thoughts seemed like they were surrounding me, shouting all my insecurities at the top of their lungs making me feel worse and worse as the minutes went by. I knew better than to simply shut down and let the negativity consume me, but this was an uphill battle that I didn’t see me winning. The hunt was simple, or supposed to be, but turned into chaos. If I would’ve stayed, I probably would’ve been killed which tells me I made the right decision.

But I had to abandon the hunt which is something I knew was going to piss Dean off.

I stopped what I was doing and dissected that last thought. If I knew I made the right call, why is it that I care so much about Dean’s view towards it? Hunting with them for the past few years brought me a sense of safety and kept the dark, intrusive thoughts away. I felt like I was free of the anxiety and depression that consumed me for far too long, until now. I wasn’t blind to my own feelings about Dean. That green eyed hunter had a special place in my heart even though I knew I held no space in his. But what alarmed me was the fact I was willing to put myself in danger just to please him and get a “job well done”. I was throwing myself back into the worst part of my brain because I was worried about disappointing him. But telling him that would set him off. To sit there and try to explain why I was feeling the way I am would complicate things further than any of us need.

Because of that, I knew it was time to leave. Scrambling to cover my mostly finished stitches, I ran to my room and started throwing what I could into bags. Hunters always packed light, but holy shit I have accumulated so much over these years. I didn’t give myself time to think about what to take or leave as I knew the boys would be on their way back at some point tonight. Getting up the courage to leave and take on the world by myself was something that would dissolve the second Dean walked into this bunker. After quickly writing a note that I was fine and it was my time to move on, I nearly collapsed into my truck and drove off with zero destinations in mind. The only thing I prayed for was that the brothers would let me go with no questions asked.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2 years later...

I was on a salt and burn case down in Texas when a gruff voice made me jump. “So, you are alive.”

I knew who it belonged to before I even turned around. Sure enough, I was met with a cold stare of the older Winchester. “Hey Dean.”

As he was looking me over to see that I was in fact alive and in one piece, I took a lingering glance at him. His hair seemed a bit longer and had more stubble on his face than usual. But overall, he looked the exact same. “Care to explain why the hell you disappeared off of a sudden?”

We weren’t exactly in the best place for a conversation like this, with people being able to freely hear what we were saying. I don’t think saying the word “vampire” in a serious tone would go over well. He seemed to catch onto my thought and pointed behind him. The impala was parked on the curb, and I quickly realized I had nowhere to run to if things got bad.

“Get in the car, Y/N.” his voice gave me zero room to argue, and I found myself walking to the car that I never thought I would see again.

The first few minutes of our drive were filled with tension. I could see the white knuckled grip on his steering wheel and practically felt the anger rolling off him. My best option was to stay quiet until he started the conversation. “What did I do?”

My head snapped towards him at that question. “What do you mean?” Of all the things to ask, that wasn’t what I expected.

“I keep going over it in my head. We left to go on a hunt. You had a small hunt of your own. And then you were gone. Those years before you seemed happy and then suddenly you change your damn number. It took a while to find you, but when we did, I realized you were trying to stay hidden. And the only conclusion I can come up with is that I did something.” While he wasn’t entirely wrong with assumption, he had no control over my thoughts.

I let out a long sigh and prepared myself for a conversation I planned over and over since the day I left. I wasn’t sure if it was the anxiety that drove me to try and perfect what I was going to say, but I knew I couldn’t explain things without it. “I need you to listen to everything without interrupting. That is the only way I’m going to get through this.”

A small nod of his head prompted me to keep going. Before I met you, I struggled with depression pretty bad. A good day for me was getting out of bed and eating something small, but those days were very few. I don’t think I can really explain why I was depressed, just that my brain decides it wants to hate everything about me and around me. By some miracle I found the will power to go on a hunt and ran into the two of you. I don’t think you realized it, but you saved me from myself by offering for me to tag along. After some time, I became the better version of myself and hadn’t had a dark thought in a while until that night I left.”

I paused as he pulled the car over on the side of the road and gave him a questioning look. “I have a feeling I’m not going to like what I hear and don’t want to damage baby.” A valid thought on his part.

“The hunt wasn’t simple like we thought, and it turned into a whole nest of vampires. I had to get out of there and couldn’t complete it like we originally thought. That night I kept beating myself up about it and I knew you would’ve been so disappointed in me. I could feel myself spiraling and came to conclusion that I needed to get out while I was still myself. But I knew if I tried to leave with you there, I wouldn’t be able to. With all the stress hunting puts on you two, you didn’t need the added stress of me and my pretty fucked up mind. So, I left.” Silence was what answered me, and I knew he was trying to process it all. This whole time he had only known one side of me and that was the stable and happy part. The monster that can make an appearance at any time had managed to stay hidden when I was with them.

“You could’ve told me. I would’ve been there for you.”

I looked out the front window and shook my head. “To talk to someone about what’s going on in my head isn’t an easy thing to do. To feel that vulnerable and admit that something isn’t quite right, wasn’t something I wanted to go through.”

I looked over as he ran a hand through his hair. “Sweetheart, I don’t care if you would’ve yelled at me or needed someone to force you out of bed. I would’ve helped you in any way I could’ve if it meant I knew you were safe.” He paused and came back a littler angrier than before, “And what the hell was that thinking I would be disappointed in you? You think I would rather you get hurt and finish the hunt? I don’t care if it was the easiest hunt in the world. You come get me if you think you can’t do it.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that came out, “Of all the things my mind tried to throw at me, I knew that was the most irrational. I was so caught up in my feelings for you and that need for approval, that I was willing to put myself in danger. Another reason why I left.” As I thought about what I just admitted to him, I silently cursed myself.

“Your feelings for me?” I closed my eyes and leaned my head back on the seat. “I don’t know if you know this, but you Dean Winchester, are a little hard not to fall for.”

His audible scoff opened my eyes. “Well, that’s just fan-freakin-tastic, Y/N. You mean to tell me now, after I randomly run into you and basically force you into my car, that you decide to tell me you have feelings for me? Do you see how that could piss me off?”

I tilted my head to the side in confusion. “Not really.”

He shook his head and pulled the impala back onto the road. I waited for him to elaborate or at least tell me where we were going, but there was nothing. “Dean, what are you doing?” He turned the music on, and Back in Black filled the care.

“I’m bringing you back home. I’m not losing you again, sweetheart. Now that I know these feelings aren’t just one sided.”

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean x you #fluff #dean winchester comfort #dean winchester fanfiction

[sednonamoris]

teeth

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: John never returns from his scouting trip. You, Arthur, and Javier seek him out through the snow.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, animal violence/attack/death (pretty brief), strong language, description of wounds, mild angst, snow storms, gratuitous horse content

Word count: 2,646

A/N: I like to think John made squeaky toy sounds when the wolves tried to eat him :) In all seriousness, though, Enter, Pursued by a Memory is one of my fav missions!! Really hoping I balanced the actual events with Ghost's presence well, but don't anticipate a rehash of every single mission like this. We had to establish a major plot point for John, but the rest of the story will mostly have the feeling of stranger missions as we see what Ghost got up to during the timeline of the game. My hope is to only 'redo' a handful of the really major missions - after all, RDR2 is Arthur's story!

Series masterlist • AO3

—

John is missing. 

He’s a grown man and he can handle himself and he was sent out to scout and surely he can follow your tracks here but it’s been days now and he’s missing. No one else seems to have noticed but Abigail. Maybe because the two of you are the only ones fool enough to care.

Everyone else is too focused on their own survival here at the frostbitten end of civilization. Colter, as someone recalls its name to be, is just as beat to hell as the entire camp feels. Its remaining walls provide shelter, but only just. The few threadbare blankets that made the journey aren’t enough to keep everyone warm, and the handful of cans of salted offal Pearson snagged for the journey are hardly food enough to keep everyone fed. The wagons are stuck until the spring melt begins, and it’s looking less and less like you’ll all make it ‘til then - already you’ve buried Jenny and Davey. You swear you won’t bury John, too, much less mourn an empty, snowbound grave, so on the second day you give in to your restlessness.

“I’m goin’ out looking,” you tell Abigail with a grim shake of your head. “He’s run off before, but… not like this.” 

“Thank you, Ghost,” she clasps your hands, and you hesitate only a heartbeat before squeezing back. “I’m— I knew you would understand.”

“Sure,” you try to offer a reassuring smile before heading out to tack your new mount.

Moonshine was Davey’s stud. He’s a stunning blue roan color with a powerful, compact build. He’s always been tough to handle, as wild and savage as his rider, but since Davey passed he’s been especially mean. That’s how you landed him; out of everyone in the gang, you’ve got the keenest horse sense. Already he’s bitten Charles in the short time he’s spent tending the mounts while his hand heals. Ever since, you’re the only one allowed to handle him. And still he’s a menace.

True to form, he pins his ears when you approach with the saddle and lifts a hind leg in warning. 

“Enough of that,” you chastise. 

“Sure that’s enough horse for you?” Arthur’s voice sounds from behind. 

You turn to face him and raise a brow when you see he’s got his own tack at the ready. The big painted bay he took from the Adler’s barn snorts softly. 

He shakes his head. “I still say Marston’s run off again, but Abigail asked me ‘n Javier to come with.” 

“Hosea’s worried, too,” Javier chimes in. He flashes an encouraging smile over Boaz’s back that offsets the sour look on Arthur’s face. 

You mount up and tilt your head towards the wilderness. “Let’s ride, then.”

—

Javier picks up the trail first, a set of hoofprints just past the stream that heads up further into the mountains. There’s an abandoned camp there still smoking, only a few hours old by Arthur’s reckoning. The embers in the fire have gone cold with the freeze, but you allow them to light a spark of hope in your chest all the same. 

John is alive out here somewhere. He has to be. 

The going is slow through snowdrifts and steep inclines, but the horses take on the challenge gamely - except Moonshine, who squeals and kicks out when Arthur rides up too close behind you. A quick spur forward redirects the stallion’s outburst. He prances and arches his neck before settling once more, and you pat his neck with murmured praise. 

“Jesus, that thing’s mean,” Arthur says.

“So is Ghost,” Javier teases. His eyes glint with mischief when he looks back at you, and you scoff a tired laugh. 

“So was Davey,” you say. “Still hard to believe that bastard’s gone. Everything happened so fast.”

“What did happen?” Arthur presses. 

You glance up at Javier, who lets out a breath. “We had the money, everything seemed fine, then suddenly they were everywhere.”

“Bounty hunters?”

You shake your head and grimace. “Pinkertons.”

“It was crazy,” Javier says. “Raining bullets.” 

As you climb the winding mountain path he explains how Dutch killed a hostage - a young girl, he says, in a bad way. You think about the blood on Dutch’s face as he dragged John to shore. The cold look there. Determination, not regret. You think about the feeling of a body going limp in your arms so many years ago. The eardrum that still doesn’t hear as well bursting with her head at the gunshot. The guilt you waited to feel that never came. 

“Bad business,” Arthur says with a weary sigh. 

You stay silent, staring past the falling snow. Bad business, alright. 

There’s little time to dwell on it as the storm picks up. Javier leads everyone higher and higher into these cursed mountains. A wolf cries in the distance. The sound rakes a chill down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold. As snow starts coming down thicker you urge the horses to pick up the pace. In weather like this it won’t take much to lose the trail. You brace against the wind, tugging your coat closer around your shoulders. It does little to keep the biting cold at bay, but it’s better than nothing. This high up the wind is even worse, and the path only gets narrower.

Soon the horses begin to flag. You pat Moonshine’s neck and the palm of your glove comes away damp. He’s steaming with exertion. It won’t take much for him or the others to catch cold this way. 

“Tough going,” you say. Your voice is laced with the worry you’re trying so hard to keep in check. 

“Lots of fresh snow,” Javier agrees. “I don’t see the tracks anymore.”

“We can’t follow nothin’,” Arthur says, and your hackles raise. He and John haven’t gotten along for years, but his reluctance still rankles. 

You turn in your saddle and open your mouth to snap at him when Javier makes the decision for you all that it’s worth pushing just a bit more. The trail could pick up again. John could be close. 

Arthur sighs, but without another word you dig in for the climb. 

A dark shape in the snow not too far ahead has your heart in your throat. When you canter up to it, vultures take off. You’re about to send up a prayer that it isn’t John when you realize it’s not a person at all, but a horse.

Dead in the snow. 

“Missy,” you say, but they both know. 

John’s faithful red mare lies frozen, petrified with death and cold. Something other than vultures has started to eat her as well, belly ripped open and guts strewn. The snow around her is stained red. You turn away with a sigh. 

“Oh… that’s…” Arthur trails off. You pointedly ignore his glance towards you, laden with sympathy. 

“John could be close,” Javier reasons, and raises his pistol above his head to fire off a single shot. 

The sound cracks and echoes off snowy peaks. You swear you stop breathing when you hear a faint cry for help from a scratchy voice you know better than your own.

“Hey! Help! Here!”

You canter a little further up the path, but all too soon it narrows enough that taking the horses further isn’t an option. The three of you dismount and ground tie your mounts before continuing the journey on foot. 

Arthur clutches his shotgun a little tighter as you climb. Your rifle is thrown over your shoulder, just in case, and even Javier loosens his revolver in its holster. Anything could be waiting for you; these mountains are not made for kindness. 

Crouching beneath stone and scrambling up rock shelves you make your way towards the sound of John’s desperate pleas. He seems scared. A stab of fear pierces your own heart for him. 

A narrow walled pass allows brief respite from the wind, and you all pause for a moment to breathe. Javier passes his flask around, and you let the whiskey sting warmth into you as it goes down. When you emerge on the other side the storm seems even worse. 

“John!” you shout over the wind. “Hold on, we’re almost there!” 

“I’m here! Out on the ledge!” he calls back. His voice sounds closer than ever, hoarse and desperate but alive.

“There,” Javier points, then raises his voice for John’s benefit. “We’re coming!”

You sprint through snowdrifts to the edge of the dropoff. 

“I’m here!”

When you reach the ledge and look down to see him you curse under your breath. He looks… bad. Some predator got to him - wolves, if you know anything. Tore up his leg and made a mess of his face. The entire right side has been slashed through, nose, cheek, and mouth. He’s lost plenty of blood. The remaining skin is red and inflamed, like it’s infected already. He’s lucky it didn’t catch his eye. He’s lucky to be alive.

“Jesus, John,” you finally say, because you can’t think of anything else. “They chew you up and spit you out? Can’t taste that bad.”

“Nice to see you too, Ghost.” He tries to smile but only winces in pain. The relief in his voice could make you cry. 

 “That’s quite a scratch you got there,” Arthur observes when he catches up only a moment later.

Despite his heckling he’s quick to jump down and hoist John up to you. Javier helps pull him upright and he sags between the both of you. 

“Never thought I’d say this, but… it’s good to see you, Arthur Morgan.” 

You want to squeeze tight and never let him go, but he’s hurt, and even moving him from leaning on your shoulders to thrown over Arthur’s is enough to make him groan. 

“You don’t look so good.”

“I don’t feel too good neither.”

“Hang in there, compadre.”

It isn’t a long trek back to the horses, but it certainly feels that way. You have to keep reminding yourself not to hover. All that pent up worry and fear has nowhere to go now that John is safe with you. Maybe a good cry later will get it out of your system, but for you just have to worry about making it back to camp.

Javier notices your hypervigilance and offers a smile. “Tranquilo, my friend. Not much farther now.”

You try to smile back at him, but your expression drops when you spy movement over his shoulder. Wolves. On the ridge ahead. Three of them. Their coats are mangy and they look thin, which scares you a hell of a lot more than it would otherwise; they must be as desperate as you are. A bone-chilling howl looses from the throat of their leader when its yellow eyes meet yours.

“Shit,” you say. “Fuck. Goddamnit. Arthur, you and Javier get John to the horses.”

“No,” he puts John down and shoves him into your arms. “You take him. I’ll hold them off.”

You have no choice but to nod your thanks and hobble as quick as you can to where the horses stand spooking. Moonshine’s eyes roll back at the wolves as they stalk toward Arthur, growling. He dances in place, but stands still long enough for Javier to help you hoist John behind your saddle, even when Arthur starts shooting. Two gunshots ring crisp and clear, and you wait for the third but hear a cry of pain instead. You whip your head over to Arthur and see one of the wolves has him by the forearm. Without thinking, you grab your rifle from your back and take aim. On the exhale you squeeze the trigger, and with a yelp the wolf falls to the ground.

Arthur looks up at you, eyes wide with shock and thanks, before running to meet you and scramble onto his horse.

“Nice shot,” he pants.

“Any time,” you tip your hat. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

You spur the horses down the mountain and don’t look back.

—

Apart from the initial excitement, it’s a quiet ride into camp. John is in rough shape, but his grip at your waist never falters. It takes three people to get him off the horse once you make it back, and even with the extra hands they catch his bad leg at an awkward angle. You flinch when he cries out. 

“Careful, idiotas!” Javier scolds.

Hosea steps out to thank the three of you for a successful rescue, but you don’t stay to talk. Arthur can handle that. Instead you linger in the doorway, watching Abigail fret over John. Besides dressing his wounds he needs to get warm, so you pull yourself out of your stupor enough to close the door. Just before you turn away he catches your eye and mouths a thank you. You manage a sad smile and leave them be. 

For the rest of the day you make yourself scarce, cooling the horses out and chopping firewood and even lending Pearson a hand with the stew. Only once night has fallen and everyone else is long asleep do you allow yourself to sneak back into the cabin to see John.

It’s easier than you’d feared to tiptoe around everyone’s sleeping forms and into the empty chair at his bedside. The hard part is ignoring the pang of guilt that comes when you spy Abigail’s beautiful, moonlit face asleep without that pinch of worry between her brows you’re so accustomed to seeing. Jack is snuggled in just as peaceful at her side. A family. John’s family.

But when you reach him, everything else fades away.

They did a good job cleaning him up, given the circumstances. Thick strips of cloth bandage wrap half of his face, even the eye. The other half has been sponged clean so the blood and grime is no longer caked frozen on his skin. His hair is still unwashed and limp, but no longer matted to his face. They even wrangled him out of his shredded clothes and into some of the few spares lying around. 

He’s dead asleep. The exhaustion must have finally hit once the adrenaline and fear faded away. You settle into the chair at his bedside and just watch him sleep. Each steady rise and fall of his chest reassures you that he’s alive. That he’ll stay that way.

Before you realize what’s happening tears begin to wet your cheeks. You sniffle quietly to muffle the sound but can’t stop. He could have died up there. All alone on that mountaintop with only the snarl of wolves and the snap of their teeth to send him to the other side. This life you lead is dangerous, always, but you haven’t had to look mortality in the face in a long time. It stares at you with an open maw and hungry yellow eyes through John’s torn flesh, and you shudder in spite of the fire. 

It should make you want to confess. To lay your heart out and speak the love that’s laden your tongue for years uncounting - before it’s too late. But when you glance over at Abigail you can’t bring yourself to say a word. Instead you grasp John’s hands as gently as you can and raise them to your chapped lips.

You press a soft kiss there where your hands are joined and smile down on him past the heartbreak. When you go to leave he closes his fingers around your wrists. You stop dead in your tracks.

“Knew you’d come for me,” he rasps. His unbandaged eye opens blearily and shines up at you. You squeeze his hands back. 

“Of course,” you say. Whether he means the mountain or this room tonight, it doesn’t matter. The answer is the same. “Always.” 

Still, you leave before he can convince you to stay.

#john marston x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr x reader #ghost story #ch. 12 #fran writes #don't ask me how this one got so long lol

[13atoms]

Tight Spaces (Anthony Lockwood x Lucy Carlyle

A mission leaves Lucy panicking long after the visitors have left. It’s up to Lockwood to figure out why.

AO3 Link | 2.2k | Fluff, hurt / comfort

  Food mention, alcohol mention, mild injury talk

Lucy hasn’t spoken to him. Not since the case. They’d ended up on their hands and knees, then army crawling on their stomachs, dragging chains as they clambered to escape the collapsed mansion.

Lockwood hadn’t been pleased about it, but the old drainage tunnels were more tempting than waiting for morning beneath the creaking structure.

She hadn’t blinked. Not when they emerged panting into the night. Not when Lockwood laughed in victory, recovering their bags from their stash outside the building. Lucy hadn’t done anything but shiver in the taxi, holding her arms close to herself, scraped and muddied in a way which made the cabbie glare at them for messing up his upholstery.

Lockwood had overtipped, probably too much in hindsight, pulling the cash from his wallet without a second thought as Lucy grabbed both of their kit bags and bolted to the front door of 35 Portland Row. He’d been helpless and empty handed, taking long strides, still barely catching a glimpse of her as she fled upstairs.

He’d sighed, and resigned himself to helping a sleepy George unpack the dumped bags, unsure of what to say.

“You cleared it then?”

He blinked for a moment, frozen with the leftover chains in his hands. Then

“Yep,” Lockwood popped the p, trying to exude an energy he didn’t have. “Nasty. A pair of type twos.”

“Grim,” George frowned. “You look terrible. No offense.”

“The building was half-collapsed. Didn’t survive the flares particularly well. It doesn’t matter though. They were clearing it to put a housing estate in.”

George looked thoughtful for a moment, glancing at the ceiling where two floors above Lucy’s bedroom lay.

“What’s up with her?”

Lockwood cleared his throat, awkwardly enough that it was obvious it was intentional. Not cool. He winced.

“No idea.”

“Something to do with the visitors?”

George was never one for taking a hint. Especially when he was worried about his friends.

“We caught the first one and she just… went blank. I’d only seen one death glow, but there was another one. We got ambushed…”

“Nothing she hasn’t handled before,” George mused, shaking out the empty kit bags.

Lockwood realised he was standing completely still, salt bombs in both hands. Shaking himself out of it, he placed them into the right box. Probably. That was probably the right box.

He closed the lid.

“Yeah,” he reassured George, “you’re right.”

“So what is it?”

“I don’t know! Girl stuff?”

George didn’t wince like Lockwood had expected. He was glaring at him.

“We can both pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Right. Sorry.”

George was still looking at him.

“I don’t know. I’ll go and talk to her, okay?”

Satisfied, George offered a curt nod and told him there was dinner on the stove, before vanishing to his room. It left Lockwood in the lurch. He was used to George’s quirks, had grown quite fond of them. Perhaps it was too much time with Lucy which made him suddenly so uncomfortable being abruptly left alone in the kit room.

He listened for a moment, hearing nothing but silence.

How often did Lucy get to hear silence, he wondered.

The sound of his footsteps seemed impossibly loud, measured and steady as he paced to the kitchen. True to his word, George had left stew on the stove, and an apple pie half eaten on the counter.

Lockwood plated it up, two mains and two dessert plates, musing at the tray in front of him for a moment before grabbing a pair of beers too. Maybe Lucy wouldn’t want one. Maybe he’d want two. The night was still young.

After a brief struggle up the stairs, Lockwood juggled the tray to one arm, rapping against Lucy’s door and listening intently to the silence which greeted him.

“Luce,” he called, “can I come in?”

Another beat. Then, a mumbled ‘sure’ returned to him, and Lockwood fumbled to open the door without sending beef stew flooding across the floorboards.

He offered her a grimace, then schooled his features as he saw her. The room was cast in shadow, a single lamp. Lucy was curled up on her bed, pyjamas already on, swallowed by an oversized jumper. She watched him, tracking his movements like a cat as he took a few steps closer, closing the door behind him.

“Hey, Lockwood,” she offered quietly.

The words came out stilted, and he fought with himself not to react at the realisation Lucy had been crying.  

 “Hey yourself,” he returned, before quickly shifting to a gentler tone, “I, uh, George made dinner. And I’m starving, so I figured you’d be hungry. There’s apple pie too, though he’s had half of that…”

She smiled tightly, pushing herself up onto an elbow as he set the tray down on her bedside table. Her soft hair was tangled from the escape, and it fell across her face as she turned to face him. Lucy brushed it away roughly, frowning as she did.

“I can, um, leave yours here, if you like? There was only one big tray left in the kitchen, I think the rest are in George’s room–”

He was rambling. Lockwood hated it when he rambled. No one aloof and serious rambled.

One wide-eyed blink from Lucy had him going off again, offering her beer then saying of course she didn’t have to have beer, and did she want something else for dinner, and wasn’t it cold up here, and –

“Are you okay, Luce?”

Those wide brown eyes had been watching him, his Listener unhearing even as the best in the world (he reckoned). It took one tremble of her rounded bottom lip to have him in shambles.

Lockwood crouched down to her, meeting her at eye level, hands reaching across the bedcovers but stopping short of reaching her. They lay helpless on the bedspread, that strangely familiar quilt beneath his outstretched fingers.

"You can talk to me."

That was all it took. One deep breath, and Lucy closed her eyes, chin dimpling and her reddened cheeked turning away from him. He could see her sobbing, the shaking of her diaphragm, the curling of her fingers as they covered her face.

The food sat forgotten. Lockwood had never felt less concerned for his grumbling stomach.

“I’m sorry,” she heaved, “god, this is embarrassing.”

The words were broken up by sobs, distorted as Lucy fought for breath. Lockwood had no idea what to say, but there was a sting, sharp as a rapier tip, settling firmly between his own lungs.

“It’s okay, Luce.”

“You should go,” she whined.

It wasn’t an order, so he stayed.

“It’s alright.”

One hand found her elbow. He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. If it was comforting or awkward or too far. Instinct told him to rub a thumb across her forearm, gently, just reminding her he was there.

She inhaled heavily, glancing down at the gesture, then up at Lockwood’s face.

It hurt, to see how reddened her eyes were. Bloodshot, surrounded by tear tracks. Her eyelashes were wet.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, on a heavy exhale this time.

“No, it’s fine. It’s good. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise… I didn’t realise how upset you were.”

Lucy looked sheepish, eyes trailing to the tray he’d brought up.

“Dinner in bed?” he offered, “If you don’t mind.”

Lucy shrugged, in that frustrating self-deprecating way which only seemed to bother him more by the day.

“It’s your bed.”

“Lucy,” he sighed, “it’s your bed. And if you want to risk eating stew in it, who am I to stop you?”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. Lockwood could tell she was feeling better by the defiant tug she gave his arm.

“C’mon,” she ordered, shuffling to sit against the headboard, feet crossed on the bed.

Lucy moved the pillows, shoving one beneath her back, making it clear that space beside her was for him. She tapped the spot for good measure, and it was enough to make Lockwood jump into action, rounding the mattress to her far side.

“Stew in bed,” he repeated, trying it on his tongue like it might become a tradition, before stretching out beside her and letting Lucy pass him a bowl and spoon.

It had cooled substantially, but Lockwood’s heart was pounding so fast in his chest it was difficult to care. Lucy still hummed her appreciation for George’s cooking.

“He is good,” she offered, between mouthfuls of stew, “sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” Lockwood conceded. “Got to keep him around for something.”

When Lucy uncrossed her ankles to nudge him in the leg, all Lockwood could think about was the smile erupting onto her face.

She must have been starving. He watched as she ate, remembering the occasional spoonful of his own dinner, transfixed.

She’d washed up her arms, the mud was mainly gone, with some cuts and smudged blood remaining where her sleeves were rolled up.

There was the occasional bad cut, where blood clotted into a seam and he feared it could be nudged at any moment. He wanted to run his fingers over every single one, clean them and apologise and let her rest for a week until they were distant memories, pink scars which would fade with the memory of the case.

There were bruises blossoming on her wrists, from stones and junk and the ground itself. He remembered her grunt of complaint as he nagged her to move faster, snapping at her heels as the chains dragged behind his.

He remembered the abject horror on her face when he explained what they had to do.

She was looking at him.

She was speaking.

“I’m not waiting for you,” she insisted, nodding to his half-full bowl as she grabbed dessert.

“No!” Lockwood returned to his body with a jolt, suddenly finding himself replying. “No, don’t wait. I’m being slow. It’ll only go cold.”

Lucy watched him curiously, before being absorbed by the apple pie. George was getting better at desserts these days. She pulled her legs up close, slowing down as Lockwood took another few mouthfuls of stew.

She was figuring out what to say. Usually, she was so quick, he never got the chance to see it. Now he could tell she was thinking.

“I’m not great with small spaces,” she blurted out.

“It’s fine, Luce. Honestly. It was miserable in there.”

She was staring at the curtains, ignoring him.

“No, like… I can do ghosts. And the bloody Thames – though I didn’t like that much – but there’s something about small spaces… it makes me panic.”

With a pang of guilt, Lockwood remembered that conversation. It had been less than a week ago, around the kitchen table. Their fears. George was scared of spiders. And heights. And a litany of Visitor types. Lockwood had named an endless list: notably including clowns and his mortgage. Lucy just had one: being trapped. He remembered her spitting the words out, mug of tea clutched to her chest, like it had scared her to say them.

“Luce, I’m sorry. I should have known…”

“It’s fine.”

Her tone was bordering on snapping at him, one hand tensing and untensing against the fabric of her plaid pyjama bottoms. Embarrassment rose on her cheeks, making her refuse to face him.

“No, I… I’m sorry. I should have thought of another way.”

“There wasn’t one. I tried thinking of one, anything else… but you were right.”

“I’m still sorry.”

She looked at him. The puffiness in her eyes had lessened a little, though the redness remained, bloodshot whites surrounding soulful brown.

“It’s not your fault, Lockwood.”

“I’ll take Karim next time,” he promised, teasing, making Lucy gasp in horror.

“You damn well won’t! I’m not being demoted!”

He hid a smile. 

“Well… I’ve heard you’re a dab hand at research. And making pies.”

“Anthony Lockwood I swear…”

He wasn’t sure if it was her laughter, or the sound of his first name in her accent for the first time, or the second swat she was winding up for. Something made him do it.

He grabbed her hand.

Brought her knuckles to his lips.

Murmured: “I’m sorry,” against her skin.

His eyes never left hers, dinner forgotten and a sincerity he’d never shown anyone else before plain on his features.  

Lucy blinked at him, silenced in an instant by the gesture.

In some ways, he’d never felt younger, waiting for her reaction. Her approval. Her rejection. Anything. Was he even doing it right?

Lucy wouldn’t have been the right person to ask. She was staring at him, heart racing and the instinctual fear reaction in her hind brain was silenced for the first time in hours. She’d stopped shaking, at some point between the knock at the door and Lockwood’s grip on her elbow. Her heart had stopped hurting at some point during the stew. Her headache had gone at the point of apple pie.

Now every nerve in her body was screaming at her, the ghost of Lockwood’s lips fresh on her knuckles.

She wanted to bottle the feeling, keep it forever.

She had no idea what to say.

“You’ll always get out,” Lockwood promised.

Her hand was still in his. She could feel his breath on her skin as he spoke.

“We’ll always get you out. I promise.”

Lucy couldn’t bear to look at the open, desperate sincerity in his eyes. She focussed on the sharp rise and fall of her knuckles, like a tiny, fleshy mountain range, stilled in his hold. Wondered if they were nice hands. If Lockwood thought they were nice. Snapped her focus back up to Lockwood’s face.

He’d forgotten his biggest fear, when they’d sat around the kitchen table.

She knew what it was. She'd known since the day she started working at Lockwood & Co.

Lockwood was terrified that she’d leave. It was that same hyperventilating, can’t-get-out-of-bed fear. She saw it in him, sometimes. That rising, paralysing, panic.

Searching his wide eyes now, she saw a glimpse of it yet again. It was in the warmth of his hand against hers. In the worried set of his jaw. In the dinner he'd brought her and in the way he talked her down.

Lockwood was terrified all the time.

“I know you will,” she promised, squeezing his hand.

#if anyone thinks of a better title i will change it and love you forever #lockwood and co #locklyle #lockwood x lucy #lockwood and co fic #usual programming will resume soon im 1k into a geralt fic #fic #13atoms #i have such lockwood brainworms i might buy all 5 books

[tokusaatsus]

ENDING, ENDING, ENDLESS

ft. shinkai kanata

© tokusaatsus 2022

warnings: mentions of drowning and the sea/ocean, mild mentions of death

THINGS THAT THE SEA,

Here, standing on the shore with sand between his toes–caught between the all-encompassing sea and the endless horizon–Kanata thinks.

He thinks about the past, and about the present, and about the future. It may be best not to dwell on memories, he considers. Think too much about before and you’ll lose yourself, instead of reaching out for the after. But reminiscence is bittersweet.

Indeed, it’s true that he suffered greatly–a lot of it undeserved. However, that low point in his life was not the lowest he had ever been, and for good reason.

After all, he met you, didn’t he?

And yet, all that pain was not worth it. It was not worth it then, and it still isn’t, even now. It will never be worth it, for all the anguish he sees in the eyes of his dear comrades–Rei, Shu, Wataru, Natsume–is a remnant of that horrific time.

When you look at him, though… Well, Kanata doesn’t quite know how to word it. It makes him feel found, being with you. Like all that yearning and drowning, caught in stormy waters beyond his control, desperately reaching out for a saving grace, has built up to something greater than he could ever imagine–a crescendo, a tsunami.

THE SKY,

He tastes like sea salt when you kiss him, something that he knows is quite similar to the taste of tears, but you don’t seem to mind. You never seem to mind, really, and that’s a relief.

Because, well.

Sometimes he is too old and sometimes he is too young and sometimes he knows everything and sometimes he knows nothing at all but no matter what, Kanata is just another ancient dying thing the sea has washed up onto its shores. There is nothing but the watchful moon who casts a pitying eye upon his suffering but is too far to offer comfort as he breaks down, decomposes slowly, and returns to the ocean that cast him away.

Kanata never has to fear being cast away when it comes to you.

AND MY LOVE FOR YOU HAVE IN COMMON:

Bubble, bubble… Those troublesome feelings bubbling up in his chest, making him feel gooey and soft and melty all over… He remembers when this warmth wasn’t so much a comfort as it was a source of annoyance. How silly he was back then, still so young… Despite it being only a few years back, and yet you are now one of the bright spots permanently occupied in his life.

Hand in hand in hand, leading to a destination he isn’t quite sure where, but he’s content just to follow. He always is, when it’s you.

“Kanata!”

And he turns, ignoring the siren song of the tides lapping at his feet, to see you running across the beach. He’d have to be dead not to answer your call, after all. He gives you a smile, backlit by the setting sun. It looks like a halo.

(Your breath catches in your throat. He looks…)

“yes, y/n? what is the ‘matter’?”

“Is everything okay? Everyone’s waiting for you… Are you ready to go?”

“mm,” Kanata hums, thinking it over. Is everything okay? “do not worry ♪ everything is ‘okay’, now that you are ‘here’.” Yes, he reflects. That sounds right. As long as you are with him, then everything is truly okay.

THEY ARE ENDLESS.

notes!

WC: 564 words

reze txt HBD @yumetokashite​ SWAN LEG SHINKAI !! sorry if this isn’t vv good ;_; i’ve been balancing a toooon of reports and shit buuuut this felt more impt to me so i hope it wasn’t too unintelligible and that u enjoyed it !! puka puka 🫧 <3

#✒️...scribbles! #shinkai kanata x reader #enstars x reader #shinkai kanata #ryuseitai #enstars #esworks

[happybird16]

Escape VII

A Swim

Levi Ackerman / Fem Reader

Mermaid AU

Escape Masterlist Link

Chapter Warnings: Fluff, Mild NSFW, Blood Mention, slight angst

Word Count: 8k

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39039084/chapters/97865835#workskin

Last Chapter | Next Chapter

Your days shift to long hours spent making out. Softly murmuring to each other about your lives between endless kisses. His mouth is hot, far warmer than any humans. Teeming with muscle, his tongue is a bit longer, perhaps a bit thinner, than a humans should be. The possibilities leave your mind whirling, filling your dreams with images of the slick appendage. The potential. 

 The warm summer heat fills your blood even as the evenings slowly begin to get cooler. He always tastes of the sea, of salt and something rich and mysterious. It’s exciting, beguiling, leaving you wanting more. More of his smooth skin pressed against yours and more of his long tongue sliding along your own. 

 On one of your rare days off, completely free from adult responsibilities, he meets you at the water by the entrance to the beach. It’s an odd sight, he hasn’t greeted you here since his several week long silent treatment. You’d warned him that you’d be here bright and early for once, and there he is trilling at you in greeting. Pretty thing. 

 The sound will never not make the heart throb in your chest. 

 The sky is still soft pink and sort of dark with the rising sun. Bright pastel purple and pink clouds fill the morning sky, back dropped by a soft blue. The color makes you feel fond, as it nearly matches the pastel tones of Levi’s fins. The light pale hues give way to a more familiar orangey-yellow as they approach there the sun rises above the sea. 

 Without pausing to take of your shoes like you usually do, you walk over to sit beside him. Careful not to get your sneakers wet, the sand crunching as you lower yourself to his side. There are rough ridges scratched into the sand along his sides, so he can’t have been waiting long. 

 “Morning! You never meet me over here! What’s the occasion?” You hope, distantly, that it doesn’t sound as if you’d just woken up. Excited, you’d come here practically right after rolling out of bed, barely stopping for breakfast on the way. You think your voice might still be a little sleep-roughened, your hair a little bit mussed, and you hope it’s not too noticeable. 

 “We have all day together, right?” Oh, his voice is a bit rumbly from sleep too. That’s comforting. You must be the first person he’s spoken to today. 

 “Yeah?” For once, you have nothing else to do. No work, no laundry, you’d even told your boss he couldn’t call you in today. 

 “Do you want to go for a swim with me?” There’s a small bit of hesitancy to his question, his gaze firm on your own as he leans back with his hands in the sand. Almost as if he half-expects to be rejected, despite the tantalizing offer. 

 The thought fills you with excitement, though you're a tad worried you’ll embarrass yourself. “I haven’t really swam in years. Not since I was a teen.”

 “You don’t want to go for a swim?” Saddened by the thought, his ears tilt low and his bottom lips just out in a cute pout. 

 Raising a hand, you rub the nape of your neck in a nervous gesture. “No, I do! I just… might not be too good at it anymore.”

 The fact seems extra embarking to admit to Levi. Anyone else, sure, easy; but the man beside you thrives in the water. Your ineptitude seems almost like a tragedy, given his prowess. 

 He snorts. “Humans aren’t great in the water anyways. I’ll help you along if it’s too much. There’s somewhere I’d like to show you.”

 “Where?”

 “You’ll see when we get there. Do you need to do something with your…,” he pauses a minute, as if struggling to remember the word, “…clothes before we go?”

 “Ah! You should have warned me! I could have brought my swimsuit!” You have such a cute one too. It’d have been fun to show off to him, though you're not entirely sure if it fits anymore. 

 Rising, you kick off your socks and shoes, placing them in their usual home in your small drawstring bag. 

 “Swimsuit? What’s that?” As always, new human words sound awkward and stilted coming from his lips. 

 “Clothes that humans wear to swim. They’re light and made for getting soaked.”

 “Do you need them? Couldn’t you just swim naked?”

 “My bra and panties will work, I suppose.”

 Wiggling out of your shorts and lifting the short sleeve shirt above your head, you can practically feel his gaze drinking in your newly revealed skin. Balling up the two articles in a messy bunch, they also go in your bag. Placed carefully on top of your shoes, you hope they don’t get too dirty from the sneakers. The forest had been a bit muddy today after all. 

 His gaze is hot, silvery eyes trailing along your newly exposed back and thighs. When you catch his gaze with your own, Levi is surprisingly unashamed. “Like what you see?”

 You sit back down next to him, bumping your shoulder against his and wiggling your toes in the water. It’s a bit closer to the shore than you usually sit, the tide coming up to softly splash around your waist. It’s warm, thankfully, despite it being so early in the morning. You’ve never been so thankful for hot summer nights. 

 Levi warbles a bit in response, raising a hand to tug gently at the strap of your bra. “Humans wear too many layers. What’s this?” 

 His drag against the tightly interwoven lace as he pulls the strap taut, before letting it go to snap against your skin. It’s a quiet sound, a plastic-elastic smack against flesh and his ears tilt curiously at the odd noise. 

 “It’s a bra. It sort of- holds everything up.” You gesture a hand along the band at your bust with the explanation. “Mermaids wear ones made of clamshells in storybooks.”

 “Bra?” There’s the odd, long r’s again. It’s such a cute, musical roll somewhere deep in his throat. He shakes his head, eying the strange fabric with a stern glare. “Probably to line up with human modesty. Why not take it off too?” 

 “I’m not sure how comfortable I am with that yet. Maybe next time.”

 “You think I haven’t seen tits before?”

 You laugh a bit at his crude term. How very like a man, you think, to be so insistent on seeing your bare breasts. “I’m sure you have, but not mine.” Not yet at least. 

 He warbles a bit, eyes dancing from your chest to your thighs before looking out to the water. The sky is brightening even more, clouds lighting up in soft purples with the rising sun. The water is so bright that you can see each of the puffy, cotton-like clouds reflected across the surface, color and all. 

 A few seagulls fly in the distance, stark white v’s along the pink sky. Now that you think about it, you rarely see the birds when you're in his presence. “Do you scare away seagulls or something?”

 “Mers have been known to eat them occasionally, so they tend to steer clear of us.” He looks like he’s tasted something nasty for a moment. “I don’t really see the appeal, they’re sort of…stringy and the feathers are a pain.”

 “I should have brought you chicken nuggets instead of a burger. You might have liked them.”

 “Doubtful. That grease had me shitting weird for days.” Brows twisted tight, you watch the wrinkles crease along his forehead with the exaggerated grimace. Tinted fingers rise to soothe along his stomach at the memory. 

 “You liked the tea, though!” You’d brought him some several times since then and he’d been equally happy each time. His ears flap happily along the sides of his head at the mere mention of the beverage. 

 Levi hums a bit in response, eyes locked on the smooth crests of the waves in the far distance, before meeting your own again. “Are you ready to go?”

 “Ready when you are.” Not really. You can already feel the oncoming embarrassment, a lingering wave in the back of your head just waiting to flood your senses. 

 Levi pushes off the sand with a smooth flex of his arms, sliding forward into the warm water. You watch as he swims a few feet out, his tail dragging along the sand for a bit until the water becomes deeper. Long, ruffled back fin drags lazily on top of the water and he glides a bit into the distance, powdery silver-blue on bright shiny waves. 

 He turns, pink sky bright behind his head, to look at you sitting on the shore. “You coming?”

 “Hold on. Hold on.” You rise to your feet, slowly wading into the shallow water. It’s surprisingly clear in the early morning light. You can see the small little pebbles that make up the shallow coast, shifting beneath your feet with every step. Dark browns, light browns, rusty reds, mossy greens, an odd eggshell white. The mix of colors brings you back to the first day on this shore, when the earthy tones had been almost dizzying in your vision. 

 The water is almost shoulder deep when you meet up with Levi, most of his long tail still resting curled up on the rocky shallows. The rocks shift and kick, clear as day through the bright water, bouncing away from his scales as he drags it across the rough terrain. 

 “You look like you're about to shit yourself. We don’t have to go if you're not sure.”

 “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I got this.” You don’t, but bluffing is half of the game, right?

 Kicking off from the rocky floor, you settle into a shaky paddle, just barely keeping your head above the water. Almost immediately your muscles start to protest, unused to swimming after such a long time. 

 You hear him snicker behind you, amused by your odd swimming style. A blush begins to tint your face, heat spreading to the tips of your ears. There goes the looming embarrassment. 

 “What’s that supposed to be?” There’s a laugh trapped in his voice, almost bursting, ready to fill the air. 

 “A doggy paddle! I used to be good at this, you know!” You were taught all sorts of forms back in school, but they seem to be escaping you at the moment. Your mind scrambles to remember something, anything from the many swim courses you were forced for take. The population of your tiny town may be rapidly decreasing, the children fewer and fewer with passing every school year, but they’d be damned if anyone drowned. 

 “How do you forget how to swim? It’s like breathing,” he teases, floating effortlessly on his back by your side. His tail is lazily churning side to side, barely putting forth any effort in order to keep himself afloat. 

 “Easy for you to say! You can breathe two different ways!”

 You scoop up some water, splashing him in the face. The action shocks him, making pause for a bit to drift along the waves, shaking his ears in surprise. He chuckles a bit, before lifting his tail threateningly above the water's surface. You can see the seriousness of the threat in the mirth of his eyes.

 “Levi, don-,“ the tail comes down before you can even finish the word. Sending a large wave directly into your face, soaking you with a firm sweep of the ruffled end. Your head had still been a bit dry before, safe above the surface, but now you're soaked from head to toe. 

 Gaining some confidence, and a bit of momentum, you stretch yourself out into more of a breast stroke. Your feet splash loudly, kicking above the water at a rapid pace. The sound makes you feel sort of silly, compared to the soft slide of Levi’s tail against the waves. 

 Levi dips beneath the water, letting his scales sliding along your belly and he passes below you before popping up on the other side. Carefully following behind you, his gaze never leaves your form, attentively gauging your progress in the water. 

 You're definitely out far enough now that you can’t touch the ground. The water seems a bit darker, the bottom far out of sight. You can still sort of see the sandy shore in the distance, now just a tiny bit of gleaming sand. Levi swims lazily beside you, effortlessly sliding through the surf. You're kind of jealous. 

 The waves are a bit bigger this far out. You bob with every oncoming surge, the high waves threatening to pull you under. 

 “Here.” His tone is still full of mirth, but there’s a warm comforting tinge to it. 

 A finned hand slides across your back, pulling you against his firm chest. His strong arms lock around your waist, hugging you so close you can feel the hard lines of his abs; the flex of every breath. “We’re never going to get anywhere at your pace. Though it was cute to watch you try.” He presses a quick kiss to your shoulder blade, as if to punctuate the statement. 

 In this position, his head is tucked over your shoulder, a long ear-fin brush the side of your face with every outward flick. Still mostly lying flat, your belly is nearly parallel to the murky depths. He pulls you along at a much more rapid pace, swimming by swaying the length of his tail side to side. The leaf-like ridges of one side of his giant tail-end swaying side to side above the water behind you. They droop a bit under gravity's cruel grip, the high ends curling down toward the churning sea. 

 “Do you normally swim like this?” The angle his tail is twisted doesn’t seem quite right given its shape. It’s definitely not how you’d pictured him swimming. 

 “Not really if I’m going for a quicker pace. I usually swim more like a dolphin. More of an up-down motion than a side-to side. This is fine if I’m going slowly above the water, though,” his words rumble against your shoulder from where his chin presses into your skin. 

 “I’ve never been out this far before.” The water seems so deep beneath you, and endless dark blue, almost pitch black below your feet. This far out, the waves crest up to sharp foamy white peaks, but Levi pulls you over them easily. 

 “It’d be easier if I could swim below.” Levi dips a bit low, the water suddenly reaching up high on your neck, the waves lapping threateningly along your chin. 

 You know he’s joking, it’s obvious in the tone of his voice, but you play along anyways. “Please don’t. I need to breathe.” 

 He chuckles, loosening his hand from around your waist to tug at your hips. He rises, pulling you with his to float upright along the waves. The hands at your hips suddenly twisting you to press your chest against his. 

 “Think I’m going to drown you? After all this time?”

The hands at your hips loosen a bit, making you bob under a sharp wave. Your hands scramble to wrap around his neck. 

 “You're so cute.” The statement is followed by the uneven triple beat. Pretty Thing. 

 His long tail twists around your legs, pinning them together in a scaly coil. You can feel the tight muscle beneath the blue scales flexing as he pulls you hard against his chest. Soft beats of the end of his tail keep the two of you aloft, bobbing above the white-tipped current. 

 Pinching your chin between two of his claws, Levi pulls you into a deep kiss. It’s urgent, open mouthed. The slide of his long tongue gives you goosebumps, arousal already whirling distantly along the back of your head. 

 He breaks the kiss, gaze hot against your own. “Take a deep breath for me?”

 You do so without question, then the soft movement below your feet stops, sending you both below the water. 

 It’s exhilarating, making your breath catch in your throat and your heart beat loud in your ears. 

The salt water stings your eyes a bit, but his gaze never leaves yours as you sink below the surface. 

 The soft beams of light filtering through from the surface, making his scales glow; powdery blue of trailing fins bright and beautiful against the glittering rays. The ruffles billow, trailing behind him like an expensive dress, or perhaps the pleated layers of a skirt. It’s just like you’d imagined that first day, when you’d seen them hanging heavy along his back. 

 Letting you go, he twirls and loops around you, releasing happy clicking noises as beams of sunlight glinting off of his scales. You sink quite a bit, struggling to keep yourself level as you watch the frayed ends of his ruffles dance as he slowly swims around you. You can’t help but smile, happy to see him loose and free in his element. 

 Levi ends up taking you to a small bay a ways away from your usual meeting spot. You aren’t sure how far of a swim it was, but judging by the sun at least several hours have passed. The horizon is now a deep, clear blue with fluffy white clouds drifting along in the breeze. The soft, pastel tones of the early in the morning have long passed with the sun now high in the sky. 

 There’s a long sharp cliff face, rough layers of light grey shale rising so high above you that you have to tilt your neck. They’re tipped with a dark green, plant life thriving up high in the sunlight. A couple spots along the top seem to almost drip the leafy foliage, lines of green trailing down along the high shale wall. It stretches far into the distance in either direction, foamy white tipped waves lapping along the bottom. 

 It’s a tiny rounded cove, the waters calm with waves small rolling in comparison to those of the open sea. A small sandy shore forming a crescent indent in the otherwise straight rocky ridge. Several small islands of smooth grey stone peak out from above the water, scattered along the shallow cove a ways away from the white sand. 

 Levi swims you up onto one of the smaller islands, though the current here is light enough for you to have done so on your own. Arms flexing, the Mer easily lifts you from the bright water and plops you right along the smooth edge; as if you weighed nothing at all. Though, in comparison to his heavy tail, you suppose you do. 

 The dark grey rock is warm from the sun, not quite hot, but warm enough to stray on the edge of barely comfortable. It’s sort of soothing through the material of your panties, like a hot stone used for a luxurious massage. You relish it, wiggling your toes in the cool water. 

 Levi pulls himself up to sit next to you, a much easier rise and turn than you’ve seen him do against sand. Sometimes it can take him almost ten minutes to pull himself up onto the sand, beaching himself to sit by your side. Claws digging desperately into the grit in order to bring himself onto land. 

 Arm wrapping around the curve of your waist, Levi tugs you against him. Hip to hip, the rough larger scales of his tail rubbing directly against your thigh. This is the first time you’ve felt it so high, unblocked by the material of your shorts. Levi notes the difference, palm sliding from your hip to drag along the meat of your thigh. His fingers drag curious, distracted circles into the newly revealed skin. 

 “This is a popular sunbathing spot. Don’t be spooked if you spot another Mer.” His eyes trail along the other stony islands along the coast, ears flicking back and forth to hear for any other Mers. 

 “Other Mers?” The thought fills you with excitement, eyes immediately scanning the smooth waves for any hint tails peeking out from the water. 

 “Members of my pod,” he explains, eyes shifting to meet your own. “Though a few others occasionally come to visit from nearby.”

 ”Do you live around here?”

 He points at the bottom of the cliffs not far off in the distance. “There’s a series of small caves not too deep below the water. There’s some sort of underwater vent nearby, making them warmer. My pod has made them their homes.”

 ”So yours is nearby?”

 His long nail shifts to indicate further into the distance, where the cliffside begins to fade out of sight. “My cave is further along. I wanted somewhere a bit away from everyone else’s.” 

 Sounds about right, given his introverted nature. You haven’t seen him interact with anyone else yet, but you know from experience that he’s generally quiet until he gets to really know someone. 

 “Can I see it?” You have the sudden, desperate urge to see his home. To see where he spends the long hours between your meetings, where he sleeps every night. 

 “I’ll take you there another time.” He seems too comfy part from the warm stone to move, and you can’t really disagree with the sentiment. 

 His tail drags across the stone, a rough grating noise, as he uses his arms to shift further along the surface. The sound makes you wonder at how smooth the stone is; how many Mers must have dragged themselves across the surface over the years to file it into such a soft surface. The two of you shift to slide a bit further along the stone, almost centered so that only the end of his tail is left calmly splashing in the tide. 

 He flops onto his back, sighing out a happy trill at the soothing heat. Lying stretched out by his side, you revel in the relaxing heat, the warm rays of the sun echoing the heat along your spine. It’s no wonder Mers love to sunbathe. You close your eyes, the sun becoming nothing but an orange splotch beneath the darkness of your eyelids. You could almost fall asleep like this. It’d be easy. 

 Too easy, in fact. 

 You doze for a bit, the warmth lulling your brain into a mushy pile of goo. The calm intermittent rushing of waves doesn’t help. The comforting presence of his warm arm pressed against your own only worsens matters.

 “Don’t fall asleep on me.” The deep rumble of his voice jerks you back to your senses. “I didn’t bring you out here to take a nap.”

 Despite his words, he sounds a little sleepy himself. His voice is a little deeper and rumbly from his light doze. You know he doesn’t sleep too well, he’s told you as much, so you're glad that he’d been so relaxed. Hopefully it’d been partially because of your presence, and not just the warmth beneath you. 

 Turning to lay on your side, the fresh wave of heat makes your muscles shudder a bit. Facing him now, you note that he’d definitely been dozing. There’s a certain heavy, puffiness to his eyes that’s very telling. 

 “Well, what did you bring me here for?” You can’t help the flirty lilt in your tone. You know the answer well enough. 

 With a rolling chuckle, Levi lifts an arm to wrap around your waist, sliding you across the smooth stone and pulling you against his chest. Your arm wraps across his stomach, aiding the endeavor. 

 You end up on top of him, free from the warmth of the stone, but his skin is just as soothing. Hovering over him, legs thrown over his hips at the soft curve where skin shifts into scales. He looks beautiful beneath you, black hair dry and splayed across the dark stone, eyes sparking in the bright sun. He’s smiling, a once rare sight that’s becoming more and more common as the days pass by. It’s not huge, just a small eager tilt of his lips. 

 “For this.” His hand raises to curve along your cheek, pulling you down for a deep kiss. 

 It’s a deep, eager lip lock. His lips press hard against yours in an almost lazy, slow slide. Still full of sleepy lassitude from the unintentional doze. A hint of his sharp claws bites along the back of your head, digging into your hair as he tilts your head to press harder against your mouth. 

 The feeling immediately makes you dizzy, your head already buzzing from the shallow lip lock. There’s an odd almost whirling sensation in your brain that makes it hard to think about anything other than his mouth against yours. 

 Sucking your bottom lip between his own, you can’t help but groan in response. The dizzy buzzing in your mind is already building a rolling heat between your thighs. You slide a hand up from his chest to cup the back of his head, digging your nails into the fine hairs of his undercut. He groans in response, and you take the opportunity to deepen the kiss further. 

 His mouth is hot. It’s always hot. Everything about him seems to always be pleasurably warm against your questing digits. He groans, deep and airy at the first slide of your tongue against his, nails digging harder into the back of your head.

 Sliding your tongue along the inside of his mouth, you relish the sharp points of his teeth. They’re frightening, ominous. You should be wary of them, but to you they’re just another part of him. The points sting against your tongue, the pleasure-pain making your heart beat wildly in your ears. 

 Levi quickly takes over, pushing the kiss into your mouth. His long tongue sliding along your blunt teeth to tangle with your own. There’s always something so smooth about kissing this deep, some slick sensitive skin-on-skin sensation that always makes you lose your bearings. Your mind is no longer whirling in pleasure, but fully focused on it. 

 Nothing else matters now. You can’t hear the soft crashing of waves, the happy slap of his tail along the foamy surf. You can’t feel the buzzing warmth of the sun, or the hot stone against your feet. All that matters is the hot slide of his tongue against yours and the burning heat between your thighs. 

 You aren’t sure if this is one long kiss or a million little ones; his lips never once leave your own. 

 The hand resting at the curve of your waist rises, sliding along your skin to thumb curiously at the band along your chest. It’s a first. In all your long hours pressed together, he’s never shown any interest in your breasts before. With his eyes, maybe, but never with his hands. 

 The digits skirt curiously along the band, before digging below the fabric. Nails dragging across finely woven lace while the pads brush along the bottom of the round curve. 

 “You don’t have scales.…” The words are barely a mumble, vibrating against your lips. 

 You break the kiss to meet his gaze; eyes hot but with a shine of curiosity. “Obviously. Female Mer’s have scales along their chests?”

 He warbles a bit in response, an affirmation from what you’ve learned. It’s almost frightening how familiar you're getting with his odd noises. Little bits of Mer that you're learning just based on his tone. 

 Levi quickly pulls you back into a kiss, tongue bombarding the sensitive bottom of your own in a series of firm upward laps. The questing hand continues its journey, shifting to pluck at the hard bud of one of your nipples. Whining in response, the sound only earns you a deep grumble. The pleasure of it is sharp, a high point compared to the dull rolling pleasure of his kisses. 

 Pulling the cup of your bra up, he palms the entirety of the breast, squeezing the weight of it in his hand. His thumb continues to toy with the nipple, swirling the scaly digit around the stiff peak. The other is firm against your hip, pulling you tighter against his chest. The swirling is almost teasing; pleasure so close to the stiff peak. You whine, pressing your chest further into his palm. He trills, a high curious sound in response. 

 “You like that?” His lips never leave yours in the question, plump wet skin sliding against your own. 

 You whimper in response, helpless at the buzzing pleasure clouding your brain. The sound earns you a satisfied hum, his thumb finally sliding up along your stiffened bud. Another finger joins the quest, softly pinching the peak between the two digits. 

 The sound you make is high, breathy and desperate. Your nails scrape helplessly into his hair, the shorn baby-hairs rough against the pads of your fingers. The grit of them is grounding, helping you stay afloat in your pleasure-flooded brain. 

 Wiggling a bit in his grasp, you can’t help but rub your thighs together. The warmth of the sun had already dried your panties long ago, but now they’re soaking wet again. Your clit is throbbing, your cunt clenching desperately around nothing. Aching to be full of something, anything. Be it his fingers, his tongue or his…

 Eager to distract yourself from the thought, you run your hands along his chest. Feeling the firm lines of his abs, dipping and tightening beneath your questing digits. Hand cupping the round curve of his pec, you swirl your thumb around the hardened bud. Levi shudders, an airy whine puffing air across your face. 

 “You’re so fucking…”

 An odd chirp, a higher far higher tone than you're used to hearing, interrupts the no doubt filthy thought. There's an upward lilt to the sound, almost like a question. The noise makes you break apart, your lips separating with a wet smack. The searching hand quickly leaves your breast as you both turn to search for the source of the noise. 

 A dark bob of hair peeks out of the water not far from the edge of the stone. A mermaid. Her mouth is just above the water, dark hair just long enough for the ends to trail in the surf. 

 “Mikasa.” From his tone you can’t tell if it’s a greeting or a warning. Perhaps a tad bit upset at the interruption, you can’t disagree with the sentiment. 

 You quickly tug the cup of your bra back to cover your chest. You feel vaguely embarrassed for having been caught in such a position. Levi seems a bit abashed from being caught as well, pink dusting high on his cheeks and ears tilted a bit low. 

 She clicks in response, eyes darting between the two of you. She’s glaring, you think, there’s definitely an almost angry tilt to her brows. Levi moves to rise, pulling you up with him to sit and face her. 

 Hard nails clacking against the stony edge of the smooth rock, she - Mikasa, lifts herself out of the water a bit. Just enough for the water to lap softly around the curve of her waist. Using her strong-looking arms to hold herself up as she leans over the grey stone. Trying to get a better look at you, you suppose. You take the opportunity to do the same. 

 Her ears-fins are an orange shade, the pattern matching Levi’s with a darker line along the top and a paler shade connecting the ridges of muscle. There’s a sprinkling of gold and deep orange scales dusting her collar bones and curling around the undersides of her breasts. It looks as though they act sort of like a built in bra, some sort of natural support. Her back fin is familiar as well, deep orange scales fading into a soft translucent orangey-white. It looks soft, ruffles draping over her side as she leans forward in curiosity. 

 You shift a bit at her attention, nervous to finally meet another Mer. Her expression isn’t very welcoming though, her lips are still tilted down in an unhappy frown. Leaning forward from your place against Levi’s chest, you smooth a hand along his shoulder to help sooth your own nerves. 

 “Hello? My name is…”

 You're interrupted with a sharp hiss. Ears tilted back in displeasure, sharp teeth on display, she looks every inch a deadly predator. Back fins pulling tight, they raise to almost stand up straight along her spine, puffing up to make her seem larger in an angry display.

 The sound and sight is a shock, sending chills up your spine. Baby-hairs raising along the back of your neck, your breath catches high in your throat and goosebumps trail along your shoulder blades. Your hand curls around Levi’s bicep, desperate for a sense of safety and security. 

 Levi puffs up in turn, something you hadn’t known he could do. Layers of almost pleated blue ruffles pulling up almost tight along his back. His grip hardens on your hip, but otherwise he remains still and silent, eyes stormy and locked onto the angry Mer. 

 There’s a splash off in the distance, your eyes shift to watch a larger Mer break through the surface of the water. He’s a bit away from the edge of the stone, just a torso floating among the soft waves. The Mer warbles at you a bit; you can’t see his features too well from this distance, but he seems more genuinely curious than his female companion. There’s definitely a more interested, wide eyed look to his expression. 

 He clicks a bit, followed by a sharp bark. The tanner skinned Mer has short dark brown hair, cut evenly only a few inches from his head. Barely long enough for his bangs to dance in the breeze. He raises a hand from the water, barking at Mikasa again and waving in a familiar come-hither motion. 

 “Come on Mikasa!” His voice is surprisingly high pitched, sort of child-like despite him being a bit larger than the other two Mers. 

 You hadn’t even really realized how pale both her and Levi were, this Mers more olive toned skin catches you a bit off guard. You suddenly wonder how Levi doesn’t get sunburnt, but you immediately bury the stray thought. 

 One ear fin turns to flick towards her friend, she seems almost reluctant to make even such a small movement. Her glare is so hot, so sharp, you feel like it could burn a hole right through you. 

 Reluctant, she quickly turns to eye the male in the distance, chirping at him softly before darting her head back to you. Glaring eyes boring right into your own, full of nothing but anger and spite. Mikasa hisses at you one last time, a cruel sharp sound, before pushing off from the stone ledge and splashing away to follow her friend. 

 You catch a small glimpse of her tail as she raises it above the water to splash away. It’s a bit shorter and wider, but it looks remarkably similar to Levi’s, ruffles and all.  Splotches of dark orange and white decorate the appendage, along with the occasional smattering of reddish-gold and black. 

 The other Mers tail splashes next to her, a dark green fin cutting above the water's edge. Instead of ending in a large leafy fan, his tail ends in two distinct fins. It’s smaller, with long trailing ends; more like the ones you remember seeing in the old story books. 

 “Are you okay?” Levi’s force brings you out of your thoughts, jolting you back into the moment. You feel a bit shaken, a little upset at her negative reaction, but otherwise fine. Though, your heart is still beating a bit loudly in your ears, truth be told. 

 “Yeah. Just startled. I hadn’t realized that we’d be…disapproved of.”

 “That’s not exactly it. Mikasa’s a bit of a special case when it comes to humans. Of course you’d end up meeting her first.” He clicks his tongue off of his teeth. 

 “I’ve had to practically beat my friends away from meeting you,” he snorts. “They’ve come close a few times.” You can sort of imagine him hissing and barking at them, scaring them away from your private little beach. 

 “You don’t have to do that! I’d love to meet your friends!”

 “The two of them can be a bit…overwhelming,” Levi rolls his eyes to punctuate the sentence. “Especially when it comes to humans. Maybe eventually.”

 “Who was it that she swam off with? Another one of your pod-mates?”

 “Eren. Armin was probably lurking somewhere nearby. They’re pretty young members of our pod, always wandering off to get in some sort of trouble together.”

 Mikasa, Eren, and Armin. Sort of unique names, barring Eren. You could find someone with that name in any frat house in the country. ”What are your friends' names?”

 “Erwin and Hange.”

 Erwin and Hange. More unique names. You repeat them in your head a few times in order to settle them into your brain. “Will you tell me about them sometime?”

 “Sure.” He settles back against the stone, pulling you with him and wrapping an arm back around your back. 

 You think you might spot the top of her leafy tail splashing in the distance, a dark shadow against the bright horizon. “She looked a bit like you.” 

 “Mikasa? We’re sort of related somehow. Cousins, maybe,” he shrugs his shoulders, jostling you a bit with the moment. 

 “Why was she so… aggressive?”

 “Remember when I said I’d heard horror stories about humans? One of them came from her,” Levi explains, eyes suddenly a bit distant. Thoughtlessly, he pulls your hand into his own, toying with your fingers as he continues. 

 “Her mother was a Mer from some distant land. Some other ocean on the other side of the world. It’s why her coloring is so different. Humans trapped her and experimented on her, before abandoning her in the waters somewhere near here. From what I heard, she was covered in scars.”

 His words paint a vivid image in your mind. Orange scales against a white surgical table. A glaring bright light overhead. Sharp scalpels and bright red blood. Of course you aren’t alone in your discovery. Of course other people know about Mers, and of course they’re cruel. 

 “So that’s why…” You remember the flash of sharp teeth, shuddering a bit at the memory. Sometimes you forget that Levi is dangerous, that Mers used to drown sailors in old tales. He’s always so gentle with you, it’s easy to forget that he’s basically a killing machine. 

 At your shudder, a hand shifts to slide along your spine, soothing you. “She wouldn’t have actually hurt you. She comes on strong but Mikasa’s generally pretty easy going.” 

 “She sort of had the coloring of a Koi fish. And her eyes…maybe her mother was from somewhere around Asia? Maybe the Yellow Sea?” Though, you doubt Levi would even know where that is. 

 “We have no idea. She’s the only one with that coloring in the pod and her mother passed when she was a pup. I don’t think she did well in our waters.”

 Thinking back, her face had still been sort of round and youthful. Plus the boy's voice had been very childlike, almost cracking with puberty. “They’re still young?”

 “Almost adults, but not quite.” Ah. Teenagers then. That explains them getting into trouble all the time. 

 A thought suddenly occurs to you. “How old are you?” You can’t believe you haven't thought to ask him before. 

 “We don’t really track age the way humans do. I’ve been an adult for a while.” He shrugs, flapping his ears a bit. 

 “I’m in my mid 20’s. I think you might be a bit older than me? Maybe?” There’s something so youthful about his face that makes it difficult to place his age. Something in the way that he carries himself feels a bit more adult, though maybe it’s something in the hard line of his jaw that makes him seem older. 

 He tenses up a bit in worry, you can feel the arm around your waist stiffen. “Is that okay?” 

 “It’s fine, it's fine. I don’t mind you being a bit older. We’re both adults.” There’s so many differences between you, it feels a bit silly to worry about something so normal. You’re different species, what’s a small age gap going to change. 

 It is a bit odd that they don’t really track ages though. “You don’t know your birthday?”

 Pinching his brows together in thought, he shakes his head in response. “I was hatched in the winter, if that means anything.” 

 Hatched. Right. Your gaze strays to his firm belly, lined with abs but absent of the round indent of a belly button. Sometimes you forget that he isn’t quite human. That this relationship is doomed to end tragically in some way or another. That there’s a looming clock, ticking away, just waiting to reach its end. You try not to think about it. Summer's end is quickly approaching and you're not sure what you’ll do in the coming months. Especially with your mother…

 You shake yourself, burying the thought back into the depths of the mind. You don’t want to think about that right now. No dark thoughts. No future worries. Not with Levi by your side. You can worry about her later. 

 Your days have become entirely about him. Dreams filled with him, of both soft conversations side by side and frantic lusty visions. Sometimes you wake up with a nose full of his scent, of salty air and rich musk, only for it to fade when reality sets in. 

 Some mornings you shoot awake, frantic with need from lucid dreams of his desperate touch. They’re vivid, startlingly life-like. Filled with every color, every taste, every touch and every smell. Frantically touching yourself, fingers as far as they can go in your gummy walls, thumb swirling against your clit. It’s not enough, it’s never enough, but some part of you fears that it has to be. 

 Your long, mindless hours at work are often spent daydreaming about him. Replaying previous conversations in your mind's eye and daydreaming about the future by his side.

 Every second of all of your days are spent waiting, counting down the minutes until you can get in your beat up old car and drive out to see him. It feels like you’ve known Levi forever, that his presence has always been steady at your side, even if it’s only been a few months. 

 Day coming to a close, Levi swims you right back to the coast by the entrance of the beach. You can see your drawstring bag, resting on the shore right where you left it. This is the longest you’ve spent by his side, from the bright pink break of dawn to the pitch black of night. White shiny spots brighten up the pitch black sky, like pin holes punched into an otherwise dark dome. 

 At home you can only see a few dim constellations, the droning buzz of man-made lights drowning out the galaxy's natural beauty. Out here though, they spread across the darkness in a vast array of colors and sizes. Whites, both bright and dull, cool yellows and even pale blues twinkling across the horizon. You’ve never stayed late enough to watch the stars with him, always parting just as they begin to appear beside the waning sun. A missed opportunity, one you’re glad to be righting.

 Laying back against the cool sand, most of you is still below the water. The intermittent waves come up to splash along the curve of your waist and up over your belly. They’re strong enough to lift you up, your legs floating gently in the shallows. Levi stretches out on his side next to you, shoulder to shoulder, tail stretching long past the bottoms of your feet.

 You are still in your underwear, the sand is no doubt sticking to your wet skin, coating your entire back, but you don’t really care. Large hands smooth along the skin of your stomach in careless, meandering circles. They’ve yet to leave you once since you left the hot stone island. It seems he doesn't want the night to end either. 

 Pointing high into the pitch black abyss. “I don’t know any constellations. Do you?”

 “Some Mers do, but I never really paid attention. Why?”

 “No real reason. It’s not really important” You’d just wanted to talk to him a bit longer. You have to work in the morning, bright and early as usual, but the lack of sleep seems worth it. It might not feel like it in the morning, your eyes no doubt burning and your brain fried, but right now it feels like a more than even trade. 

 You can almost see the Milky Way, stretching out across the dark canvas overhead. The trailing clusters of stars are so distant that they seem almost hazy, yellows and blues so close together that you can’t tell them apart individually. It’s breathtaking, making you feel small in comparison. “It’s beautiful.”

 “Yeah, it is,” Levi murmurs by your side, his voice sounding distracted and fond. There’s an airy quality to it, as if he's breathing out the words in one gusty sigh. The stars must have taken his breath away too. 

 You turn your head to look at him, to watch him watching the stars, but he’s not looking up at the sky. He’s looking at you. 

 “Levi.” There’s an embarrassed giggle trapped in your throat, heavy with the oncoming surge of emotion. You can’t help the heat rolling across your face, spreading up to your ears and along your neck. What a cliché, though you doubt he realizes it. Still, it makes your mind buzz in excitement, heart pounding hard in your chest. 

 Levi rolls over to lay on top of you, torso to torso, tail dragging along the rocky shallows. His hip is a heavy comforting weight where it presses to lean against your own. The thinner, long end of his tail twining to wrap around your lower legs. This time the sliding grip feels almost desperate, coiled tight around your feet like an odd hug. 

 The scattered, fuzzy bits of the Milky Way light the sky behind his head. There’s no moon, not tonight, but the sky is still bright regardless. His hair, dripping strands that stick to his forehead as he leans above you, shines to reflect some of the starlight. Levi was wrong, you think, he’s the beautiful one. 

 His eyes are stormy, dark without the bright sun to light them. The white edges seem to glow a bit, a soft white hue, perhaps a tad bit yellow. You hadn’t known he could do that, though you suppose it makes sense. They’re still hot, filled with an almost desperate warmth as they lock into your own. Levi murmurs your name, soft and airy like gasping out a breath, before pulling you into a needy kiss. 

 A firm kiss under the stars, another cliché. The hot slide of his tongue against yours is much more frantic than earlier today. Much more desperate now that your time together is so limited. The thought makes your heart ache, despite its fluttering throb in your chest. 

 He’s always so careful with his teeth, afraid to hurt you with the sharp points. You appreciate the effort, but pull his lip between your own teeth anyways. He groans, a deep trill echoing in his throat with the sound. The kiss drags on and on, your grip on him desperate. 

 “Stay.” He sounds so desperate, voice almost cracking with need. The sound of it makes your heart do weird loops, your throat swelling with emotion. 

 “I wish I could.” You mean it, with all your heart. You really do. 

 Neither of you want this night to end. You never do, but this is worse than ever. You don’t want to go. You don’t want this to end. You have to return to reality, to your sad human life. Summer is ending and the future looms ominous over the horizon, dark like an oncoming storm. You can practically feel it right over the horizon, ready to destroy everything in its path

 You love him. A mythical creature. An impossibility. The thought fills your heart with buzzing excitement while also turning your stomach with dread.

#Mer!Levi #mermay #mermay 2022 #fanfic #levi/reader #levi ackerman #my fics #escape #mermaid au