#he's going to fry a circuit

[stillalivebydemand893]

Birthday boy

18+

A little lap dance never hurt nobody right?

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ASSHOLE!"

You pounced on Erik’s bed, grinning while he groaned into his pillow like a dying Victorian child.

"NO-LET ME SLEEP FOR FUCK’S SAKE," he growled, voice muffled in cotton and rage.

You flopped dramatically beside him, elbow in his ribs.

"Come onnn, get up! Time to celebrate the decay of your youth. It’s showing, babe. Wrinkles and everything."

He cracked one bleary eye open, looking like a demon freshly summoned.

"Weren’t you supposed to be at work today? Why are you here, ruining my life?"

You grinned. "Told my boss my best friend’s got dementia and I had to drag his ass back to the asylum. They bought it. Idiots."

You and Erik,ride or die since high school detention. He got busted for smoking behind the bleachers. You were there for yanking a sixth grader across the cafeteria by his collar. No regrets. Since then, it’s been you two against the world,chaos dorks with a sexual tension problem.

He chucked a pillow at your face. "Fuck off. Let me die in peace."

"Erik Campbell.Get. Out. Of. Bed."

"Make me."

Challenge accepted.

You straddled him, which clearly short-circuited his sleepy brain. His eyes snapped open.

"Peach, you’re giving me a boner. Seriously." He groaned, covering his face.

"Aww, poor baby." You trailed a finger down his chest like you definitely weren’t thinking about how stupidly hot he looked. Or how his hard-on was currently pressing into your ass like it had a vendetta. You tugged at his nipple ring just to be a menace.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST" he howled, yeeting you off him like a sack of sins.

"PEACH, I SWEAR TO GOD-"

You bolted for the door but he was faster,of course he was faster. He caught you mid-air like and hauled you back. You squealed , laughing.

"See? Now you’re awake!"

"Awake and homicidal," he snapped, but he wasn’t letting go. "I have one day off. ONE. I worked until 4AM. And you-" he tossed you on the bed again, now looming over you like the devil himself, "decide today is brat day? You’re gonna pay for that."

Your heart? Absolutely losing its damn mind. Sure, you’d kissed before. Once. Okay, twice. But that always ended in awkward silence and avoiding eye contact for a week. Since then,just glances. Touches. Maybe too many cuddles. Maybe a few too many neck kisses that weren’t quite pg13. A situationship in denial, with zero sex but way too much tension.

"Okay okay,but your mom made pancakes and I’m starving-" you whined, arms now traitorously wrapped around his neck.

"Nah, I’m craving something else for breakfast," he murmured, voice low enough to fry your spine. "It’s my birthday after all."

He bit your earlobe, then started sucking on your neck like he was trying to ruin your life on purpose. Your skin caught fire.

His eyes shifted,darker, hungry. They landed on your lips like a man looking at dessert and deciding to skip dinner.

"You can’t just use your birthday as an excuse for-"

You gasped when he pressed harder against you. Words? Gone. Brain? Gone. Dignity? Also gone.

"Oh, I absolutely can," he chuckled. "And you’re gonna let me."

He leaned in,lips hovering so close you could practically taste him-

"KIKI! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE! AUNT VIVIAN CAME TO VISIT!"

Julia’s voice screeched from downstairs like a curse from the underworld. Aunt Vivian: certified bone killer.

Erik sighed like his soul had been ripped out. He stood up, defeated, but not before placing one very deliberate kiss on your collarbone.

"Come on, Peach. Let’s get you some pancakes before I decide dessert’s back on the menu."

You couldn’t even speak. Just lay there, blinking, wondering if anyone’s ever died from being too turned on at 9AM.

Spoiler: probably. And if not,you might be the first.

"What are you guys up to today?"

Julia asked, barely looking up from her phone as she murdered a pancake with her .

"Nothing. I just want to sit in bed and slowly decay," Erik mumbled, slumped over his plate.

You didn’t even hesitate,you slapped him in the face with a pancake.

"We’re going to a concert, actually, fucker," you smirked, proud and dangerous.

"PEACH, LANGUAGE!"

Mrs. Campbell turned around, mom reflexes activated, and gave you a light, disciplinary slap to the back of the head.

"Sorry, Mrs. Campbell. But your son is a menace. He’s aging like a grumpy, dying dog." You sighed dramatically and shoved half a pancake into your mouth .

"He’s been like that his whole life, sweetie," she said, totally unfazed. "They pulled him out of me and the doctors said he hissed at them."

You and Julia lost it. Laughter exploded like a grenade across the table.

"That’s because they dared disturb my slumber," Erik deadpanned, giving you a withering glare.

You flipped him off.

He flipped you off right back, but with the enthusiasm of a sleep-deprived vampire.

"And what concert are you dragging me to this time? I swear, if it’s one of your girly-pop glitter fairy shit-"

"LANGUAGE, JESUS CHRIST!" Mrs. Campbell hollered again before vanishing into the garden to drink her coffee and reconsider motherhood.

"First of all, it was one girly-pop concert. And second,you had fun. I saw you busting moves."

"No, I didn’t," he grumbled, chewing aggressively on a mouthful of strawberries like they insulted his family.

You leaned in, smug. "We’re going to Bad Omens. Got the tickets last night."

That finally got his attention.

"...Fine," he grumbled, defeated-

But then his expression twisted. "Wait,what the fuck am I sitting on-?"

He jumped up, chair tipping, looking personally violated.

"OH MY GOD, PACO! I THOUGHT I LOST YOU!"

Bobby flew into the room like a panicked tornado, scooping up his turtle like it was his child after a custody battle.

"That little shit was poking me in the ass!" Erik looked done. Like, call the morgue done.

You didn’t miss a beat.

"Butt-fucked by a turtle... isn’t that in your porn history?"

Erik choked on his coffee. Hard. Julia was crying from laughter.

"I swear to God, I will strangle you in your sleep," he wheezed.

"Good luck today, Peach," Julia sighed. "This one’s a menace."

She made her exit, leaving you and Erik at the table,him still twitching, you still grinning like a criminal who got away with murder.

Later that night. The crowd buzzed with excitement. Everyone was hot. Sweaty. Loud. Just like your brain when Erik grabbed your hand to drag you toward the pit.

“Let’s get close,” he shouted over the noise.

You nodded, trying not to combust. His grip was strong, possessive. He didn’t let go until you were dead center, inches from the barricade. You felt his chest press to your back so you wouldn’t get crushed by the crowd, and your brain short-circuited.

The lights dimmed. Screams erupted. The band walked out.

Music hit like a thunderclap, and you were gone. Screaming, jumping, living your absolute best unholy life. Erik was right there with you, hand in yours during every beat drop, yelling lyrics in your ear, and maybe,just maybe,his hand slid down to your waist and stayed there.

You pretended not to notice.

He pretended not to care.

The tension pretended it wasn’t about to tear the sky in half.

You were drenched in sweat, voice gone, grinning like an idiot. You stumbled out into the night air, breathing like you’d just survived a spiritual awakening.

“That. Was. UNHOLY.” you gasped.

“I need a shower and five years of therapy,” Erik said, still buzzed on adrenaline.

“You loved it,” you nudged him.

“I tolerated it.”

"You screamed every lyric."

"I blacked out. That wasn't me."

You and Erik stood near the back alley for some air. You leaned against the brick wall, head tilted up to the night sky. He stood beside you, hands in his pockets.

“That was… kinda cool,” you whispered.

He looked at you. Really looked. The kind of look that stripped your soul and poked around your deepest secrets.

“Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “It was.”

The silence grew thick. Heavy.

Your heart stuttered when he reached out, tucking a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear like a walking cliché.

“Peach,” he murmured.

You turned your head just slightly,and there he was. Inches away. Lips parted. Breath unsteady. One second of courage away from changing everything.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said, voice rough, raw.

You didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just whispered, “Took you long enough.”

And then he kissed you like the world was ending, like he’d been holding back for years and finally let it all out in one feral, messy, perfect moment. Your back hit the wall. His hands hit your waist. Your brain hit the fuck it button and exploded.

You were still catching your breath, clinging to Erik like he was the only thing holding you up against the brick wall,because, let’s be honest, he was. His mouth was still on yours, hands on your hips, eyes dark with hunger.

Then-

BZZZZZZZ. BZZZZZZZ.

Your phone buzzed violently in your back pocket. You groaned into his lips and pulled back, forehead resting against his.

“…If that’s God calling to stop us again, I’m gonna throw hands,” Erik muttered.

You fished out your phone and stared at the screen.

“Ugh. It’s the Uber. It’s here.”

He sighed like he’d just been told his favorite band broke up. “Are you serious? I just got to the good part.”

You shoved your phone in his chest. “Welcome to the cinematic tragedy of our love life.”

He smirked. “We don’t have a love life.”

“Yet.”

You winked, turned, and strutted off like you didn’t just get devoured by your best friend behind a dumpster.

Back at the Campbells' house:

You walked through the door and the lights flipped on. People yelled. Confetti exploded. Someone blew a party horn with alarming aggression.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ERIK!!”

Erik blinked like he’d walked into the wrong dimension. You were already cackling as he stood there stunned, glitter in his hair, absolute betrayal in his eyes.

"You traitor," he whispered to you.

You grinned. "Surprise, fucker."

His mom came over with a giant cake that said "Another Year Closer to Death <3" in pink frosting. It was decorated with mini skulls and what looked like... knives?

"She gets me," Erik said, actually smiling.

The party was wild. Julia DJed. Bobby tried to do a keg stand with juice boxes. Paco the turtle was not allowed out of his tank this time. There were questionable dance battles, blackmail-worthy pictures, and you may or may not have licked frosting off Erik’s cheek in front of ten people.

You caught him looking at you like he wanted to start the party all over again,just for the two of you.

After everyone left the house was quiet. Lights dimmed. You showered first,needed to scrub off the sweat, beer, and accidental body glitter some cousin of Erik's threw on you.

You walked into his room, towel-drying your hair, wearing one of his oversized black t-shirts and a pair of shorts. Comfy. Dangerous.

And there he was,sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, hair still damp, legs spread in a way that should be illegal.

You raised an eyebrow.

“What,” you said, smirking. “Waiting for your birthday lap dance now?”

He didn’t even blink.

“Depends. You offering?”

You paused. Just for a second.

Then you gave him that look,the one that had gotten you both in trouble at least four times already today.

“Depends,” you teased, walking toward him slow, every step heavy with tension. “You ready for your heart rate to spike again, grandpa?”

He grabbed your wrist and tugged you down into his lap with a force that said he was very much ready.

“Make me feel young again, Peach.”

You grinned.

“Careful what you wish for.”

And this time-

No mom.

No turtle.

No Uber.

No distractions.

Just you. Him.

You slid onto his lap, slow, teasing, like you knew exactly what you were doing,because you did.

Erik’s hands were already there, gripping your waist tight like his palms had memorized the shape of you in every fantasy he’d ever had.

He pulled you in closer, tighter, like he wanted to fuse you to him.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, your touch light but lethal.

“You’re going to ruin me, Peach,” he whispered, voice wrecked already.

You leaned in, lips brushing his jaw.

“That was the plan all along,” you whispered, and kissed his cheek so sweet it made his whole body shudder.

Then,your lips met his.

And it exploded.

Hot. Wet. Desperate.

Like you’d both been holding back for years and now? Fuck it.

You moaned into his mouth,just a little,and it shattered him.

“Fuck, Peach,” he groaned, breath ragged as he trailed kisses down your neck. But not soft ones. No,bites.

Messy, claiming bites that made you gasp and cling to him harder.

He sucked a mark into your skin like a madman. “You’re driving me insane.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, chest heaving.

“You sure about this?”

You grabbed his face with both hands, staring straight into those wild, storm-colored eyes.

“I’ve been craving this since the first time you kissed me, dumbass.”

That was all it took.

He growled, and flipped you onto your back like you weighed nothing, like the mattress had offended him.

“You’re such a brat sometimes,” he muttered, kissing down your throat, lips landing on your collarbone with reverence and danger all at once.

Then softer. “My brat.”

His hand slid under your shirt, palming your stomach, then higher,so slow it was torture.

You arched into him. “You talk a lot for someone who’s not inside me yet.”

He choked on a laugh. “You’re going to be so annoying when I make you cum.”

“Then shut me up,” you dared, voice low, lips parted, skin begging.

“Oh, I plan to.”

He yanked off your shirt kissing your bare skin like he wanted to memorize it. He dragged his mouth down to your chest, sucking marks into the soft skin like he was branding you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair.

“Don’t tease-”

“Not teasing,” he said, sliding your shorts down with one hand, “just appreciating.”

Then he was there, fingers slipping through your wetness like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Jesus, Peach,” he whispered, voice cracked. “You’re so fucking wet. For me?That ‘s what I call a birthday gift”

“Always for you,” you gasped, legs already shaking as he rubbed slow, perfect circles around your clit. "Fuck,you always knew what you were doing to me, didn't you?"

He smirked against your skin. “Maybe. Maybe I just liked watching you squirm.”

You grabbed his jaw, pulled him up, and bit his bottom lip. “Your turn.”

He didn’t even answer,just lined himself up and pushed in, inch by inch, like he had all the time in the world to destroy you.

Your back arched. Your moan was filthy.

“Oh my god-”

He stilled inside you, jaw clenched.

“Feel that?” he whispered. “That’s mine now.”

Then he moved.

Slow at first. Deep. Deliberate.

Every stroke like a promise, every snap of his hips a confession.

You met him thrust for thrust, moaning, laughing, gasping,your hand slapping the headboard at one point like it was personally responsible.

“I’m gonna make you scream, Peach.”

“Already did,” you gasped. “Want a replay?”

He smirked. Then pulled out, flipped you over, and pulled you up onto your knees, gripping your hips like handlebars.

“Oh, you’re gonna replay it. Loud as hell.”

And when he slammed into you again, skin on skin, every sound between you echoing through the room,you did.

And then some.

You collapsed face-first into the mattress, hair a disaster, body twitching like you’d just been exorcised. Erik dropped next to you, panting like he’d just escaped prison, one arm lazily thrown across your ass like he was claiming it.

No one spoke.

Mostly because your souls had left your bodies.

Finally, you groaned into the sheets. “...I think I saw my past lives.”

Erik let out a raspy laugh. “One of them definitely owed me money. I think I just fucked the debt out of him.”

You wheezed. Your legs were jelly. Your spine was dust. Your thighs were screaming at you in six different languages.

“Jesus Christ, Erik. What the hell was that? You’ve been holding out on me.”

“I blacked out halfway through,” he muttered. “I woke up mid-thrust like, ‘am I... ascending?’”

You lifted your head an inch. “You bit my shoulder.”

He rolled to look at you. “You told me to shut you up.”

“Not with your teeth, maniac.”

He smirked. “Could’ve fooled me. You were moaning like I was giving you eternal salvation.”

You reached over, smacked his chest. “You were jackhammering my soul into the stratosphere. Of course I was moaning.”

He caught your wrist and kissed it, then kissed your knuckles, and licked your palm.

“Stop it!” you squealed, yanking your hand back. “You’re still in horny mode, I can see it in your eyes.”

He grinned like the devil himself. “Nah. That was round one. This is just cooldown.”

“I need water. And possibly medical attention.”

“You need to ride me again in ten minutes.”

You stared at him. “You’re unwell. You need Jesus and a therapist. And maybe a cold shower.”

He rolled onto his side, chest to your back, pressing a kiss to your shoulder,right where the bite mark was.

“You need to admit you liked that.”

You glared over your shoulder. “I’ll admit it if my legs start working again before sunrise.”

His hand slid down your thigh, slowly.

“Test it,” he whispered.

Your whole body shivered.

You turned to face him, half-laughing, half-horny. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Peach,” he said, dragging a finger across your hip, “if I wanted to kill you, I’d be nice about it. I’d cuddle you to death. This is just... birthday cardio.”

You snorted. “Do I at least get cake after this?"

He grinned. “You’ll get creamed, if that counts.”

You smacked him with a pillow.

He kissed the top of your head. Soft. Familiar. Dangerous.

Silence settled in for a moment,comfortable, intimate. Too intimate.

That’s when it hit.

Oh no.

You were cuddling.

Post-sex cuddling.

With your best friend.

Who just rearranged your insides.

And called you “my brat” like it was a love language.

Your heart did something stupid.

You glanced up at him. He was already staring at you. Not smirking. Not joking. Just… looking. Quiet. Intense.

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, but his voice was too soft, too real.

That silence returned,and this time, it was screaming.

You panicked. Naturally.

“So…” you said, shifting on top of him, trying to diffuse the tension. “Think I’ve got another lap dance in me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You trying to break me?”

“I’m trying to make sure we don’t accidentally fall in love and start naming our future children, actually.”

He stared at you for a second, lips twitching,then laughed. Hard.

“God, you’re such a disaster,” he said, flipping you over effortlessly. “You think a little post-sex existential crisis is gonna scare me?”

“I don’t know, do feelings give you hives?” you teased, even as your legs wrapped around him again.

“Only when I’m sober,” he muttered, kissing your neck again. “Good thing I’m high as fuck on you.”

You groaned. “That was awful. Say it again.”

He laughed against your skin, voice rough with desire. “Say please.”

“Please,” you whispered, grinding up into him again. “Ruin me, birthday boy.”

And just like that round two began.

Just outside the door, Julia walked past,then paused.

She stared at the closed door, heard the suspicious creaking of a bed frame, and Erik whispering something about “just get back on top for a sec.”

She turned around and walked away like she’d seen something unholy.

“Nope.”

[leighbaye]

I AM ABSOLUTELY LOVING THE MIKE WHEELER X POPULAR GIRL READER LIKE NEHEHDNDHD

its so cute i exploded

We need more 🤌

(I ask respectfully 🙇‍♀️)

— A DREAM WITH A CHEERLEADER

written by mina leigh ୨ৎ , mike wheeler𝔁 f! reader | wc 1700

summary. mike wheeler, a shy and awkward member of the hellfire club, has been harboring a massive crush on you ever since he first saw you cheering at one of lucas’s basketball games. despite his insecurities, his friends max and dustin help him gather the courage to talk to you. with their advice and a bit of luck, mike might finally close the gap between his daydreams and reality.

labels. cheerleader reader, feminine reader, use of y/n, shy and awkward mike, hellfire mike, reader is into it though.

warnings. mild language, social anxiety, fluffy awkwardness.

‧₊˚ ୨୧ mina speaks. based on faye webster’s song “dream with a basketball player.” merry christmas those who celebrate & happy new year.

i saw you first during lucas’s game last month. you were standing at the edge of the court, wearing your cheer uniform, waving your pom-poms in sync with the rest of the team. but for me, you didn’t blend in — you stood out. the way you smiled, like it didn’t matter if your team was losing or winning, it hit me. i couldn’t look away.

since then, it’s been … bad.

❝dude, you have to stop staring,❞ dustin said during lunch one day, waving a fry in front of my face. i blinked, realizing i’d been watching you across the cafeteria again. ❝it’s borderline creepy at this point.❞

❝i’m not staring,❞ i muttered, looking down at my tray, heat rising to my face.

shit, max is here. why did she decide to sit with us today?

max, sitting next to him, rolled her eyes. ❝no, dustin’s right. you’ve been mooning over her for weeks, mike. either do something about it or stop whining.❞

❝just because i don’t sit with you everyday doesn’t mean i can’t see how obvious you are drooling over her.❞

❝i’m not whining,❞ i protested, but they both gave me a look. i groaned, slumping forward. ❝it’s not like she’d ever go for someone like me, okay? she’s …she’s perfect. and i’m just —❞

❝a nerd?❞ max supplied helpfully.

❝thanks,❞ i grumbled.

dustin leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to deliver some top-secret intel. ❝listen, y/n’s cool. cooler than you, sure. but she’s not, like, untouchable. she talks to lucas all the time, right?❞

❝lucas is on the team.❞

❝exactly. so you already have a connection.❞

max smirked. ❝just go up to her and say, ❝hi, i’m mike, and i think you’re really pretty. want to hang out sometime?❞ see? easy.❞

❝not easy,❞ i muttered. ❝she’d laugh in my face.❞

❝or,❞ dustin said, ❝she might not. look, dude, the worst that can happen is she says no.❞

i didn’t want to admit it, but they were right.

it took another week — and a shit ton of convincing — but eventually, i agreed to let them help me.

max decided the best plan was to catch you after school when you weren’t surrounded by your cheer squad or basketball players. i was already regretting this.

we spotted you at your locker, stuffing books into your bag.

❝okay,❞ max whispered. ❝just walk up and say hi. be normal. don’t overthink it.❞

❝don’t overthink it,❞ i repeated under my breath. easy for her to say. my palms were sweaty, and my heart was pounding like i’d just run a mile.

i approached slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last.

❝uh, hey,❞ i blurted out when i reached you. smooth. real smooth.

you looked up, surprised but not annoyed. ❝oh, hey. mike, right?❞

you knew my name? that alone nearly made me short - circuit.

❝yeah, that’s me,❞ i said, my voice cracking slightly. i cleared my throat. ❝uh, i just … i wanted to say hi.❞

❝hi,❞ you said, smiling. ❝how’s it going?❞

❝good! great. i mean, yeah. you?❞

you laughed softly, and it was the nicest sound i’d ever heard. ❝i’m good. tired, though. practice was brutal today.❞

❝yeah, i bet,❞ i said, nodding like an idiot. then, before i could chicken out, i added, ❝so, uh, i was wondering if … maybe you’d want to hang out sometime? like, get a milkshake or something?❞

your eyebrows raised, and for a second, i thought i’d made a huge mistake. but then you smiled again, and it felt like the sun had come out.

❝sure, mike. that sounds fun.❞

❝really?❞

❝really,❞ you said, pulling a pen from your bag and scribbling your number on a scrap of paper. ❝call me, okay?❞

i nodded, speechless, as you handed me the paper and walked away.

later, dustin and max found me standing in the same spot, still holding the paper like it was a golden ticket.

❝you did it!❞ dustin cheered, clapping me on the back.

max smirked. ❝told you it wasn’t that hard.❞

maybe it wasn’t. but to me, it felt like a miracle.

© MINA LEIGH 2023 - 2024

[seasidefallenangel]

“... and then i obviously smacked the shit out of her, because like why would you even insinuate that?”

“mhm.”

“i’ve been nothing but loyal to her for years and she has the gall to assume that i seduced her boyfriend instead of him just being an asshole.”

“mhmm.”

“i swear to the cosmos if you ever hit up one of my friends for a booty call i’ll dip you in acid and fry you like a fish - are you even listening to me?”

blade tilts his head up, staring at you while you continue putting various butterfly and flower clips in his hair. one would never assume comparing him to a patient puppy is an accurate descriptor, yet his eyes are trained on your every movement. 

“of course i am,” he responds bluntly, almost offended at the assumption he’d do anything but. you could be fifteen planets away and call out his name, and he’d slice through the stars just to answer your summon. 

it seems to satisfy you, because you go on with your story about this horrible ex-friend of yours. the more he listens, the more he feels as if he should make a personal visit to her tonight. the mere thought of your betrayed face after being accused of such an act has his stomach in knots. there should be nothing except that sunshine infused smile on your lips at all times.

at the very least you seem to be more angry than sad and he has to admit he’s grateful. aeons forbid you had come home crying. not only would he be lost as to what the best way to comfort you is, but his composure surely would’ve snapped and he’d have offered her head to you in an attempt to dry your tears.

his brain short circuits as you kiss his nose and he’d loathe to admit the instinctive widening of his eyes at the action. your lips twitch in amusement and your giggle makes him feel weightless as you tell him, “you look cute.” he’s never been called such a thing, not that he can remember. part of him wants to admonish you for your foolishness. he’s nothing more than a weapon, crafted to bring hopelessness to the lands unfortunate enough to see his steps. you would crumple so easily if he laid a hand on you, trusted him enough to let him sink beneath your skin and make a home crafted from your unwavering love. 

however, blade knows he could never bring himself to seal your fate in that way. he’d rather face a thousand more lifetimes of endlessly roaming this mortal plane in agony than cause you a shred of harm - intentional or not.

you squish his cheeks and coo nonsensical affections towards him like he’s a babbling child, and he can’t be too irritated at the small twitch of his mouth if it means seeing you so at peace.

[hoiststowline]

responses to their s/o falling asleep on them. [w/ ultra magnus, bluestreak, ratchet, hound, kup & sunstreaker]

-

isn't moving until you wake up, would rather stay like this all evening than risk moving at all. [ultra magnus, bluestreak]

something so harmless as falling asleep alongside ultra magnus is going to fry some circuits. the first time especially, he's mostly in subtle shock that you felt not only safe, but at peace enough to succumb to the temptation to shut your eyes. it's a trust thing for magnus, and while you may express it vocally, these subconscious actions translate loudly for him to which he treasures greatly. with that being said, if you fall asleep beside to him, he isn't moving until you wake up. of course, there may be emergencies or circumstances beyond his control that he would have to try and maneuver himself or his arm away from his s/o. but it is not necessarily a want, nor a desire to even attempt to wake you up. you look so calm. initially, thinking he would go very rigid and stiff if this occurred, i'm now perceiving the opposite. i think magnus would actually release some of the tension in his frame and sink a little deeper into his chair. it's almost like a deserved break, a gift that he wasn't expecting but appreciates significantly nonetheless.

on the other hand, bluestreak is the one that goes completely taut and inflexible upon realizing you've fallen asleep. it’s likely on his chassis so there is virtually nowhere else to look, mesmerized by your state of tranquility and terrified to disturb it. he doesn’t want to, particularly after he gently rests a servo across your back and you intuitively bundle deeper into his touch. then bluestreak is really not moving, not until you arise fully on your own. you evidently needed it, and he required this to shake free some of the stress that’s had him wound up very tight. if it’s the first time, he is so entranced with studying your face and how you hardly move. or on the other side, if you move around a lot, he let’s you do whatever you please, raising his hand until you become comfortable, lowering it once more atop your spine. if somebody needs him, they’re gonna have to come and get him because he isn’t getting up.

would test the limits to get both you and themselves into a more comfortable position, but would stop if it appeared as if you were going to wake up. [ratchet, hound]

ratchet probably recognizes the way you’re positioned will leave an ache in your neck or shoulders in the morning, so searches for a way to get you elevated but comfortable. he is the first mech who wants you to get the best rest possible, knowing that you likely haven't been getting enough or there's too much time in between your last round of shut-eye. he tries to guide you into laying down, but every time he moves away, you follow like a magnet. ratchet will give it a try three more times before giving up, realizing that you're beginning to rouse or are shuffling around too much. it isn't worth it then if you ultimately awake anyways, but in the end, he might as well join you. your cheek smushed up against his side isn't really doing him any favors in denying it, half-wondering when you even fell asleep. had he been talking to himself for the past fifteen minutes? the last thing he recalls you mumbling about is how warm he feels, though the recollection now has him ex-venting, silently but contentedly accepting defeat.

hound rather you sleep in your own bed, for the sole reason that it's far more enjoyable and comfortable than his cold berth or up against his boxy frame. of course, if he had his preference, snuggling up beside you would triumph over any other suggestion. but if you were to conk out underneath his arm, hound's only looking out for the fact you have work/school in the morning. he knows how exhausted you are after a long day, so while this isn't unfamiliar, he still tries to adjust you into a more satisfactory pose. every time he so much as touches you, you stir, even if he's so moderate with each brush of contact. the last thing hound wants is to accidentally wake you, knowing it's ten times harder to get back to sleep after being roused so abruptly. he's the first to give in, but he's a bit guilty about it, yielding to his own temptations rather than finding a better solution. though, the way your fingers rest along his plating is a really substantial distraction, enraptured by the feeling of your chest rising and falling against his side. a better idea would have to wait, because all he wants now is for this moment to last forever.

accidentally wakes you up trying to get you in a more comfortable and desirable resting position, feels bad but tells you to go back to sleep. [kup, sunstreaker]

similar to a deer in headlights, kup doesn't know what to with himself. you're sound asleep yet you're practically upside down tucked up against his neck, and this presents two immediate problems. one, if you move in your sleep you're gonna fall or get hurt, and two, he can hardly see you situated like that. kup falls still, but racks his processor for a better undertaking than waking you up. it's in vain, so gently, he'd tug on the bottom of your pants for two minutes until he realizes that you aren't going to respond to that, grumbling under his breath but it's all in good fun. eventually, he hushes your name, tilting his helm back to try and catch the expression on your face. if you're in a deep enough sleep, he slides a servo under your form to bring you to his front, waking you in the process. kup will instantly get you in a restful position that is better for the both of you, more than likely at his front so he can multitask [usually a lie, because he ends up falling asleep as well]. he generally kisses your temple and tells you that it's all alright, and that he's sorry for disturbing you. his gruffness is smothered when he whispers for you to try to go back to sleep, alongside that he'll be right here when you wake up.

sunstreaker stands conflicted for ten or so minutes, uncertain as to what the best response is to such a situation. you're more likely to fall asleep in the crook of his arm, leaning against his upper appendage as your fingers fight to interlock around his elbow. you've been mumbling sleepy nonsense for the last hour, but sunstreaker hadn't thought anything of it until you stopped talking in full. quickly, he finishes whatever he's working on and moves to gather you in his hands so he can nap with you, but he's jumped up too fast or the switching of positions startled you. he's mumbling apologies at the lowest level his voice box goes, trying to whisper until he can get you both back into his berth. it's a soft and drowsy sunstreaker that you are not quite overfamiliar with, but hope to meet when you regain full consciousness in the morning. he appreciates the quiet and would happily take any chance to embrace his s/o in such a devoted manner. he might feel a bit bad about fortuitously waking you up, but sunstreaker rather you be safe and comfy in his arms than try and get a good repose at his desk.

[nutmegtales]

Alive Again - Part 9

It turns out Jason didn’t have to wait for an interrogation after all, as the night went on Danny found himself feeling drowsy but giddy from the day. He found himself chatting, and it had been such a long time since he’d had someone to actually talk to, to vent to. Sure, he had subjects and court ghosts that ran around his kingdom and would stand there while Danny talked at them, but none of them gave a Shit beyond pleasing their Great One. It was the title they cared about, not Danny himself.

And so, with Jason’s encouragement he had talked while the other boy listened and tried to keep his rage from boiling over. He talked about being king, about his kingdom and responsibilities, and the expectations that had been thrust upon him, about how he had won the position in combat against Pariah. About losing his family and friends, not the details but enough to just... let some of it out.

He talked about the GIW and the few stints he did in their labs when he was still a kid, at that point Jason had needed to go hit something before he could hear more. Strangely Danny felt a little vindicated at that. It had been a long time since anyone had been so rightfully outraged on his behalf.

And then he had talked about Phantom, about the days when he hadn’t understood himself, hadn’t understood the ghosts, about how he had fought for amity park. How he’d felt responsible because of his family, because of the portal.

He talked about the portal. And how he’d died.

He’d died. Danny had died. I mean yeah of course, Jason had assumed the Ghost king was dead but he hadn’t thought about how. Or when.

He’d been a kid, barely in his teens and he had died. Jason felt numb has he listened to Danny recount his death. As he listened to what it was like to feel an industrial level of electricity burn through him and fry him alive while ectoplasm flooded his dying cells reviving them just as fast as they burned out and died.

He felt nothing as he listened to how Danny had lost track of time as every piece of his body got ripped apart and put back together over and over and over again until the machine, the portal, had finally short circuited and shut off.

He looked at the ghost of Lichtenberg scars that ran up Danny’s limbs, felt them beneath his cautious fingers as he realised the strange writhing glow of Danny’s Ghost King form was actually a reflection of these scars.

Jason knew he should be feeling. Rage, sadness, disgust. Something. He should be distraught, or sorrowful, or outraged. He could sense the churning emotions somewhere just beyond his reach, his stomach tied in knots, and his throat thick with emotion he couldn’t feel.

He looked at Danny, assessed him with a trained eye, and saw that the exuberant chatty boy had dulled into a listless shade of himself, numbly recounting these atrocities. It wasn’t Jason’s emotions refusing to come to the surface he realised, but another affect of the Ghost Kings powers. Muting not just his own emotions in defence of what his voice was recounting, but Jason’s too.

Well. That’s enough of that. “Hey" Jason reached out to palm Danny’s cheek, running his thumb back and forth over the sharp bone there. His heart just about melted as Danny turned into the touch, his eyes closing with a deep shuddering breath drawn from his lungs.

Fucking hell. Jason suddenly did feel again, thankfully not the turbulent emotions he’d expected to drown him, but the desperate yearning he knew all too well. The need to feel the warmth of someone you trust wrapped up with you and holding tight. Jason wondered how long it had been since Danny had been held, since he’d had a body too be held.

“Thank you for telling me” He hesitated just a moment more trying to decide what the right next move was. Ah to hell with it, he never made the right moves anyway “may I?”.

Danny’s humm of ascent was so quiet Jason almost missed it. But it was there, like a thrumming in his chest, like a pulling at his arms, like a weight on his shoulders it was there.

Jason scooped Danny up easily, held him tight in his lap and rubbed circles into his back. Stroked his hair in the way he himself always found so soothing when… when B had…

They stayed there long after the night set in. Taking comfort in each others presence. And for the first time in a long, long time, Danny let himself be small and vulnerable, and let someone else in on the burden that it was to be him.

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[sleepykas]

"Feeling better, sweetheart?"

Glitch's claws drag lazily along your skin, the pressure pale enough to feel good without leaving any more angry red lines. You have enough littered across your back already.

"Mngh." A grunt muffled by the blanket your face is pressed into draws a low, harmonious chuckle filled with soft static from your partner.

"Still not satisfied? Shall we go a third round?" He teases knowing you're completely done in.

You lift your head from your arms and twist around to glare at him. "Touch me with anything but utter carefulness and I will fry your circuits."

Glitch's smile twitches. You can see the glimmer in his eye that says he wants to bite - wants to take your threat as a challenge and push you further, so you clarify.

"I mean it. Even just this feels like fire ants crawling up my back." You gesture to his still wandering hands, and Glitch pulls them away.

You miss the touch already.

"Overstimulated, then." He shifts his position, hands resting on either side of your head as he leans down and presses a kiss to your hair. The gentle fuzziness of the zap tells you he's toned it down, and you breathe a little easier.

Sometimes you have to be careful. He likes making you beg.

Glitch removes himself from the bed and stretches, joints clicking in odd places that worry you. You don't bother asking, he never answers.

"Water? Coffee? Do you want something to eat?" He asks, digging through his wardrobe and picking through different shirts. You prop yourself up enough to not crane your neck. "A nap."

Glitch glances your way, rays cycling in contemplation. "…I have a meeting in a half hour."

You deflate. "…Oh." Right. Yeah. His high end kind of secret job that you don't really know too much about. You just know it stresses him out a lot. "Okay."

He glances at you, sympathetic. "Sorry, love. I hate to leave but-"

"It's okay." You smile, hoping to be convincing. "I know. Your work is important and you can't just call out. I'll be okay."

Glitch walks back to the edge of the bed and sets a folded shirt on your back - one of his. "I'll be home around ten." He leans in and presses another kiss to your head, and stays there.

You soak up the warmth of his body near yours, reaching out to put a hand on his chest and feel the rhythmic, almost heartbeat-like vibrations of his inner workings.

Metal fingers twice the size of yours curl around your hand and lift it up to his screen, the familiar static kiss touching your knuckles.

You lift your gaze to his and find him already looking at you. Already staring with something heavy and unplaceable. Like worry. Like guilt.

He does that a lot these days. You can't figure out why.

A second passes and carefully you draw your hand along the edge of his screen, feeling the glass rim where it connects to his metal plating.

Something like a shiver rattles his casing and that unplaceable look turns dark.

"…Five more minutes." He rumbles, and you laugh in disbelief as he crawls back onto the bed, tucking himself behind you and curling an arm around your body to pull you in.

"What about your meeting?" You ask.

"I'll just be late."

…Five more minutes, then.

[captain-huggy-bear]

"Is that my shirt?"...with Kess

1000 Followers Celly Finished - Officially finished all of the celly requests that fit the rules/brief! It's only taken me months but thank you for all the love from it <3 Consider this an apology for the sad fic early. Requests are currently closed while I work through current ones <3 Writing Masterlist

It's your first night sleeping over Michael's, strange in some ways, but mostly in strange in the fact that it feels so natural. When you wake up in his bed, Michael nowhere to be seen but the sound of a frying pan and humming from outside the door, it doesn't feel strange.

It doesn't feel strange to swing your legs out of his bed, or make it for him, tucking the sheets back where they belong and throwing the pillows back into place. It doesn't feel strange to grab Michael's discarded shirt from the night before and throw it over your head, the hem hitting your mid thigh from how big he has to get his shirts (always a larger size due to his height). It doesn't feel strange to shove your feet in his slippers, so large you have to slide your feet because if you lift them they'll fall out and it doesn't feel weird to leave his bedroom like that to find him.

He's in the kitchen, shirtless (which in hindsight seems like a bit of a safety hazard), sweatpants slung low on his hips, tattoo on full display, chain glinting in the early morning light. Michael's stood at the stove, frying pan in front of him, a bowl of pancake batter next to him, flour all over the place where he clearly messily put the batch together.

There's already a pancake on the pan when he twists towards you at the sound of your feet, his slippers, sliding across the wood floor. Spatula in hand he freezes, pancake forgotten on the hob at the sight of you there because fuck...you look good, like out of his league good, like beyond him good.

It takes him a few moments just to process that he's seeing your bare legs in the daylight, that those are his slippers (way too big) on your feet, and most importantly that the only thing covering you right now is his shirt from the night before.

"Is that my shirt?" He's pretty his brain has short circuited as he turns fully towards you, pan forgotten, spatula held aloft.

You tug at it, until it pulls away from your body, the hem rising in a way that has him salivating and not for pancakes. " You mean this old thing?" It's coy, it's ridiculous, it's so fucking hot to him the way you smirk at him underneath your lashes and he's a goner. He's just some goofy loser and you're that chick and he's not entirely sure he's going to recover.

His inability to think, to function, to even respond, mouth feeling like cottonwool, is interrupted by the loud ring of the fire alarm as the pancake on the stove starts to smoke into a blackened husk having been left unattended for too long.

"Shit!" He's frantic waving the spatula around in an attempt to clear the smoke as he pulls the pan off the hob. You think a little clearer, opening the back door to let the smoke dissipate and disperse.

"Sorry..." He grins sheepish, shoulders up to his ears, ruffling his curls once the alarm stops ringing. "I...just wanted to make you breakfast..."

"I'm that distracting, huh?" You're still coy, his bout of goofiness, his mess up, doing nothing to turn you off of him. You close the space between the two of you, hands trailing up his chest, fingers curling into the gold chain he wears.

He practically gulps, swallowing harshly, Adam's apple bobbing. "Uh huh...you're like so out of my league it's actual insane right now, baby."

"You're literally a NHL Star." You roll your eyes at him with a grin as his hands fall to your hips, fingers flexing like he can't help himself.

"Yeah, but you're you."

It has you flushing, face heating, eyes dropping to this chest because he's sweet. Sweeter than any guy you've dated in the past...it's nice. To feel appreciated like you're something special and not just an ordinary person.

"Well, I think you're pretty neat."

"Neat?" Michael laughs at you, tension broken and it's like he remembers that you're just a person too. That no matter how attractive he thinks you are, he first asked you out because you seemed fun and goofy and not because of your legs or the way your hair looks in the morning.

"Shut up!"

[s0ullove22]

When the AIB Boys Realize They’re in Love with Her

How they react when they fall in love with you

⸻

Chishiya:

She steals a fry off his plate.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly judging her.

But when she grins like she just committed a high-level crime and got away with it, something shifts in his chest.

She laughs at his sarcasm. She’s not scared of him.

He watches her eat his food and thinks:

“…Oh no. I like her. I really like her.”

⸻

Last Boss:

She grabs his hand in the middle of a game and doesn’t let go—even when chaos erupts around them.

She looks at him like he’s not a weapon, but a person. Like he’s hers.

Later, when she falls asleep on his shoulder, softly mumbling his name in her sleep, he freezes.

Quietly, he slips his jacket over her shoulders.

“If anyone hurts her, I’ll kill them.”

…Yeah. He’s in deep.

⸻

Arisu:

She trips over her own feet and laughs it off like it’s nothing.

He rushes over like she’s broken every bone in her body, borderline panicking.

She teases him for being dramatic, ruffling his hair.

He blushes so hard he forgets what planet he’s on.

That night, he keeps hearing her laugh in his head and thinks:

“Oh. I’m done for.”

⸻

Niragi:

She talks back. Boldly.

Real sass. No fear. She calls him out when he’s being ridiculous, then winks at him like she’s challenging him to do something about it.

At first, he’s thrown. Like—who does she think she is?

But then she laughs, all pretty and smug, and his stomach flips.

“If anyone else makes her laugh like that, I’ll set them on fire.”

Yeah. He’s completely gone.

⸻

Tatta:

She laughs at his dumb joke. Not a pity laugh—like, full-on giggles that make her clutch her stomach.

He turns bright red. Literally short-circuits.

She calls him “cute” when he stammers through a sentence, and his brain immediately reboots.

Later, she gives him a goofy smile and says, “You make me feel safe.”

He doesn’t even know how to process that. Safe? Him?

He goes to bed smiling like an idiot.

“I think I love her. Oh no. I definitely love her.”

⸻

Aguni:

She’s the only one who doesn’t treat him like he’s made of stone.

She teases him. Pokes his arm when he’s brooding. Smirks when he says something serious.

One day, she hands him a bottle of water after training and says, “You really should rest more, y’know.”

It’s simple. Soft. Real.

And for some reason, it hits him harder than any fight ever could.

He watches her walk away, ponytail swaying, completely unaware of the war she’s just started in his chest.

“Damn it… I’m in love with her.”

_______________

Hey my loves❤️

Hope you like this one

*the next one is probably how they’re gonna confess*

Bye!!

[jaggedamethyst]

circuit breaker 🔬🌌 (part two)

tutor!jayce talis x reader college au

content: reader recently decided to get a physics tutor...it's time for the first session with jayce talis

notes: walk with me and suspend ur disbelief in the actual physics talk...i have to make it somewhat believable that they're actually having tutoring sessions so i dug into the crevices of my brain for old physics topics that aren't too hard if you know them...if you don't..hopefully jayce makes sense LMAOOOO. but i will try not to do too much physics that it takes you out of it, i just want to build the tension and relationship. just trust me.

again mentions of neurodivergence/adhd references but that’s it really

word count: 1.9k

series masterlist

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Ekko was your longest friend—the closest one you had. He understood your brain even more than Viktor did, which was saying something. Since the day the two of you met in middle school, you became accustomed to one another. You knew each other like the back of your hands—which is why you knew he’d be so upset right now.

Immediately after leaving the student center, you scrambled to the dining hall. You and Ekko had a standing lunch date every day unless one of you said otherwise. There wasn’t always anything to say, but the idea of each other’s company comforted you—comforted him. He had been adamant that even if you two sat in silence, worked on classwork, or simply watched something on your phones, that the time was well spent.

Ekko valued these meetings in particular after his last girlfriend. You didn’t talk about Powder much…but he was devastated when she left town. The three of you had been friends for a long time…she’d abandoned you too. Acknowledging how much harder it may have been for Ekko was hard. You were forced to pick up the pieces and it started with daily check-ins over lunch. They stuck. 

You spotted him sitting alone, sipping on his drink through the glass. You tapped on it softly, getting his attention, waving.

He lit up when you approached the table, “Funny seeing you here.” Ekko looked at his watch dramatically, “Almost thought you couldn’t tell time for a second there.” 

“I am so sorry.” You moved to sit, pulling out the chair across from him. “I got caught up at the student center, needed a tutor for physics.” 

Ekko watched you reach and grab his bag on the table. He rolled his eyes knowingly—you were going for the fries of course. 

You continued, “Viktor recommended this guy, his lab partner.” 

Ekko nodded, “Thats great…but I’m also good at physics ya know?” 

“Oh yes, I totally forgot to ask my best friend to be my tutor. My best friend who knows I cannot stay on topic to save my life…wants me to ask him to be my tutor…so we can definitely not work on physics for the entire session.” You paused, a fry just on your lip, “Besides, I didn’t really have a choice.” 

“Okay first, I would be a great tutor! And second, what do you mean, didn’t have a choice?” 

“Viktor kinda just…led me there?” 

“So you didn’t have a chance to get yourself worked up and find a way to not go…great tactic on Viktor’s part.” 

There was a silence, but never uncomfortable when you were with Ekko. You smiled to yourself at that, and then about how surprisingly well the first meeting went. 

“He seemed nice…Jayce…my tutor.” 

Ekko reached into his bag, grabbing his sandwich. “Am I sensing a but?” 

“No, actually. He just seemed genuinely invested in me not feeling bad when it comes to sucking at school.” You paused, rubbing your hands in a napkin. “He said we could work on making it all seem more interesting…which I liked.” Ekko still hadn’t unraveled his sandwich, listening intently. You watched him observe you, but not speak up. “What?” 

He shook his head, “Nothing…that’s great.” 

The rest of your lunch was spent quietly recounting your days, not much of note happening otherwise. Eventually, you parted ways with an unspoken yet understood promise that you would see each other tomorrow. 

Your first session with Jayce was also tomorrow. That was on top of everything else you had to do. So much to be done…such little time, you thought. 

The following day came just as quickly as the previous had ended. You woke in a frenzy, almost always rushing to and from one class and toward the next. Then, to tutoring. 

You stumbled in, looking for any familiar face. You were met with only one, Jayce’s. He stood quickly, grabbing a folder and his bag before approaching you. 

“Right on time.” He turned, walking you toward a room off to the side. “This will be the office we use, I requested one with a white board.” He glanced back at you for affirmation before speaking again. “If you ever come for our meetings and don’t see me in the lobby, you can just come in here.” 

“Sounds good.” Your lip curled at your voice coming out more weak than you expected. You had to admire your own consistent ability to embarrass yourself, truly. 

He stepped back, allowing you to walk in first, again. “So…I printed these forms out for you.” He opened the folder, taking out some of the pages and spreading them on the table. “This is the basis for everything you’ll need to know about physics. There’s legends here, conversion charts, some of the greek symbols you’ll need to know, circuit diagrams, acronyms…everything.” You slowly sat in your chair, observing the filled pages. Jayce noticed you looking between the table and him with wide eyes. 

“This is a lot of information…” 

He finally sat down. “It is…but we have time to get you up to speed.” 

“But there’s these quizzes.” You looked down at the table, tapping a finger lightly against the wood. “Every week we have to prove we understood the concept and I am already weeks behind so it just keeps building on things I didn’t even understand to begin with. I don’t have time, I have to pass the quizzes so I can pass the class and keep my scholarship. If I lose my scholarship, I can’t pay for school and I’ll have to drop out. And all of this over stupid fucking physics and a professor who seems to want to ruin my life specifically.” You finally took a breath, “I can’t do this.” 

“I think you can.” 

Your eyes snapped up, meeting his. The look on his face seemed sincere—as if he truly believed in the statement. Hardly knowing you at all, he had enough faith that you could, in fact, do this.

“So,” he clasped his hands together. “What’s this next quiz on? What’s the topic for the week?” He got up, grabbing a marker from the white board’s small shelf. He looked at you expectantly, a brow arching as if to ask you again. 

“Vectors.” 

He nodded, “Okay, and what confuses you about vectors?” 

“Well, I feel like I’m pretty good at understanding angles. But as soon as we add in speed or velocity I am just…confused.” 

“Let’s start there.” He wrote the words speed and velocity on the white board in broad strokes, leaving space beneath each. “What is speed? Don’t think about it too hard.” 

“How fast something is going?” 

“Exactly, like a car.” He drew a makeshift car, and an indicator of both miles and kilometers. “Velocity is different.” He sketched a quick graph, a simple y and x axis and an arrow. “Velocity indicates the direction of an object.” His hand followed the trail of the arrow he drew, emphasizing that it was in motion. “So, velocity is the only one that actually would be considered when you look at vectors. Speed is just a number…velocity represents a change in position…which is what vectors do.” 

You grimaced at his attempt to make it make sense for you. The effort was appreciated, truly, but it didn’t stick. You feigned understanding, nodding your head in an attempt to get him to move on and explain more. This was common for you. Something wouldn’t make sense, but you wouldn’t want to hold everyone up, to be a burden. So you would sit in class, half listening, half in another world. After class, you’d be forced to scour videos about the very subject the teacher had spent class time explaining. Unfortunately that was a rabbit hole, too, as you would always end up on videos that had nothing to do with school. 

His eyes narrowed, not believing that your nod was enough of an indicator that you understood. “Come with me.” He moved to grab the papers for you, stuffing them in the folder and sliding them to you. You followed without a thought, trying to match his steady pace. He lead you to a nearby park down the street and sat his bag underneath a tree. You copied, placing your bag down beside his. It was impossible to not feel awkward, and yet, he persisted. 

“Okay stand here,” he pointed a finger to a random spot on the ground. Your feet stood perfect on the space where the asphalt and grass met, one foot on each side. “So just imagine that standing here, you are the bottom of a line graph along the x-axis. He moved his hand side-to-side, palm down, reminding you that this would be the horizontal line. Hotdogs and hamburgers. You remembered the silly phrase from elementary school. 

“Okay, standing here…x-axis.” 

He walked over to the grass side, “Okay, over here…in the nice green grass…this is positive.” He walked over to the asphalt, “I’m on your left now, on the asphalt…this is negative.” 

“…Okay.” 

He walked to mirror your position, one foot on each terrain. Then, he slowly stepped on the grass. “Without thinking about numbers, how would you describe what I just did.” 

“You…” Your brows furrowed, “You walked to the grass?” 

“Right, and that is-“ 

“Positive?” 

“Exactly.” 

In a split second, he darted over to the asphalt. “How bout now?” 

“You ran to the…to the negative?” 

He nodded, meeting you back at center again. He smirked at how quickly he’d even come up with this demonstration. “This is an example of how vectors work. When you think of me running somewhere, picking up my speed, but moving to the quote unquote ‘negative,’ this could also mean that from my original position-“ 

Your eyes lit up, “You moved backwards?” 

“Yup, or even down. On a graph, I mean.” He smiled with each word, amused by how you caught on to his unorthodox teachings. “But if I move slowly and to the ‘positive’ side?” He waited for you to answer.

“You…moved up or to the right.” 

“Just like a point on a graph.” He stood, hands on his hips. 

You were on the edge of every word he spoke, analyzing his every movement. You knew it was inopportune, but it was rather characteristic for you to lose focus right then. Jayce’s eyes were…interesting. Your first instinct was to say that they were yellow. When you looked closer you noticed the border of dark brown, the flecks of hazel and copper. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen. You got so caught up, you missed his hand coming up—leaving it lingering in the air. 

“What,” he questioned, “Do you not like high-fives as encouragement?” 

You chuckled, finally meeting his hand with yours. “I actually prefer snacks as encouragement, but this works.” 

It was his turn to laugh, then. It was short-lived. You followed his line of sight to see the same woman from the resource center, the one he’d been so enraptured by. Rightfully so; she was even more beautiful than you thought. The sunlight hit her skin just right, almost glistening. You gulped, somewhat intimidated by her presence alone. 

She reached you both, immediately giving Jayce a hug before turning to greet you. 

“Hey, how’s the tutoring going?” She nudged the man beside her, looking to you for an answer. 

“It’s going well,” you glanced at your phone screen, shit. “I actually should get going, but today was really helpful, thank you Jayce, bye.” 

You shuffled to grab your things as quickly as possible, avoiding the look of surprise on Jayce’s face. It didn’t really matter, though. 

Ekko was going to be pissed, again. 

part three

[robolvrr]

attention-seeker ミ⁠●﹏

transformers reactions to human modifications. (tattoos, piercings, hair-dye.) headcanons!

optimus prime, bumblebee, prowl. tfa.

sfw / suggestive under cut.

may do more of them, i love this show to death.

optimus prime

"you do this stuff... for fun? huh."

try as he might, he does not understand the point much.

don't get me wrong, i see animated optimus to be the closest to a mid-twenties rascal as you can get. modifications aren't unheard of for bots. he's not a nun.

however ...

he sees humans as still pretty fragile. so the idea that you like going and having needles shoved into your flesh and jammed through your muscle isn't something he can wrap his helm around at first.

primus forbid you have lots.

imagine him trying to process you explaining that yes, your entire back is covered in ink and you're planning on about five different piercings in the next year.

"so you. you plan on getting two on your back. just because?"

"that's the plan, big guy."

poor mech is lost. though he does enjoy learning more about humanity when he isn't stressing too much about saving it.. so expect questions.

when you suggest getting one of the autobot emblem, his circuits nearly fry.

prowl

"so, what's the significance?"

i see prowl not writing off the behavior as weird and instead digging for why you pursued this journey.

yes, he sees your tattoo and piercing collection as a journey, because that's what it is, isn't it? years of work and pain to adorn your body to your liking.

he knows that humans are bundled with nerves. there's respect earned. he finds humans to be eerily resilient.

will ask you the meaning of each and every one. piercings less so.

"what does this bird represent?"

"mm.. my sense of liberty."

"a visual representation of the wish to stretch to new horizons. how fascinating. being small in a vast universe with the urge to still explore."

"i also just like hummingbirds."

"mm. i see."

will get onto you once he finds out about the "makeshift" work. finds the mistakes or even forgettable craftsmanship to make you endearing.

bumblebee

"whoa! sick paintjob, human!"

he LOVES human culture. and you guys can just... change your appearance? count him impressed!

you had dyed your hair to a nice golden yellow to match his frame and he almost jammed his intake shut.

"you can just. do that?!? b-but your helm used to be-"

"hair, bee."

"right, right. it wasn't always that color though!!!"

he thinks it's so cool. real dork about it. totally buzzed out once you spoke about the chemistry that it went to the process though.

he thinks piercings are cute. after all the fusion of metal and organic is kiiind of taboo. you pull it off great.

tattoos make him beg ratchet to let him upgrade his paint. poor old mech is grumpy and over bumble whining him to just let him "get some flames and that's it."

you draw a lot of inspiration from him. will gladly brainstorm your next big change and puff his chassis out like a lil peacock knowing you're willing to get something permanent done in his designation.

nsfw.

optimus prime

"you look like a painting. primus above, you're gorgeous..."

optimus prime enjoys tracing your tats. he kisses the patterns and images as if the pain of the needle remains, glossa licking along thick and thin ink with shuttered optics.

he likes to see goosebumps trail after. kind of a weird fetish (?) but he mostly enjoys how reactive you are and how your inkwork ripples with the movement.

when he finds out your piercings can make you sensitive ...

well, good luck.

optimus at his spark of sparks is such a tease. when you continue to surprise him, it's nice to be in control of that mutual fascination for once.

"you enjoy when i tug.. these?"

nipple piercings.

expect his glossa. he takes special care to even lubricate each of his digits just to toy with your sore nipples.

prowl

"that's it. fall apart for me. just like art..."

prowl is observant. so when you let it slip that you've been holding back on some of what's on your body...

you're on his berth and naked. his optics are hidden behind his sharp visor.

"holding back on me? that's a shame. i thought you knew better than to do that."

is he angry? hardly! but his processor is about to work overtime when you stammer just why you hadn't gone into depth.

genital piercings.

he doesn't say anything for a long time. doesn't ask the millions of questions bombarding his thoughts. his servos do that speaking before he can.

let's just say you start to understand why he deals with tedious and delicate situations. those hands are built for... meticulous attention.

bites. all the areas with piercings. focuses carefully damn near to the square inch of sensitive flesh where it drives you wild.

tattoos? he loves to scrape his digits down em.

loves to doll you up in lingerie that accentuates everything you hide. crotchless, cut-outs exposing yourself until he can't see where the inkwork begins and ends.

robolvrr 2024.

[chaosandcandies]

UNPLUGGED

CHAPTER Ⅺ: Blushing Bin

trope: fem!9th skz member warnings: angst, drama, insecure oc, cyber bullying, slow burn pairings: hyunjinxfem!oc prev|next

SUNLIGHT SPILLED THROUGH THE NARROW SLATS of the dorm blinds, painting pale stripes across the hardwood floor. Somewhere down the hall, the sound of water running in the bathroom echoed faintly, and the kettle clicked on with a low whine.

Iseul hadn’t slept much.

She’d stayed at the kitchen table long after the others had gone to bed, the condensation from the makeshift ice pack dripping onto her sleeve as her thoughts spiralled in quiet, exhausted circles. Eventually, she’d moved to her room—her room—and stared at the ceiling until the blur of night gave way to grey morning.

Now, she stood barefoot in the kitchen, hoodie sleeves pushed up, cradling a mug of lukewarm tea she didn’t remember making. The ache in her hand had dulled to a throb. Still visible. Still there.

Just like her.

She didn’t hear him enter.

Not at first.

It was the clink of a cupboard opening and a soft grunt that caught her attention. She turned slightly, blinked—only to see Changbin reaching up for a mug with one hand and scratching his head with the other, looking like he’d just crawled out of bed. His hoodie was inside-out.

“You’re up early,” he mumbled, not looking at her right away.

“So are you,” she replied, voice soft.

He finally looked over. And froze for a beat.

Eyes dropped to her hand. The bandage. His jaw ticked.

“…You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Liar.”

Iseul snorted lightly, and that seemed to ease something in him. He poured himself some tea, stood silently across from her at the kitchen counter. The silence wasn’t tense, exactly, but it was full. Too many things unsaid pressing in from the corners.

Then, abruptly—

“I was a dick.”

Iseul blinked.

Changbin kept his gaze fixed on the counter.

“I mean—I was cold. And rude. And—I don’t even know half the stuff I said around you, but I know none of it helped. And I know I made you feel like—like you weren’t welcome here. And that sucks. I suck.” He gestured vaguely in the air. “Like, objectively.”

“Changbin—”

“No, let me finish. I need to get this out before I chicken out or do that thing where I make a joke to deflect.”

Iseul blinked again.

“You didn’t deserve how we treated you,” he said, eyes still fixed somewhere on the countertop. “Especially not me. I thought if I kept my distance, it would hurt less. Like maybe if I didn’t look at you too closely, I wouldn’t have to admit that you were good. That you belonged here. That you—”

She watched him flounder, words tripping over emotion, breath catching a little.

“—that you fucking tried, even when we made it impossible. And I hated that. Because I knew I wouldn’t have been strong enough to stay, if it were me. I knew it. And I hated that too.”

He dragged a hand through his hair.

“I should’ve apologised earlier. I should’ve said something after your hand—I saw you come back, and I kept thinking this is it, this is the moment, and I kept freezing. And now I’m here rambling like an idiot, and you probably think I’m full of—”

“Oppa.”

Changbin’s words hit a wall. He blinked at her.

“…What?”

Iseul's lips curved—just barely. “I said, oppa.”

It hit him like a frying pan.

The way his ears turned red immediately. The way his entire soul paused to reboot. His eyes went wide, like she’d just short-circuited something in his brain.

“Y-You—what—you—why would you do that?!”

“To shut you up,” she said simply, sipping her tea again. “It worked.”

Changbin was still malfunctioning. “You’ve never—I mean—you call Chan and Minho hyung oppa—why me—why now—”

“Because I forgave you,” she said, voice quieter this time. “And you were going to spiral for another five minutes if I didn’t.”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then buried his face in his hands with a muffled, “I hate you so much right now.”

“You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not—”

“You are.”

He groaned like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. “This is what I get for trying to be vulnerable.”

She was smiling now—actually smiling, just a little—and he caught it as he peeked through his fingers.

His heart did something annoying in his chest.

“…You’re mean,” he mumbled.

“You’re dramatic.”

They didn’t say anything for a while after that.

The silence wasn’t awkward now. Just full in a different way—like the dorm was holding its breath around them, the weight of past mistakes balanced by the fragile beginning of something lighter. Sunlight had shifted, crawling up the wall behind Iseul like the morning was trying to make room for them too.

Changbin had finally pulled his hands away from his face, resting his elbows on the counter, cheek squished into one hand. His tea sat untouched. He was watching her—not in the guarded, wary way he used to, but openly now, like he didn’t want to miss anything. Like maybe he was making up for all the times he hadn’t looked.

“You didn’t have to forgive me,” he said eventually, voice low.

Iseul looked down into her mug, watching the ripples move.

“I know,” she said. “I wanted to.”

A breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected that.

She added, “It wasn’t just you. I didn’t make it easy, either. I—I think I was so desperate to prove I belonged that I forgot how to just be a person. I kept pushing myself to be perfect, and then I was mad when no one believed it.”

He was quiet, listening.

“I didn’t even believe it,” she said, so softly it almost wasn’t there. “I still don’t.”

Changbin straightened, his brows pulling together.

“Iseul—”

“I’m not fishing for comfort,” she cut in gently, sensing it. “I just… I wanted to say it. Out loud. So it didn’t eat me up.”

Changbin chewed the inside of his cheek. There were so many things he wanted to say—reassurances, defences, maybe even a joke to lift the heaviness of her words. But she’d asked him not to deflect. Not this time.

So, he leaned forward instead and nudged his mug toward hers. A small clink of ceramic against ceramic.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, meeting her eyes, “I think you’re brave as hell.”

Her throat tightened. She tried to laugh, but it came out watery.

“You’re gonna make me cry in the kitchen,” she whispered.

He smiled a little, not teasing. Just soft.

“Then cry in the kitchen. No one’s awake yet.”

That did make her laugh, finally. Quiet and a little shaky, but real.

For a few minutes, the kitchen was silent again, save for the hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of their mugs as they sipped, trying to stretch the warmth a little longer.

Then came the soft pad of footsteps from down the hall.

Iseul didn’t turn, but she heard the telltale sleepy mutterings of Jeongin, and then the light thump of someone walking into the wall. Seungmin’s unmistakable deadpan followed: “That’s not the bathroom, genius.”

Jeongin groaned.

Changbin chuckled, under his breath. “Wanna take bets on how long it takes before one of them walks in and ruins the mood?”

“Two minutes,” Iseul said.

“Generous,” he replied.

And just like that, the moment shifted. But it didn’t disappear. It lingered beneath their words, in the quiet glances and the shared silence.

It wasn’t everything.

But it was a start.

The studio smelled like dust, wires, and too many late nights.

Hyunjin sat cross-legged on the old couch shoved against the back wall, phone in hand, earphones in—but he wasn’t really listening to anything. His gaze kept drifting past the screen to the booth where Iseul stood, her headphones slightly askew, brows knitted in concentration.

Chan leaned over the desk, muttering something to her through the intercom. She nodded once, then lifted her hand to signal she was ready. The beat kicked in—Changbin’s section—and her voice came in soft and sharp, weaving through the verse like she’d owned it from the start.

She was bleeding into the beat—his beat—with a kind of quiet force that shouldn’t have made sense but did. Her tone wasn’t as polished as Chan’s, or as intense as Changbin’s, but it carried a tension, a pull. Like she wasn’t just singing through the pain—she was singing with it.

Hyunjin hated how good it was.

Not because he thought she didn’t deserve it.

But because it made everything more complicated.

She hit the end of the verse, let her voice dip just as the synths began to fade, and stood there in the stillness—waiting, breathing, eyes closed. The silence that followed was the kind that settled in your chest.

The intercom clicked.

“Keep that take,” Chan said, already dragging the file into the session. “Don’t touch a thing.”

She peeled off her headphones and stepped out, blinking against the brighter lights. Her sweatshirt sleeves were bunched at the elbows, hair pulled into a messy knot, neck glistening faintly with sweat—but she looked more alive than Hyunjin had seen her in weeks.

“Nice,” Seungmin said without looking up from his lyric sheet. “Didn’t think you’d make that phrasing work, but you did.”

“Is that a compliment?” Iseul asked.

“Don’t push it.”

Changbin chuckled and moved to high-five her. She hesitated only for a second before meeting his hand with a light slap. The grin that cracked across Changbin’s face was wide, too wide—and Hyunjin felt it like a pebble in his shoe. Small. Irritating. Inescapable.

“You nailed my part better than I do,” Changbin said, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“No, seriously. You actually—” He mimed an explosion with his hands. “—blew my mind.”

“Gross,” Jeongin muttered. “Don’t be weird in the booth.”

Hyunjin forced a smirk, pretending to scroll. But he wasn’t watching his phone anymore. He was watching them.

He didn’t know why it unsettled him so much. Maybe because it was Changbin, the same one who had shut her out for weeks. The same one who used to leave the room when she entered. And now he was—what? Her personal hype-man?

Or maybe it wasn’t that at all.

Maybe it was how easy it looked now. How the wall that used to stand between Iseul and the rest of them—how he used to justify his silence—was crumbling. And she wasn’t angry anymore. She wasn’t waiting for apologies. She was just… letting people in.

Everyone but him.

Chan waved him closer. “Hyunjin, let’s get your lines down before lunch, yeah?”

He stood without replying, sliding his phone into his pocket. As he passed behind Iseul’s chair, she didn’t look up. Didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch.

It was the politest kind of nothing.

And Hyunjin realized—too late—that this was worse than her anger.

This was indifference.

And maybe, somewhere deep down, that was what scared him the most.

TAGLIST: @leewritesstuff, @athens-09xx, @allenajade-ite, @idjdndjzbsdm, @idjdndjzbsdm, @hyuneskkam, @geni-627, @valkirymin, @miminbin, @tillaboo, @dreamerwasfound, @youthsquaredd, @skzstannie, @nchhuhi, @rtyuy1346

STORY HINT: Felix—poor boy—had absolutely no idea how to apologize. Instead of returning Iseul’s “good morning” that day, he sputtered the water in his mouth and bolted straight to the bathroom. Apparently, running away from problems rather than confronting them was a Stray Kids thing.

But guilt gnawed at him all day. After lunch, he spotted Iseul in the hallway, fiddling with her headphones, her gaze distant and lost in thought. He hesitated for a moment, watching her, before his feet betrayed him and started moving on their own.

When he finally mustered up the courage to apologize, he looked like he might burst into tears if Iseul didn’t accept it. And to his relief, she did—calling him a dork with that familiar softness in her voice, the kind of soft spot only she seemed to have for him.

Kinda short chapter but I'm already working on the next one and I'll drop it soon. My vacay will start from tmrw so that means more of me being online hehehe. As always, stay safe! ~candy

[shepscapades]

SORRY IF THIS HAS BEEN ANSWERED BEFORE! BUT! do the androids ever need to charge? or do they purely run on thirium? like are they solar powered? do they have wireless charging pads they sleep under? like how does this work /gq

NO THATS A VALID QUESTION!! Honestly the actual dbh wiki is an unprecedented amount of unhelpful so I have to make everything up myself /silly

Afaik, thirium is only ever described as the fluid required to power the androids’ “biocomponents,” aka organs, aka individual modules that each power, like... A function. For example, there’s an audio biocomponent, the eyes are biocomponents, the thirium pump and thirium pump regulator are both biocomponents, etc etc etc. So technically, as long as an android has thirium, their biocomponents should be able to work just fine? But it seems improbable to me that an android could just work and work and work and never get “tired” (less effective, worn down over time, fried, etc). So in dbhc, the way the androids were first designed by Xisuma meant that they could only work for so long before they needed to go into a Low Power Mode of some sort, aka to rest (so their circuits and insides don’t fry from overuse).

Later, sometime late s8 or early s9, xisuma and doc tweak the androids’ OS so that Low Power Mode works more or less like sleeping (as an option to androids who want more of a human experience). Instead of the androids needing to sit/stand somewhere and be sort of inoperable/limited capability for a few hours, an android will start getting “sleepy” or low-inefficiency/sluggish/etc after a certain amount of time and then require proper rest (I’m sure that x and doc time it so that androids are running on a clock similar to human bodies—aka, active for about 12-16 hours a day, needing rest for 6-8 hours, etc). While they can’t necessarily control the when the “sleepiness” comes on (such as when they’ve been working harder/running hotter one day and need rest sooner), I think I imagine that the androids do decide when to trigger or start sleep procedure/sleep mode/low power mode or whatever.

So, they don’t need to “charge” per se, but they definitely need rest! Giving them a rest period also makes Impulse’s specialty more meaningful, since he was designed to be able to work for longer periods of time without rest/carry heavier loads :]

[happypopcornprincess]

Chapter 4 || The Great War

Pairings - Joaquin Torres X fem!Reader

Premise - will they survive the great war?

Word Count - 4.7K

Warnings: Angst, blood, gore, mentions of death

a/n - so a short storytime about the delay in the updates, well, long short I was off with family for Holi and almost got caught writing smut :) sprained my hand, which is why I couldn't type for days but I pulled through as injuries can wait but not my will to complete Joaquin and y/n's story. also imp. note that the narratives will now skip between a lot of characters so please let me know if there is any confusion :) thank you for sticking around <3 hope you would like this chapter.

<< Chapter 3 || Series Masterlist || Chapter 5 >>

Scorching sun rays on your body, and the hot desert wind on your face, You squinted through the binoculars, but your focus was split. Kingpin’s lavish bungalow, his desert stronghold, was a fortress, and you weren’t just watching—you were breaching it.

You could have done a better job at it, if it wasn't for Joaquin, who'd decided to join you, armed with binoculars.

"You know," you said, your focus unbroken from your screen, "we could have just sent a drone. Less chance of getting sunburned."

"Drones get spotted," Joaquin replied, his voice flat. "Besides, someone has to make sure you don't pass out and roll down this hill."

"Oh, I'm touched," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“When I said ‘I want to help you Sam’, I meant fighting by his side, not babysitting you.” Joaquin muttered loud enough for you to listen.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” you snapped, your eyes still glued to the scene before you.

“Give me one good reason why I'm stuck with you here and not on the scene with the team?”

“You volunteered for this, very enthusiastically, might I add,” you mutter under your breath.

“I just want to say if this fails… I’ll personally haunt you in the afterlife.” Joaquin growls.

“And I just wanna say if you keep running your mouth I might have to punch you.” you retorted, your fingers flying across the tab. The bungalow’s security system was a labyrinth, but you were navigating it, line by line.

“And I just wanna say, if I had a gun, I’d have already put a bullet through my skull,” Kate interjected, her voice laced with dark humor that made you both whirl around.

She settled between the two of you, pulling out her own binoculars, though her gaze was drawn to your screen. "And before you ask, no, I didn’t crawl up here for the view. I’m here to make sure you two don’t fry a circuit—or each other."

"Oh," you muttered, your focus intensely on the code scrolling across your screen. "Almost got past the third firewall..."

“No, ‘oh kate i’m so glad you’re alive?’ or ‘i’m sorry for being a jerk, kate.’ or, ‘hey how about we go to the movies after this to forget how we almost kicked each other’s butts the other day.’”

“You can just say you want to watch a movie with me,” you muttered, your eyes still trained on the gates.

“Seriously, Y/N?” she whined, but the edge in her voice was gone. “I’m sorry. I was… riled up. Watching Frank and Daredevil crash our mission, and the fact that he wanted to kill Fisk… I took it out on you.”

Kate’s voice dropped, becoming softer, almost hesitant. “And I said some really hurtful things to you. I wish I could take them back. I shouldn’t have said that.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of her apology settling on you, but your hands never stopped typing. "I know," you replied, your voice tight. "It’s alright. I get it." You patted her arm awkwardly, a brief, almost clumsy gesture, before returning to your screen. "Almost there… bypassing the internal sensors… got it!"

Joaquin, however, didn’t miss the subtle shift in your demeanor. His gaze lingered on you as he watched you work. 

"What are you doing now?" He asked.

"Disabling the cameras, and internal sensors." You reply without looking up. "Once I do that, I can let the team know where the blind spots are, and they can go in… Got it!”

You smile, and speak into the comms, “Sam, defenses down. All data is with redwing you can proceed. Good luck.”

Kate tapped both your shoulders, “good luck.” and she went back.

Joaquin stood up, deploying his falcon suit, and you followed, tightening your utility belt and strapping your tab inside your vest.

You winced, “ah!” gripping your wound as it sent a jolt up your body. Joaquin’s hand raised to reach for you, but he retreated as you walked to him, his stance rigid. It was hard to read his eyes, now covered with his visor lenses.

“Don’t you dare drop me.” you state, locking your arms around his shoulders.

He let out a dry laugh, “ha, I wish I could.” saying so, he pulled you in by your waist, harshly, and took off into the sky.

The wind whipped at your face, stealing your breath. As on instinct, you clung to him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You swore he held you closer, but maybe it was just the wind, or the way your mind was playing tricks on you. It was too easy, the way your body fit against his. 

It was like muscle memory, an echo of a time when you were friends, before the tangled mess of your arrangement. 

On you apartment’s fire escape, Joaquin sat on the stairs, holding out his hand, a teasing grin playing on his lips. “Come on.”

“I can’t!” you whined.

“You can’t be scared of heights when your best friend is the Falcon,” he laughed with a playful challenge.

“Y/N, I thought I was your best friend!” Peter’s voice echoed, and you looked up to see him hanging upside down just above you.

“Can you stop doing that?” you snapped, your stomach twisting with anxiety, a strange warmth spreading through you when you looked at Joaquin.

“Look, it’s only the fourth floor. It’s not that high! You know, I once flew next to an F-15 with Sam. You know how high that is?” Joaquin insisted.

“That does not make me feel better, Joaquin!” you scream.

“I’m here just in case you fall. I’ll web you up!” Peter offered, but his upside-down presence only amplified your anxiety.

“No.”

“Okay, that leaves us only one other way,” Shang-Chi spoke up from behind you, before literally hauling you up and pushing you out onto the fire escape. You screamed and thrashed a bit, but calmed down once you felt Joaquin’s hand hold you tight by your waist.

You breathed hard, but Joaquin let you wrap your hands around him, rubbing your back, his laugh vibrating through you.

“I got you.” he urged you to look at him and you did. His calm demeanor and his touch on your skin should have calmed you, but your heart raced faster. You shift your gaze to the New York skyline, the sun disappearing behind the tall buildings, the bustling crowds beneath you and the cold wind on your face.

Shang Chi sat next to you, placing his arms behind your body, and you calmed down completely.

“Incoming!” Kate laughed before rolling down from the railing above and lying down on your legs, laughing, all while Peter hung upside down.

You saw the new york sunset together, and sat there in silence until the sky turned blue. 

That’s when you hit Shang Chi’s arm.

“Ow!”

“That was for pushing me out.” you laugh.

 Kate gasped, hitting Shang Chi, “You pushed her out on the fire escape?”

“Can you both stop hitting me?” he protests.

“Okay, time out!” Joaquin leaned to make Kate stop hitting Shang Chi, and sneakily made a face, making you laugh.

“Can you move?” Joaquin’s voice vibrates through you, making you realise your legs were touching the ground.

You jerked away from him, as he disengaged his helmet, meeting your gaze with disappointment.

The comms came to life with Bucky’s voice, “we’re in! Y/n, you have 10 minutes tops, starting now!”

You crashed back to reality, all your focus shifting to your mission, “Roger that.” Saying so, you ran with Joaquin on your heels, the lingering warmth of his touch a ghost on your skin.

But as you moved, a dangerous, sudden realization slammed into your chest with the force of a physical blow.

You were falling for him.

And you were terrified.

It was the specific, visceral terror of falling for him. 

Joaquin, the man who had been your friend, your confidant, your… something else entirely. The man who had declared it was over, who had built his own walls, colder and taller than yours.

This was a dangerous game, where the stakes were your heart, and the opponent was someone who knew exactly how to dismantle your defenses.

As you entered the enemy territory, the realization sent a shiver down your spine. You pushed it down, shoved it into a locked box in the deepest part of your mind, where it wouldn't interfere with the mission. 

But the fear lingered, a cold, hard knot in your stomach, a constant reminder of the dangerous path you were now on.

—/—/—

The moment you stepped through the reinforced door, the world shifted, a stark and unsettling contrast to the harsh desert landscape you'd just left. The bungalow’s interior was a crafted miracle, a bizarre blend of mid-century modern and Renaissance, as if a set designer had suffered a stylish, schizophrenic break.

It wasn't just a house; it was a stage. 

The walls painted a blinding, almost clinical white, stretched into high, vaulted ceilings, creating an echoing space. The walls were a gallery, a bizarre collection of paintings that seemed to have been plucked from different eras and styles. The air itself felt different, sterile, a faint tone of rose underlying in it. 

Every surface, every object, was eerily pristine, untouched by dust. It was as if the entire space was a museum exhibit, where nothing was allowed to be out of place. 

The halls of the mansion were empty, no soldiers in sight. You found a staircase leading upstairs, but your focus was to find a hidden wall or a door that leads downstairs; that’s where all the fun was.

Joaquin whispered, “y/n, look.” you turn towards the room he was pointing in, and see it; a huge 9-feet oil painting of Wilson Fisk and Vanessa Fisk, standing ominously, their gaze pouring into you both like a warning of not coming any closer.

Walking closer, you both quickly set to analyze the edges for some mechanism, or a hint towards an opening, moving your fingers around the edges, and suddenly a sharp click broke the silence.

Joaquin and you looked at each other, and he gave you a thumbs up. The painting started to move, slowly opening on the outside to reveal an elevator. You both rush in, and find only two buttons on it; G and -1. Clicking on the -1 button, the doors closed, and the elevator roared to life.

When the doors opened, you found yourself looking at a lavish living room; the walls painted maroon, the furniture all black, and a small kitchen counter on a corner filled with canned food… right next to a computer system with two screens stacked on top of each other.

Gotcha

“It’s a safe house within a safe house.” Joaquin muttered, as you made a run for the computers.

“Y/n!” the comms roared back to life, Peter's voice a shout in the midst of gunfire, “did you find it?”

“Yes!” you scream, your fingers itching to get to work.

“Finish up as soon as you can!” Kate screamed next, grunting, probably shooting arrows, “these soldiers are playing real dirty.”

“Got it.” your fingers fly on the keyboard as you fish out the tab from within your vest, shoving it at joaquin, “find me a passage to the dark web.”

“What?” he looks at you, dumbfounded.

“You heard me.” you command, without removing your eyes from the desktop.

Joaquin got to work, and you bypass the security and passcodes with algorithms to access the files. Writing a code for accessing all files at once, you find both screens filled with every single file from the computer.

And you froze.

Whatever you were expecting, this wasn't it.

“Ay dios mío” Joaquin muttered.

The screens were filled with videos of every single person on your team.

“Goddamn, He'd steal the pennies off a dead man's eyes” you exclaimed, your Texan drawl slipping through.

Bucky and Sam on the Flag Smashers mission, Frank Castle murdering a room filled with mercenaries, Kate with Clint on the streets of new york, but the most shocking one was of Peter changing into his spidey suit in an alleyway, and the Daredevil on a rooftop, pulling off his mask to reveal his identity.

“Mathew Murdock? The lawyer from Hell’s kitchen!” Joaquin’s voice was filled with disbelief, “but he’s blind!”

You shake your head, trying not to get distracted by the sudden revelations, and you type in another code to reveal only the statistical and recorded data over the years; logs of purchases, black money turning white, reports of how many corrupt officials were there in the system, and the most important, proof of all the crimes, and murders he had committed in the past years. You put them all in one, single, mega file, and readied to upload it on the dark web, “Joaquin, how long?”

“30 seconds.” he answers, his hands flying across the tab.

“Looks like you’re winning, y/l/n.”

Your heart leapt into your throat as you turned around, whipping out your gun at the man standing behind you. Joaquin dropped the tablet, kneeling next to you with two Glocks in his hands.

Benjamin Pointdexter, instead of rotting in jail, was standing right infront of you, smirking, his hands twirling two razor sharp knives, “I know you don’t go by that name anymore, it’s just y/n now, right?”

Your mind raced to stall for time, you knew you stood no chance in front of a psychotic individual who could make impossible shots with his knives, earning him the nickname of Bullseye.

“Your folks back in Texas would be sad about you not taking your last name.” he laughed, “traditions and all, you know.”

“How did you find us?” Joaquin grumbled.

“You found me, actually. You really thought Mr. Fisk would leave this room unguarded?” he started to walk towards you, his fingers spinning the knives faster than ever, “any last wishes?”

Joaquin looks at you, and speaks just a single word, “10 seconds.” before opening fire at Dexter.

—/—/—

Those 10 seconds were the longest 10 seconds of your life. 

You leapt towards the tab, pressing upload on all the files to the dark web. Opening the comms, you screamed, “Backup, lower ground… fisk’s portrait!”

You whipped around, and your blood ran cold. A knife was hurtling towards Joaquin's neck. He reacted by twisting away, a blade flashing from his own jacket, plunging into Dexter's thigh. Dexter roared, an agonizing sound leaving his throat, kicking Joaquin away as he grabbed razor-sharp shards from his suit.

"NO!" a sound of pure terror ripped from your throat watching him about to throw them at Joaquin. You lunged, slamming into Dexter, sending you both crashing to the floor. You pound your fists against him, a frenzy of precise but desperate blows, but he just laughed, a chilling, maniacal sound before catching your fist mid-swing, twisting your wrist with brutal force.

A scream tore from your lips, the pain white-hot, unbearable. But you were beyond pain, fueled by rage. You punched him again, ignoring the agony. 

You saw Dexter's smile twist into something truly sinister. Before you could react, before you could even brace yourself, he stabbed you, the knives sinking into the same wound, the same place you'd been shot before.

He kicked you away, the force of it sending you sprawling. He pulled more knives, ready to inflict more damage. But Joaquin was on him with a whirlwind of furious strikes with his knife, only to have Dexter’s own blade slash across his neck. 

A crimson spray burst out of his neck, a horrifying sight.

It was as if time had completely stopped.

Joaquin. Your Joaquin. The one whose laughter echoed in your ears, a constant, comforting sound. The one who had held you steady when you felt utterly adrift. The one you’d treated with a reckless, careless abandon, like a moth drawn to a dangerous flame, even though he deserved nothing but love.

And now, he was hunched over, clutching his neck, his fingers stained crimson. 

The sight was a brutal, visceral punch to your gut, a stark, horrifying image that burned itself into your mind. His comforting embrace after training, his laughter on the fire escape, his glances across the room searching for you at any moment, the night you two first met. Every laugh you’d shared, every moment you spent together, it all seemed to flash before your eyes in that horrifying moment.

The guilt, a heavy, suffocating weight, pressed down on you, threatening to crush you. How could you have been so careless with the man that you…

With the man that you loved.

The image ignited a fire in you, a desperate attempt of adrenaline pumping inside you,and you were moving like a broken thing driven by pure instinct. 

You stumbled at Dexter, your body screaming in protest, but you couldn't stop.

Then Dexter was throwing knives, every blade he had, a lethal rain aimed at you.

You coughed as they pierced through your body, a gurgling sound, blood bubbling up in your throat. Your vision swam, the pain a relentless, crushing wave. Your body was betraying you, cold and numb, but you fought, crawling towards the computer, a desperate last attempt to see if you were successful.

But Dexter was there, a dark shadow, his knives slashing, destroying the system. Sparks flew, screens flickered and died. All that work, all that pain, for nothing.

He loomed over you, a dagger in his hand, his eyes cold and cruel. "Well, this is a shame," he hissed, his voice a low, mocking growl. "I would have loved to have more fun with you."

His twisted smile was the last clear image you saw, before the world dissolved into a blurry darkness.

—/—/—

Gunshots.

A heavy thud of weight landed right next to you.

Shuffling of bodies, and somebody shouted your name from a far away distance.

"Dammit! Peter, get the Quinjet!" Bucky's shout echoed through.

Your name was called out again.

Your body felt lightweight, as if you were floating in air.

And then it was bright all of a sudden.

Your vision returned just to have a look at the crystal blue afternoon sky, the whirl of quinjet’s engine in the distance.

A sob went through your ears, a voice so familiar, "Stay with me y/n, baby, please."

Joaquin.

He was alright.

His voice was the last thing you heard before being catapulted into darkness.

—/—/—

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.!" Bucky roared, his voice cracking, his eyes glued to Y/N's still form on the Quinjet’s platform.

The minute he had entered Kingpin’s den his eyes had landed right on her. She was so pale, her skin like cold, lifeless marble. It sent Bucky to empty his barrel into Dexter who lay dead right next to y/n. The pool of blood beneath her was a sickening crimson stain, enough to send a wave of nausea crashing over him. He'd wanted to snatch her up, hold her close, but Sam's hand on his arm held him back, a silent, firm restraint.

Shang-Chi's rings glowed at that moment, and like a shimmering golden shield cradling her body, the rings lifted her gently off the ground. He was carrying her, floating, trying to minimize any further damage as they rushed her into the Quinjet.

"Scan complete. Multiple organ failure, massive blood loss, ruptured lungs, heart rate decreasing rapidly," F.R.I.D.A.Y. 's flat, emotionless voice filled the cramped space, each word a brutal blow.

"Any damage to the heart?" his voice was tight, strained.

"No critical damage detected."

"Okay... uh... okay..." Bucky's stomach churned. He couldn't look at the knives sticking out of her, couldn't bear the sight of her broken body. He turned away, but it didn't help.

Peter and Frank were with Joaquin, trying to stop the flow of blood from his neck. The cut wasn't deep, just above his collarbone, but his vest was soaked, a dark, horrifying stain. He'd passed out as they boarded the jet, his delirious cries for Y/N echoing in the small space, a desperate, broken sound that tore at Bucky's heart.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y... get the med bay ready," Bucky commanded, his voice rough.

"Shang-Chi—" Bucky started, but Shang-Chi cut him off, his face grim.

"The rings are creating a field to keep her blood from getting out. They will also keep her heart beating, just in case..." He shared a look with Bucky, a look that spoke of unspoken fears, of the very real possibility of losing her. A look Bucky hated.

Kate and Peter were at the controls, their faces tight, Kate occasionally getting a glance back at y/n, flying them back to the compound. Daredevil, mask off, sat huddled in a corner, his gaze fixed on the floor. Bucky was seconds away from snapping, from unleashing his pent-up rage, when he saw the object clutched in Daredevil's hand: a silver cross.

He was praying, silently. He was a man desperately hoping for a miracle.

Bucky's own throat tightened. He remembered a secret, a truth he'd only shared with Sam: Y/N reminded him of a person so close to him back then, it physically hurt him to even think about her; his sister, Beatrice. 

Hauntingly familiar, just like her. The same mischievous grin before she did something mischievous, the same laughter that could fill any room with joy. 

He closed his eyes, a silent prayer escaping his lips, a desperate plea to whatever power might be listening…

Please, save her.

-/-/-

Joaquin's eyes fluttered open to the sterile white of the med bay ceiling, the smell of spirit overwhelming his senses.

He was alive. His forehead ached like he could feel the blood flow in his head, and a sharp sting from the gash on his neck burned as he opened his mouth, but he was alive. 

His first thought, a desperate, clawing panic, was for Y/N.

"Y/N?" His voice was a raw whisper, barely audible. "Is she…"

Shang Chi helped him sit up on the hospital bed, and he was met with Peter and Kate’s grim faces, etched with a silence that sent a chill through him. They avoided his gaze, their bodies stiff, their silence heavy.

"Sam got Kingpin," Peter said, his voice flat, his shoulders slumped. "He's on his way to New York. Going to trial for everything you and Y/N exposed."

Joaquin barely registered the words. A terrifying feeling invaded his heart as it beat faster; why was Peter avoiding his question? His eyes were fixed on them, searching for the truth they were so clearly trying to hide. "And Y/N?" he repeated, his voice strained.

“Joaquin, how about you rest up a bit…” Kate says calmly as she approaches his side, but Joaquin shakes his head, repeating his question.

"She's… she's in surgery," Kate said, her voice trembling slightly. "It's… we can’t tell if she-" she choked on her words, falling on the chair next to his bed.

The words hung in the air. A wave of nausea washed over him, a cold, sickening dread.

Shang-Chi placed a hand on his shoulder, sighing, a gesture that was meant to be comforting, but felt like a lead weight. "She's strong, Joaquin. She'll pull through.”

Joaquin saw the flicker in Shang-Chi's eyes, the carefully neutral expression that masked the unspoken fear. He knew they were holding back about her, trying to shield him from the truth. 

A small part of him still wished this was all a dream. A bad one, but still. Any minute now, he would wake up, right next to her sleeping form, and he’ll hold her, hug her, tell her she’s gonna be okay.

Then he heard Kate and Peter's hushed conversation next to him, the words cutting through the sterile silence of the room. "...we need to contact him."

“But, Kate…”

“Connor is her emergency contact peter, this could be the last time they-”

"Connor?" Joaquin's voice was sharp, a sudden jolt of confusion. "Who's Connor?"

The others exchanged a look, filled with confusion.

"You don’t know about Connor?" Peter said, his voice barely a whisper, “he’s her brother.”

Joaquin's breath hitched. Her brother. He knew she had a brother, but he had never known his name, never had any real details. Why did she never tell him before? Why was her brother the emergency contact? What about her parents?

His heart dropped when he recalled her behaviour. Overtly self dependent, her episode at the apartment, her smile disappearing at any mention of family, the phone call the day before the mission. His mind raced as he joined the dots in his head. Could it be…

"I need to see her," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion.

"Joaquin, you need to stay here," Shang-Chi said, his voice low but stern, "You need to get yourself together."

"Get myself together?" Joaquin's voice rose with his anger, a raw, broken sound, "She's dying! And you want me to get myself together?"

He tried to get out of the bed to stand, but his legs were weak, his body trembling. He stumbled, only to be caught by Shang Chi.

"Joaquin!" Shang-Chi's voice was sharp, a rare scolding tone. "You're not going anywhere. You're lost too much blood, you need rest. You will only make things worse."

Joquin breathed hard, clouded by the single thought of her. y/n smiling down at him from the fire escape, how she fitted right into his arms, her heartfelt laughter ringing in his ears, how her existence made him brighter. 

Joaquin sank back onto the bed, his body shaking, his eyes filled with a desperate, agonizing helplessness. He closed his eyes, hoping to see her image sitting next to him bathed in sunlight… alive.

But instead, he saw her face in the Kingpin's den, frozen, blank, seconds before Dexter's knives plunged into her. A replay of his worst nightmare. He remembered his desperate attempt to reach her before Dexter could do the unthinkable. 

The way her eyes had flickered, then gone blank.

The weight of suffocating darkness that threatened to consume him entirely loomed over him. He was alone, and the only light he ever cared about, was fading away.

To Be Continued...

<< Chapter 3 || Series Masterlist || Chapter 5 >>

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Next Chapter will be up soon... Love y'all, Take Care!

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[cinnabun-faerie]

MHA Boys: Tangled up in Christmas lights with them

A/N: Day 2!

Characters: Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki, Tenya Iida

"It would be a shame if we get tangled up in these lights"

he said it while holding the box of lights before

but he did not expect that to actually happen

and he doesn't know what to do

his brain short circuits cause he's so close to you, his crush

and he's trying so hard to keep himself from frying you both from his powers accidently going off

He might have underestimated how many strings of Christmas lights there was in the box

there was so much that not only as the tree decorated but you and him were decorated with lights that were tangling you up together

he would give you a sheepish smile and apologize

"Whoops, sorry about that."

He had no idea how it happened

but somehow you're both tangled up together in Christmas lights

the more you move, the more closer you two get

and he is so nervous

he likes you a lot

and he never ever thought he'd end up in this scenario with you

when he's not freaking out, he's trying to think of all the ways that would help you get free

Somehow the two of you ended up tangled in the Christmas lights

if they weren't so freakishly long, maybe this wouldn't have happened

he cursed to himself as it was his fault for giving you one end while he had the other

and the two of you ended up wrapping yourselves with lights instead of the tree

and you were so close to him that he didn't know how to function

Bakugo.exe has stopped

he couldn't even look in your direction without a pink blush dusting his cheeks

"Why do these have to be so damn tight!?"

the lights around you both seemed to tighten when either of you tried to wiggle your way out

one way or another, you'd end up tangled in lights with him

maybe one of you tripped

or the wires were knotted

and the usually composed Todoroki would struggle to conceal his blush

"Are you alright? Are the wires too tight?"

he would try to freeze off the wires while making sure you were warm enough not to get frostbite

he'd be so hypervigilant

careful not to drop the bulbs/ornaments

don't plug in the lights before putting them on the tree

he hoped that everything would be perfect and orderly

he was worrying about everything else that he failed to notice that both of you were being tangled up together in lights

"Well, this is a predicament."

he would try to figure out ways to get you both free

and to make sure it wouldn't happen a second time

[ghostlyglimmer]

The Fun Zone Part 6

You can find more chapters here

Summary:

Danny Fenton’s part-time job at The Fun Zone—a chaotic arcade and entertainment center that’s secretly a gang front—was going great until a certain vigilante stormed in to shut the place down.

It was another night of chaos at The Fun Zone. Danny was manning the counter, the arcade humming with the usual neon glow, when the doors slammed open yet again. This time, the intruder was a gang leader Red Hood had been gunning for: "Blackjaw," a burly man with a cybernetic jaw and an arsenal strapped across his chest.

Danny sighed, not even bothering to look up. “Welcome to The Fun Zone. Do you need tokens, or are you just here to wreck my night?”

Red Hood emerged from the office with guns drawn, his helmet glinting in the fluorescent light. “Blackjaw. You’ve got some nerve showing up here.”

“Yeah, well,” Blackjaw sneered, pulling out a high-tech rifle. “I figured it was time we settled things.”

Danny groaned, rubbing his temples. “Can you guys not do this in front of the counter? I just cleaned the carpet.”

“Get behind cover, Fenton,” Jason barked.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll just stay here and watch you two macho it out.”

Blackjaw snarled, aiming his rifle. “Smart-mouthed brat. You should’ve stayed out of this.”

Everything happened in a split second. Blackjaw pulled the trigger, and Danny caught a glimpse of Jason moving to return fire. But the villain had shifted his aim. Jason was in the crosshairs—and Danny didn’t think. He stepped directly into the line of fire, the bullet catching him square in the forehead.

The arcade went deathly silent.

Danny staggered back, the impact knocking him to the ground. His coworkers screamed and scrambled for cover. Jason froze mid-aim, the sight of Danny’s limp form sending a rare flash of panic through him.

“Fenton!” Jason yelled, dropping to one knee beside him.

Blackjaw cackled. “Serves the kid right for getting in the way.”

Jason’s guns clicked, his fury palpable. But before he could pull the trigger, Danny groaned, sitting up as if he’d merely tripped. He pressed a hand to his forehead, glaring at the crimson stain on the carpet beneath him.

“Great,” Danny muttered, his tone laced with annoyance. “Now I’ve gotta clean that up, too. Bloodstains are the worst.”

Jason stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “What the hell?”

Danny waved him off, getting to his feet. “I’m fine. No thanks to you.”

Blackjaw’s laughter faltered, his expression twisting into confusion. “How are you still alive?”

Danny turned, pointing an accusing finger at Blackjaw. “You know, I was willing to let this whole ‘gunfight in the arcade’ thing slide, but now you’ve gone and made it personal. You ruined my carpet!”

Jason was still frozen in place, his mind scrambling to process what he’d just witnessed. “Fenton, you just got shot. In the head.”

Danny shrugged, brushing off his uniform. “Yeah, well, it happens.”

“It doesn’t happen,” Jason snapped. “Normal people don’t just walk that off!”

“Well, lucky for me, I’m not normal,” Danny muttered under his breath. Then, louder: “Can we focus on the guy with the gun?”

Blackjaw, clearly unnerved, aimed his rifle again. But before he could fire, Danny stepped forward, casually phasing his hand through the barrel. The rifle sparked and sputtered, the circuits frying instantly.

“What the—” Blackjaw yelped, dropping the ruined weapon.

Danny smirked. “Oops. Guess your fancy toy broke.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed behind his helmet. “What did you just do?”

Danny ignored him, grabbing an arcade token from the counter and flicking it at Blackjaw with a burst of ectoplasmic energy. The token hit the man’s cybernetic jaw with enough force to send him reeling.

Blackjaw stumbled, clutching his face. “You little freak!”

Jason, finally snapping out of his daze, moved in. With a swift series of punches and a well-placed kick, he had Blackjaw on the ground, unconscious. The villain’s men had already fled, unwilling to face Red Hood and whatever the hell Danny was.

Jason turned to Danny, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ve got five seconds to start explaining, Fenton.”

Danny raised his hands in mock surrender. “Uh, let’s call it… a perk of working in Gotham?”

Jason took a step closer. “You got shot in the head. You’re still standing. And you just melted a gun barrel.”

“Did I?” Danny said, feigning innocence. “Must’ve been the adrenaline.”

Jason wasn’t buying it. “Don’t mess with me, Fenton.”

Danny sighed, glancing at the bloodstain on the carpet. “Can we maybe do this later? I’ve got a carpet to clean.”

Jason folded his arms, his stance unyielding. “You’re not off the hook.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny muttered, grabbing a mop and bucket. “Take a number, boss.”

Jason watched him for a long moment before muttering under his breath and stomping back to the office. Danny sighed in relief, mentally kicking himself for letting so much slip. He’d have to tread carefully—Red Hood wasn’t the type to let things go.

[aluciahaz]

may i just say that your character writing is AMAZING! i honestly don’t check up on your blog a lot but when i do i’m left SHAKING because your shit is soooo hot.

Anyways i humbly come requesting mommy kink with vox because you know i’m all about that. he’s so desperate for validation and scared of rejection i feel like he’d be weeping at a domme mommy type reader. Anyways, do what you want with this!

once again i love your work! sincerely, bimbo <3

oh my god it's one of my favorite writers on tumblr🦅 thank you so much for the compliment it means a lot 😭 also i loved writing this ive desperately needed more vox asks! hope you enjoy! (kinda went ham on metaphors 💀 mb)

greed never stops

—vox x f!reader

—includes: overstim, tons of crying, begging, light bondage

vox was a walking, living(?) juxtaposition.

he’ll go barking orders to his subordinates, control most situations with smooth, quick thinking, and command his business with an iron fist.

but with you, the other side of his screen is on full display. his vulnerable, attention-desperate, failure-fearful self. you’ve seen it enough times to notice how it seeps into his daily life. how his control is really just a mechanism to take hold of his vulnerability, hiding it behind a mess of steel wires to make anyone who would try and reach it get tangled in its grasp.

but the moments he lets you untangle his facade, allowing you to see his true self, he feels free. even if most of the time it was during more intimate moments in the night. it was where he could truly indulge in his unfamiliar desires, crying and begging for the validation he was always seeking.

and you were the one he needed it from.

your praise was one of the highest in the hierarchy of compliments, making him feel like he was burning up, frying his brain in a way that made him feel like he’s short-circuited, but the feeling of fuzziness was intoxicating. he could never give up the taste of your compliments.

“come on, aren’t you a good boy? you can hold out for a little longer.”

those words were like rich liquor, and vox was an eager drinker. it swirled his thoughts into a never-ending spiral, and he could only cry in response as you touched his face with a gentleness that rivals an angel’s.

“b-but, mommy—!” he sobs as your fingers drive into him for what seems the thousandth time, his voice module starting to struggle as he tries to speak.

“oh?” you raise your eyebrow, feigning shock before narrowing your eyes, pressing him further down the sheets in disdain. is he still being ungrateful?

“but what, huh? don’t tell me you need more already! you’re such a greedy fucking slut,” you spit out, watching his eyes shoot open from the whiplash of your cruel words. “maybe i should stop—,”

“NO! nono, please! no! i’m sorry—!” he keens as your fingers slowly start to slip out of him, the sound so indecent it makes him shiver.

he pushes his hips up into your hand, trying to follow them only for your other hand to shove his hips back down on the sheets, your fingers twisting nearly all the way out before ramming back in, curling in wickedly that seems to shut him up briefly as he catches a breath that ran away.

vox weeps, unable to do anything else as his claws rip into the mattress, his legs shake and tremble as though they weren’t practically crushing you before. he seems so fragile at this moment, yet you knew he could take much more.

he just didn’t deserve it.

he whines and screams at your touch, tears starting to fall down his pretty little face as the small amount of dignity he had seems to get lost, overrun by your torturous fingers and unyielding pleasure that shoots through his body like a current.

“mommy—ha—please jus—zz—t fuck me, oh, god!” his head drops back down onto the pillows as your fingers wrap around his weeping cock, making his back arch as he sobs out noncoherent pleads. it’s beautifully pathetic.

his legs, weak and feeble, were strewn across the bed with previous markings trailing up his inner thigh, his neck even more decorated with a necklace of red, the glimmer of sweat that covers his whole body making those bites shine similar to crude rubies.

his hands, now tied with his own wires behind the bed (he charges there before he goes to sleep) were sullied with crimson from the tightness of the metal around his wrist, but not as bright crimson as his eyes, which flashed with bright red hearts intermittently. it was always a pleasant surprise, and a sign that he fucking loved this. no matter how much he complained at the start, his eyes spoke the truth.

which is why now, as you replace your fingers with his favorite strap, you know he’s absolutely overjoyed as those beating hearts seem to overtake his pupils once more, pulsating with a hypnotizing spiral.

“finally—! oh—zzz—FUCK!” his last word is practically inaudible with the airiness in his voice, his tone starting to distort, yet, your pace was slow. shallow, even. tears of frustration started to form at the ends of his eyes, his whines more pitiful as he tries to fuck himself back on your strap, only to be stopped by your sturdy grip on his hips.

“what do you say, vox?“ you asked, irritation slipping into your voice. how could he still be so ungrateful? but, he catches on fast, looking up at you with round, glossy eyes.

“thank you! thank—thank you, mommy!” he stumbles out before you switch up your pace instantly, brutally ramming into him just how he likes it. it makes him unable to fathom he could have been known to be anything but yours, surrendering his well-built persona to you. all of it, for your praise.

“such a good boy.”

those words were priceless, but he always ends up trying to buy them with obedience. and even though he’s successfully checked out with such praise, they still have the same effect on him every time.

he shudders and wails with ruined pitch, his screen flickering in and out of error messages and his lovely expression as he gets his reward. there was just something so satisfying about earning your praise.

sure, he can buy pretty much anything, and yes, he can get people to kneel at his feet, but he can’t cry without shame, or indulge in his true desires of being completely wrecked with soft words and fast hips with anyone. no, it could only be you. and even if he practically has everything under his hands, he will always be greedy for your affection, begging, screaming for a chance to have it set his whole body ablaze with its foreign warm feeling.

it makes him lost. no matter how much intelligence vox has, he always finds himself unable to search his way out of the feeling of pure lust overtaking his senses when you fuck him with abandon, his need to keep face seemingly never being there in the first place as tears make him short-circuit, and pleads for you to never stop. he doesn’t want to leave this labyrinth of carnality. he wants to stay lost in it forever.

it’s why even after he cums with a high-pitch sob so loud you thought his volume module broke, he kept weeping incoherently as the lights flicker in the room, his legs practically numb. and finally, he looks up at you, sniffling and choking on his words he’ll pretend to regret the next morning.

“m-more. please, mommy—! AH!” his whole body jolts as you heed his wishes, leaving him to fall back into the pleasure that he craves. he babbles on and on with thank yous and nonsensical sentences, the night seeming to become never-ending even with daybreak inching closer and closer.

vox is unable to speak at the end, and god does everything fucking hurt. his arms ache and his legs are definitely going to be an issue when he has to walk. there are marks all over his skin that will never see the light of day, yet be around for plenty of nights.

but you both know he’ll come back for more. his greed is an unquenchable thirst, and your praise is the only fountain that seems to satiate it, even if only for a little while.

(i totally didnt forget to tag)

tags: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @mvskedxrtist @drlucichen @luciferspetduck