#also not me getting distracted every fifteen minutes or so by spotify playing a song that reminds me of a headcanon for a different char 😳

[hyperfixationtimego]

Alright we’re trying this angst thing again

Diamond Brothers Angst because I said so

Both Daiya and Mondo have huge self esteem issues bc of the crash

Both think stuff along the lines of what the fuck I could have prevented that

Neither Daiya nor Mondo can sleep very well because when they hear vehicles driving past and the occasional screeching tires they’re back at the scene of the accident

They hear a semi truck rumbling past? Suddenly neither of the brothers remember how to move or breathe properly

They both survived the crash but they were both injured severely bc fuck dude that was a truck that hit them

The Crazy Diamonds witnessed the whole thing and they were Worried™️

And we all know how the Owadas hate being vulnerable

Neither of the brothers could actively ride their motorcycles for a long time after the crash because they couldn’t handle it emotionally

They played off their mental recovery time as time in the hospital

Daiya made Mondo promise not to get back on his motorcycle, much less the road, until he was 100% sure that he was prepared to handle it because what if there’s another freak accident that neither of them have control over

Mondo made Daiya promise the exact same thing because He Cares™️

Mondo has reoccurring nightmares about the crash and often sees Daiya dead in those nightmares

The gang shows up in the nightmares too and they’ve all been hit and it’s all Mondo’s fault and he couldn’t be a good leader because he wasn’t strong enough and why couldn’t he just be more like his brother god fucking dammit

Sometimes he sees Taka or Chihiro in place of Daiya and the Diamonds and that Absolutely Terrifies Him™️

Daiya has reoccurring thoughts about hijacking a truck to hit the driver who hurt him and his little brother

He wants them to feel all the same pain and more that they put the Diamond Brothers through

Daiya has breakdowns over this because even if he is a gang leader, he would not go that far

cue the Am I A Bad Person Complex™️

Mondo does not let himself stim

He doesn’t think it’s manly and it definitely doesn’t fit the Tough Guy™️ act

This leads to worsened focus and next thing you know he and Daiya are having a yelling match at home because if Mondo’s grades drop any lower he’ll be expelled soon and Daiya just wants the best for his brother but nothing works out the way it was planned

One time Mondo received a popsicle stick and paper heart from Taka

He was extremely happy

When he got back to his dorm he was that happy that he was shaking and then oh shit

Mondo broke it

He snapped the popsicle sticks in half

the note that Taka wrote,, it got ripped in the process

Mondo full on sobbed over this for an hour at the least

Like

Actual

Real

Tears

He broke something that Taka— not just his bf, but his best friend— had worked so hard on to make just for him and he fucking broke it like a shit for brains idiot

Mondo is terrified of hurting his friends

Because what if he forgets to take his adhd meds one day and his emotional dysregulation is all fucked up and he has an outburst again and actually hurts his friends

Or what if he takes 2+ doses by accident and focuses too hard and is left staring at one (1) spot and everyone hates him and what if they think he’s a creep

Mondo hates going out of his dorm at night because what if someone else is out and they have a flashlight and now they’re pointing it at him and it’s bright and those are headlights and that’s

that’s his brother

on the ground

not moving

Mondo will start shaking and he’ll break down hyperventilating or freeze on the spot

Either way, he hates being vulnerable

Whaddaya think? :D was that enough angst?

also can you tell that i kin Daiya on the dl bc i too got hit by a moving vehicle to save my young mer sibling from being hit /lh but also srs lmfo

HEY TINK??? HEY TINK????????

GodDAMN make me cry over this shit oKAY-

also sorry this took ✨forever✨ I had to gather my Thoughts™️ and my brain did not want to work today 😌

also before we get into my things, tw for trauma (obviously), unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage smoking/drug relapse/smoking as a crutch, and suicidal ideation (passive, but still there)

First of all, y e a h oh my god?? There is literally so much internalized guilt for both of them,,,,,like they rlly do have episodes sometimes where they just. Play over the events of what lead up to the crash in their heads and fixate on what they could have done differently,,,,,even though in the moment they both did their best? Like “well, I shouldn’t have taken us down this street” or “if I had acted quicker, maybe it wouldn’t have happened” and.....yeah those thoughts really fuck with them, y’know?

and 100% that unexpected/overwhelming vehicle noises and/or presences are nearly debilitating. Honestly, I imagine that Mondo can’t go hang out with Leon and Taka or whoever else if said people are hanging out in Kaz’s workshop. Owada’s only ever been in there once and immediately had to leave when he heard Kazuichi starting an engine he was working on. Not to mention being surrounded by a shit ton of vehicles, even if they were idle, had kept him on-edge the entire thirty seconds he was able to handle it.

They both deal with a lot of phantom pain, as well. Like something triggers them and suddenly, even if they’re able to remain in the moment and keep conscious of their surroundings, they somehow feel every ache, every twinge of pain, every breaking bone, or bruised patch of skin that they felt on that day. It’s a lot more prominent in Daiya than it is with Mondo, but they do both experience it!

And neither one lets the other know when they’re feeling like shit or having an episode because 😌 Daiya. wants to be strong. for his little brother. and Mondo. sees his brother basically functioning like a typical person. and figures that there’s something wrong with him. because he can’t get over what happened.

Takemichi is absolute shit with Emotions and being vulnerable or getting people to open up to him, but he’s like..........internally these bitches are Not Okay what the fuck am I supposed to do about it???? So he kind of...tries to hint to both of them that he’s worried? Without making it obvious or embarrassing them, but he’s like.......fuck these assholes.......making me be the one to make them realize they need help goddamnit........

And michi exhibiting a change in behavior is pretty 👀 because. it’s michi I mean he’s not just gonna change the way he talks in front of u for nothing, u know? So both Daiya and Mondo are actually able to pick up on it, although their reactions differ pretty greatly.

Like Daiya’s first thought is “wow, he’s worried, that’s really sweet of him. Better convince him everything’s okay.”

Meanwhile Mondo’s is “wow, he’s worried. my stupid emotional turmoil is that obvious. he must think I’m some sorta fuckin idiot for not being able to get over it. or selfish. or both. yeah, probably both.”

Also I think Daiya’s pretty perceptive in general? Like he can Tell™️ that something’s going on with his brother, but........yeah emotional conversations....vulnerability......that’s rlly neither of their strong suits. + he also figures that if it were something mondo were really really really having trouble with, he would come talk to him!

And so Daiya has absolutely no concept of just how Not Good his brother is doing right now hbbvvvv

So he settles for being like “I’m just gonna stay strong and act like the memories and intrusive thoughts aren’t affecting me in any way because I want to be a good role model” (which. is not healthy obv)

oh g o d the nightmares

they are so horrible and vivid and concentrated at times that Mondo simply.....refuses to sleep. He’s exhausted, both mentally and physically, and yet he can’t bring himself to close his eyes because he knows what he’ll see if he does.

And of course it affects him to the point that his friends start to become worried. Like Taka notices a stark increase in tardiness or general absences, and, after an initial assumption that it was simply Mondo choosing not to care about his academics again, realized that there was probably a lot more going on than he realized. He really, really wanted to bring it up and let his boyfriend know that he’ll always be there for him no matter what, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to articulate it properly. The farthest he gets is with the question, “is everything okay?”

And as much as Mondo wants to respond to him by saying that no, in fact, everything is not okay, everything sucks and everything hurts and he’s tired and he hates himself and sometimes he wishes that the crash had killed him, but that’s selfish so he should shut up- he just.....can’t bring himself to open himself up like that. Yes, he and Ishi are dating, so logically he should be able to tell him all this, but.....it’s so much. It’s too much. Too much to think, too much to feel, let alone try to explain. So he shuts himself up with a quick, curt, “Yeah.”

And....Taka knows he’s lying. He’s not sure how he knows, but he does. And it hurts to see someone he loves so much in such a state of anguish, and basically be unable to do anything about it because....how is he supposed to respond? What is he supposed to say? Navigating everyday interaction is difficult enough without having to improv something that could affect his partner’s mental health indefinitely. So....he does his best. Which isn’t enough, really, but it’s something.

“You can tell me anything.”

Mondo wants to believe him.

—

Another side of that same coin is Mondo skipping class a lot more than is typical for him. It’s almost always with Leon, but he’s also begun slipping away on his own, occasionally, as well, now.

And....y’know, at first, Leon thought it was super rad that Owada and he were skipping more! Like it used to be that Kuwata would offer for them to miss the next class, and Mondo’s usual answer would be ‘not today,’ and then Leon would keep bugging him about it until Mondo either gave in or told him to fuck off.

But....there’s just something about how it went from Leon being constantly shut down, to being told yes around the first few times the idea was brought up, to how, suddenly, Kuwata wasn’t even the one asking, anymore. It’s....depressing? Uncomfortable?

There’s also the fact that hanging out while they’re cutting just....isn’t as fun as it used to be? Leon’ll crack jokes or come up with stupid dares, and Mondo’s responses will be noncommittal at best. And Leon’s had enough experience with sleep deprivation to know it in his friends when he sees it.

He’s never been put in this situation before - usually it’s kuwata having some sort of stupid episode and usually it’s owada who’ll tell him to chill the fuck out and think rationally about things, but....Mondo acts a lot different when he’s upset than Leon does. He smokes more. Cuts himself off from everyone. Doesn’t engage with anything.

It’s different with people like Toko, or Makoto, or Kaz, because Leon knows what they need. He knows whether or not they need vulnerability, or a physical presence, or tough love, or tactile grounding, or a willing ear or shoulder to cry on, but with Mondo......he just isn’t sure.

So Leon doesn’t comment.

——-

Chihiro’s probably the one to get him to open up about it ngl.

ANYWAY-

y e a h Daiya intrusive thoughts?????? fuck yeah???? absolutely??????

god yeah I rlly feel him on that ngl hbhdbdbdbbb

and MONDO DARLING 🥺

god okay it SUCKS because????? he doesn’t judge his friends for stimming????? Like he sees his friends fidgeting or repeating phrases or rocking back and forth and he’s like???? Hell yeah you go u funky kid ilysm

But when it comes to himself????? he’s like if I do anything aside from stay perfectly still, I’m weird and bad and a failure so I simply Will Not

he’s wrong but it doesn’t change the fact that he feels that way ❤️

hhhvhvvdd I’m also a slut for daiya doing his best as a makeshift parental figure,,,,,,,like fuck dude okay,,,,,,as an older sibling who also loves and cares about their younger sibs but often finds emotionally connecting with them to be difficult,,,,,,,,,mood??? And having all of that amplified by rlly being his younger bro's only support in his home life,,,,,,,like ok mr. owada go off

he feels a lot of pressure to get it right and make sure that Mondo's doing okay, so the grades really worry him. but, of course, grades are a touchy subject with mondo regardless, so as u said it devolves into arguments and yelling and a lot of defensiveness!!

and god okay,,,,,,,the heart rlly got me,,,,,,,like that hurt. it rlly hurt man okay damn

honestly??? I think that might be the thing that gets him to break. like that might be his final straw.

because when they meet up again, Ishi asks him about it and whether or not he liked it. And Mondo just.

fucking.

breaks.

down.

He’s shaking and he’s crying and there’s snot running down his nose and this is so ugly and so not manly but he can’t stop. he can’t stop. Because there is this sweet, gentle, kind, sweet, beautiful, darling, sweet man before him who did something so nice for him, something he didn’t deserve, and he destroyed it.

Like he destroys everything.

And so when Taka panics and asks him what’s wrong (yes Ishi gets worried that he did something bad and yes ishi also gets worried that his boyfriend didn’t like the present because hdbdvdvd kin 💛) owada just. spills everything. and he doesn’t even begin with the gift??? he starts with apologies upon apologies, many of them incoherent, and many of them with Mondo not even certain what he’s apologizing for, just that he knows he needs to

and ofc Taka is like o-o because wow ok

but after his initial shock, and after Mondo has thoroughly cried himself out and explained everything he could stand to explain at that point in time, Taka just......holds him. And strokes his face, brushing away the tears that have not yet dried, simply offering his body as a weight, as something for Mondo to ground himself with. And it works.

And Taka insists that Mondo has nothing to apologize for, only that he wishes Mondo would have told him what was going on sooner. Because he wants to help. And hearing that just gets Owada’s waterworks going all over again, but he’s still got Ishi there with him. He hasn’t scared him off.

And it’s more than enough.

—

and UGH yeah????? yes absolutely absolutely okay okay so,,,,,,,,mondo comorbid adhd/depression/anxiety

like sir 🤝

got me fucked up smh

honestly he’s probably not diagnosed with the depression or anxiety, either, until something like the incident with ishi prompts him to realize oh wow I’m not okay actually

so yes he 100% does???

he constantly has all of these what if situations swirling around in his brain about what might happen if he fucks up, or does something that he doesn’t qualify as fucking up in the moment, but leads to something awful or painful or harmful for someone else, and he’s just??????? g o d

[writerkenna]

The Lights of Stars and the Glitter in your Eyes Chapter 3

Okay y'all here's the spotify playlist. It is my jam, seriously: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/33fFZZf5GuCb5iKylbEL1V

Songs that I listened to while writing this, in no particular order: I Do Adore, Let's Hear it for the Boy, Yellow, Daddy Issues, and Anything for You

Enjoy!

The meetings, which consisted of councils that were becoming increasingly blurred in Thor’s head and streams of words like ‘judiciary system’ and ‘delegation of power’ pounding at him, had become thrice weekly, always in the morning, always packed.

“I’d like to put my name in for consideration,” Valkyrie said with enough force to rouse Thor’s chin up from slumping on his hand. He hadn’t slept well-consistently hadn’t been sleeping well, whether that be Bruce sharing a bed with him or his political strife was undetermined-and had only been half a part of the conversation so far. He scanned the room and its holographic boards to catch up. Leader of the warrior force, Thor deduced.

“Uh, I, me too, for that. Yeah,” Korg followed. Valkyrie shot him a look, but Korg didn’t seem to notice. The groups of people that made up the councils and parliamentary members present in the room were generally displeased by both nominations, not that they really could do much about it. In the end, Thor would make the choice. On every council leader and major edict of society, it was him who would make the call, which was a boost to his ego while also terrifying as all hell.

Valkyrie eyed him carefully, and Thor knew just from the shift of her lip that she was deciding her odds. She deserved the title, more qualified than anyone in the room, excluding himself, maybe, despite what the rest of the assembly thought of it, thought of her time away from Asgard. Thor would try to find Korg some position, though, fabricate a title if he needed to.

“I’ll see those of you on defense again three days from now. Education and Agriculture, tomorrow morning,” Heimdall ordered. He had alleviated Thor of the duty of running these things, and Thor was more than grateful. They disbanded in a shuffle of mumbles and Thor dredged himself up to stand.

“Hey,” Valkyrie said as she shoved her elbow against Thor’s bicep. He shoved back at her with a grin.

“Trying to take up the old mantle, huh?”

“Yeah,” Valkyrie eased slowly, a prick of something being held back and shift of her shoulders, prepping for a fight, “so?”

“No, no, it’s good! I’m like, yay, Val, you go girl!” Thor covered quick, gesturing a non committal fist bump and Valkyrie took it with a side-arching smirk and roll of her eyes.

“Okay, then.”

“Just don’t let the, well, the others worry you, alright? You’re suited for this.” Thor hoped this was enough for her to understand his leanings, as much of a hint he felt he could reasonably give. Valkyrie’s eyes went wide and her lips formed a flat smile. It warmed Thor a little, to issue something with some effectiveness, some net good.

Loki passed them and they both called after him. He halted with a huff.

“Yes?” he hissed at them both.

“So, what, no bid for power?” Valkyrie snarked back.

“I was expecting at least some sort of coup attempt or something,” Thor added, his glance catching on Loki, who was not exactly mad, maybe closer to a flat discomfort.

“No, not this time. Not me.”

It dawned on Thor how quiet Loki had been in the past two weeks of meetings. No bursts of anger, no snips at parliament, no desperate sieges on Thor himself. It was almost like Loki was actually exhibiting restraint, or possibly embarrassment, maybe some sheepishness to act around a people who would never trust him, but past experience made Thor doubtful of any of those.

“Well,” Thor sighed, feeling some mix of awkward tension and familial sympathy. He shifted on his feet and looked away from the lines of Loki’s unreadable but undeniably dreary eyes, “I think I’m going to find Bruce now.”

Loki and Valkyrie’s eyes connected for a moment, and a smile crossed Loki’s face for the first time in a while. Thor didn’t understand them.

“Mmhm,” Valkyrie hummed. Thor leaned in to them for an explanation, hands squared at his hips, but Loki just breezed a snip of a laugh as Valkyrie wiggled her brows too fast, a sort of suggestion of something.

“Go on,” Loki said with a flick of thin fingers on a tight hand, smirking in a way Thor knew was never good for him, “find your mortal.”

Thor was not in the habit of referring to Bruce, in any capacity, as ‘his mortal’ and he wanted to battle on Loki’s usage of it but both him and Valkyrie looked so smug he didn’t think it would do him much good. Thor sniffed a goodbye and turned towards the cafeteria.

Bruce was in the middle of conversation with a gaggle of kids when Thor found him. They were teaching him an Asgardian card game that was older than Thor. Bruce, everyone had discovered, was actually pretty good with kids when all his context wasn’t hanging around. Thor hesitated before stepping over.

He noticed, not for the first time he must admit, the true gentleness of Bruce Banner. It was an extreme counter to Hulk and all his brash moves, swings of fists and garishly loud outbursts at the wrong times. Bruce was contained and careful with every adjustment he made. Thor could see it right then, how he took his time as he slid cards to the members of his circle. Each movement started with a ducked head and a shared look, quick but practiced, a final check of consent, a caring concern, before Bruce enacted it. It was close to overwhelmingly sweet, if not worryingly so.

“These kids are whoppin’ my butt, Thor!” Two of the girls in the group giggled. Thor lowered himself around Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce adjusted and Thor caught a hint of a smile and a touch of a blush.

“Play this one.” Thor touched a card with the blunt edge of his nail and Bruce flipped it down onto the table. Someone issued a groan and Bruce gained a point. Thor removed himself from over him, catching the closeness. Bruce gave the win to the kids after the next round and Thor and him made their way back to the room.

“Give me like twenty, thirty minutes, and then Weird Science, okay?” Bruce said as he pulled up all his tabs and his ever-growing paper. It was his plan to have the full paper done and ready for peer-review once they landed, as a sort of homecoming gift of well wishes to earth, a band aid for his long absence from academia. Bruce wouldn’t tell him directly, but Thor could feel the nerves and apprehensions boiling so clearly under Bruce’s skin when they talked about their destination. Thor was relieved the paper was, if not an actual solution, a nice distraction.

Thor flopped belly first onto the bed as Bruce got lost to his work. He appreciated their routine after meetings, work time for Bruce, then a Midgardian film, before they split again and he went to spar with Valkyrie or Korg or any warm, muscled body he found and Bruce dove scrunched-face first into the study of the science of matter in a void or something of the like. Thor, on most days, enjoyed the brief moments of sleep he could steal before Bruce woke him up for the next cinema classic he determined was on their required viewing list.

Thor managed fifteen minutes of a nap before he roused himself with a low groan and pulled two thick packets from his nightstand. He was supposed to have his new education system picked by the next morning, and the thought of that made him want to be swallowed up by the satin sheets under him so deep even Heimdall’s sight would be blind to him. Yet, still, he made a try to read the dense things. As Thor finally reached the bottom of page two, Bruce concluded his work session and turned over his shoulder to him. Thor’s eyes flicked up from his pages and gave Bruce one small scan.

He exuded, even in Sakaarian dressings, a very specific energy, the energy of someone who could be actively interested and spend ten straight hours of research on topics Thor fell asleep just hearing of. Frankly, Bruce Banner was a huge nerd.

“Okay, so this one is-” 

“You must come to my meetings with me.”

“Ah, buddy, I don’t… that’s kind of an overst-” Bruce took a pace back to his screens.

“Yes! This is a brilliant solution! You shall come from now on, Bruce. It’s set.”

“Am I even allowed to be there? Like, isn’t it sort of an Asgardians only thing?” Bruce stumbled, wringing one finger around another.

“Korg’s there,” Thor supplied, seeing his idea, his salvation from the weight of a whole people on his shoulders slinking away as Bruce broke eye contact.

“Well, I-”

“I really want you there,” Thor pleaded. The corner of Bruce’s lips flicked up briefly, enough for Thor to count it as a win.

“I-maybe, okay, I’ll think about it. So am I, like, going as your . . . friend, or just a bystander, or . . . ?”

Thor puzzled on this. Bystander, a very inactive and unhelpful role, was not what Thor wanted. He had sort of pictured more of someone who would pretty much make all the choices for him. He beamed when he found the right word.

“Chancellor. You can be my chancellor. Will you?” Thor pulled his knees up under himself, growing giddy with the the idea of it and feeling his chest get a little lighter. Bruce’s eyes were wide and Thor couldn’t figure if they were going more towards bright surprise or intense shock.

“Ah, wow, that’s-Thor, thanks. That’s, um, chancellor sounds like a big deal, though,” Bruce said as he paced his way over to the bed with his careful tension.

“Well, yes, it is a bit, I suppose. You’d be my advisor and confidant for all matters. Every great king has had one,” Bruce was still unconvinced, hanging on the edge of sitting on the bed and avoiding Thor’s stare. Thor was beginning to feel a hint of desperation in himself, and he suddenly needed this more than he thought, “Bruce, please, I could really use this. And you are-I mean this quite truly-the smartest person I know.”

This seemed to be the secret charm for Bruce, as hearing it made his smile bloom into his cheeks, his bottom lip tucking up under his teeth in a way that reminded Thor of how full Bruce’s lips were.

“Well, I guess I . . . where do I start, then?” Bruce shrugged, not fully sure, but it was enough to get Thor to bound up like a spring to deliver Bruce the packets.

“Yes, yes, thank you, Bruce. You are a wonderful friend. Here, education system outlines. I’m supposed to have one picked by tomorrow.” Bruce’s brows spiked up and he shot Thor a look that was the exact halfway between the start of a laugh and the dip of a frown. He shook his head and opened up the first packet. Thor leaned over and tried to be subtle as he watched Bruce’s face scan the papers. Bruce had the paper close to his eyes as he picked at each line with his finger tracking along, the same look he got when he found a good source on cosmic ray collisions (and Thor actually knew what that meant, which, if anything, was a testament to Bruce’s passion). He seemed to be getting more out of it than Thor could have ever hoped to.

“You should go with this one, I think,” Bruce said as he handed a packet back over to Thor, “It has a really good curriculum already set for the younger kids and a lot of elective choices for the older ones. It will be good for entering the workforce.”

Thor blinked down at the paper, then back up at Bruce who was aflame with blush.

“You’re a genius.”

“Ah, ha, I don’t know about that-” Bruce’s lips went tight across his teeth and his face reddened even further.

“You are,” Thor affirmed. In terms of genius Avengers, Tony was usually the first one that people thought of, but Thor felt, especially over the course of these past few weeks spending majority of his time with Bruce, that he knew exactly who the real brain of the team was. Stark always seemed to understand this, too, if his little remarks about Bruce’s papers and the way he deferred to Bruce in their shared lab work were indicators. Bruce’s intelligence and how far it stretched amazed Thor to no ends, from the second they had met in New York. Bruce was stunned into silence and Thor admitted he was a bit pleased with himself that he was the one able to make sure Bruce was aware of his own brilliance. They were staring at each other now, stuck in that silence, and Thor felt a tingle of electricity mixed with something else slip down to his fingers.

There was an uneasy rumble from beneath their bed and as Thor started up to check on it, the ship jolted harshly to the right and he landed face first into the pillow. He pulled his head up to find Bruce tossed against the floor.

“Thor, y-you okay?” Bruce staggered as he peeled himself off the floor. Thor was quick to pull him back up.

“Let’s go,” Thor shot, and then they were on their way to the hull, bolting down as the ship rustled and tossed. Once they reached the front of the ship, Valkyrie, Heimdall, and Loki were already there. Outside the front window, rocks crashed about them, immense and jagged.

“What’s happening?” Thor asked the crowd.

“Asteroid field that wasn’t on our maps,” Heimdall informed. Another rock hit their left and Bruce fell into Thor’s side. Thor wrapped an arm around him to steady them both, and because Bruce was looking just a bit green at his corners.

“We need to-” Loki started, but he stumbled forward as they were slammed into from behind. A low growl bubbled out from the figure under his arm and Thor checked to find Bruce shaking whatever that was off him.

“Thor, you, ah, you gotta get me to the r-room, now, or I-I gotta-” Bruce’s sweat was sponging off onto Thor’s shoulder. Thor pulled his arms tighter around Bruce as he squirmed.

“I’m going to-uh . . .” Thor shot his eyes over to Loki, who upon seeing Bruce groaning, nodded fast and gestured them off. They had a hard time even staying balanced as Thor got them both back to the room. Bruce was lost from him at this point, half green and drifting further from himself with each tumble of the ground below.

“Bruce, hey, Bruce, let’s just-” Thor tried but Bruce had been good as gone since Thor had closed the door.

“Thor!” The word ripped out of the morphing body in front of him, breaking in the middle, shifting from Bruce’s squawk to Hulk’s howl. A green head tossed back with a roar and Thor was face to face with an eight foot mass focused only on him.

“Hulk, my friend,” Thor eased, with careful hands poised out in front of him as he tiptoed closer to Hulk.

“Hulk miss pretty god. Hulk come to see him.” Hulk pressed in towards Thor, that cocked up grin back again. Thor was washed over with guilt and he shut his eyes with a wince. The interaction started to feel like a betrayal and Thor fell back a few steps away from Hulk.

“You . . . you can’t just take over Bruce to see me. That’s not okay.” Thor remembered Bruce’s theory, the pendulum effect, and worry covered the pit of his gut as he considered a permanent loss of Bruce Banner. Hulk grunted, his brow folding into angry creases, and he punched a lamp off a counter.

“No, no, Hulk want Thor! Hulk come see him!” Hulk threw large fists onto the bed and a pillow bounced to the ground. As his arms continued to thrash about, Thor could see the trajectory of this freak out and while the ship rocketed them around, Thor rushed over to him to calm the storm.

“Okay, shh, shh now,” Thor murmured as he put a hand to Hulk’s chest. He felt the thunder of his heart simmer down to a rumble, and Hulk lowered to sit on the bed, green eyes softening when they found Thor in their line of sight. Warm breath gusted across Thor’s neck and they both inhaled together. Thor chanced a grin, “hey, sorry, we’re okay, alright. I missed you, too. I-just, is Banner going to be able to come back, uh, maybe, one day?”

Hulk frowned at the accusation and nodded. Thor sighed and the situation felt less hefty.

“Hulk let Banner come back tomorrow, okay? But Hulk and Thor first,” Hulk said in a near whisper, a voice Thor was hearing for the first time, and Thor’s breath caught when it hit him, soft and crackling like a hiss of a dying fire. It was a surprise to neither of them when Thor was pulled into the crevice between Hulk’s legs and their lips crashed like a spray of ocean into each other.

The guilt still covered Thor, but it was being eaten up by his excitement. He squeezed his thighs together in some last ditch attempt to stop him from falling down this hole again, but he had been thinking about Hulk’s cock inside him for two weeks and his member was like a dagger jabbing his leg. He was little more than a pulsing mass of flesh that hungered for the dark and full taste of Hulk, and Bruce’s well-being had slipped far, far, back in his mind.

“Unghh, fuck, Hulk, please, take me,” Thor groaned. He rutted himself against the point of Hulk’s knee. Hulk hissed and hummed, playing out a rhythm with his puffs of air into Thor’s hair.

“Thor go here,” Hulk moaned and Thor gave over to Hulk’s force as he moved into the V of Hulk’s legs. Hulk ripped off the bits of torn scraps of Bruce’s pants and Thor’s chest plummeted forward when he was level with the twitching of Hulk’s dick. The ship rattled him forward and his hand was on it.

“Ooh, I . . .” Thor didn’t finish whatever his train of thought was driving towards. He buckled at his waist and stretched his lips into a vice grip around the head of Hulk’s cock. It was pulling him too tight, tight enough that he fretted for the briefest moment his mouth might crack at the edges. But, he wouldn’t, he affirmed to himself, and in the heat of this, in the euphoria that was the challenge of Hulk, found he would allow himself to crack.

Hulk rocked his head back and forth across his shoulders and Thor tracked the motion, rolling his tongue over the slit of the head. Hulk shivered under Thor’s palms.

Thor had decided that this was what he wanted, constantly. He wanted his limits pushed while Hulk moaned and he rubbed himself raw. He wanted to be a whore for this cock, for all the parts of Hulk’s warm and muscled and strained and yet so, so sweet form. Thor dipped down further on the shaft, enhancing his moans to ridiculous proportions, because he needed it to reach Hulk and seep into his ears until his soul could feel Thor’s desperation.

They were animals here, stripped of their context and all of Thor’s problems and Bruce's anxiety and Hulk's danger, and they were just two creatures grinding against each other. They were base and primal, and that fact was making Thor delirious as he yanked on his cock. Hulk splattered in and across Thor, Thor following a moment or two after, and they both slipped back from each other.

Thor licked across his lips and sucked in Hulk’s seed. It was bitter at first but as Thor swallowed it down, it was sweet on his throat. He looked up under his lashes at Hulk, who was panting with a grin. They blinked at each other for a moment, and then Thor was hoisted up and over the rim of the bed to land upon Hulk’s wide barrelled chest. Thor rested his head down, wondering as he rattled in the bed  if he needed to get back to the hull and assist, but then, giving in, he shut his eyes, and he guessed they were cuddling. He liked it more than he would have expected to.

They didn’t bother with cleaning up after, as there was some satisfaction in staying sticky and soiled together. They slept in the blanket of their stench of sex, one of Thor’s more sound sleeps recently.

When he woke up to Bruce, he removed himself without a word, and when they saw each other in the meeting, when Thor saw Bruce’s gentle grin and tired eyes, last night was moot.

(I know RDJ is in Weird Science shhhhh he's just Tony's doppelgänger) 

ps yes they have watched dumbo together it was the first film they watched

COMMENT

[nomoregraydays]

Switched - Grayson Dolan Imagine

Concept: It’s Grayson and Ethan’s day of filming for switching lives. Y/N, Grayson’s gf, has no idea until she gets there that morning. So now she has to hang out with Ethan for the day. Even though she’s shy, Ethan does the best he can to be Gray, as a boyfriend, for the time they spend together.

Word Count: 3023

Warnings: it’s poorly written...? 

A/N: I’m sorry for lack of posts. Here’s the GD Imagine I’ve been talking about that @whatmakesmehappyy brought up. I’m sorry if it seems choppy and what not. I hope you end up enjoying it nonetheless though, this is for my Gray girls<3

****

Y/N unlocks the front door with her key and walks into the twins’ house as she puts it back in her messenger bag. “Gray?.. Gray, where are you?”

There’s a moment of silence before Ethan yells, “Fuck!,” in the background.

Now, he appears in the hallway, holding his GoPro as he’s filming, “I forgot I have a girlfriend and that she was coming over today.”

Her face twists into confusion. “Eth-”

Ethan cuts her off, “I’m not Ethan, I’m Grayson today.”

Y/N thinks for a moment, then realizes what’s going on and plays along. “Right. How’s it going, boyfriend?”

“Just great, the work list has been stupid.”

“You mean the daily life responsibilities that I’m stuck doing?” Gray scoffs, walking into the living room from the kitchen. “The dishes still aren’t done.”

Ethan obnoxiously groans and stomps to the kitchen to finish them. “This...sucks!”

Gray smirks lightly and looks at Y/N lovingly and then his face cringes a little. He’s not jealous, but feels more apologetic towards the situation. “I’m sorry you’re going to be with this loser all day. It’s for a video.”

Y/N laughs with a wink. “You’ll have to make up for it later.”

“Deal.” Gray steps closer for a hug, and he’s about to leave a kiss on her nose when Ethan comes whisking in to tug Y/N away.

“That’s my girlfriend! Come on, Y/N, let’s go do couply stuff.”

Gray only shakes his head and shrugs. “Guess I should get back to playing fortnite cause it’s literally all E does.”

Ethan points a serious finger at Gray. “One more comment about my lifestyle and I swear-”

“I thought you were Gray?” Y/N jokes.

“I am, but-”

“But what? Bro, just take your girl for ice cream.” Gray, sort of awkwardly, winks at Y/N and walks off to go to Ethan’s bedroom.

As Y/N looks back at Ethan, he’s looking at a neatly written to do list to see what was next; ‘Take Y/N for ice cream (she’ll say she doesn’t want ice cream, but she does. She’ll want to pay for it, don’t let her)’. Then he looks at her as he pockets it. “Well, the next thing is to take you for ice cream. Leggo.”

She crosses her arms. “I don’t want ice cream.”

E makes a short, hysterical laugh. “You’re not funny. Let’s go.”

Ethan connects his phone to his car’s bluetooth to put on Spotify; the playlist literally titled ‘Gangsta beats’.

Despite being shy around Ethan sometimes, Y/N snorts, “Gangsta beats, really?”

“Why do you ask that every time I play it? Yes, that’s the title, only thing I could think of when I made it.”

“Mmmhm.”

“Hey! You have a playlist called blah blah blah, so shut up.”

Y/N bites her lip to stop herself from laughing too hard. “Okay, that was a fair shot.”

Ethan scoffs lightly, “Of course, it was. I’m not a savage.”

She only gives him a look. ‘That’s one of the biggest fibs that he’s said to this date’ she thinks.

He swung into Jeni’s Splendid parking lot and made a slightly jerky halt in a spot.

As Ethan reaches the door, slightly ahead of Y/N, he turns back around with an annoyed groan. “Gray is super cuddly, isn’t he?”

A bright pink floods her cheeks and she looks at everything but Ethan. She clears her throat. “Yeah, but don’t worry about it.”

“No, no, I’m Gray for the day. Imma do this right.” Ethan takes her hand in his large one, making hers get lost like Gray’s does, and he opens the door for her to enter the ice cream shop first.

The aroma was captivating; it always brings Y/N back to childhood as she grew up in the Los Angeles area. It was the same shop she met the two Jersey boys. She accidentally spilled a shake all over Gray’s shirt; her flip-flop strap part popped off mid walk and caused her to trip. As upset and embarrassed as she felt about getting him all dirty, it ended out to be for the better.

Now Y/N knew she wants a shake, but figures she could have some fun first.

“Pick out any ice cream.” Ethan states, gesturing at all the options.

“How many scoops can I get?”

“As many as you want.” Ethan got a slight smug look on his face, knowing that he said an exact phrase Gray would say, and runs a hand through is hair.

“And that also means I can get five different flavors if I want five scoops?” Y/N tests.

“Yes.”

Y/N taps her chin as she pretends to observe the flavor choices Jeni has today. “Hmm…” She takes more time to keep looking at them. “I think I’ll get-wait no..I think..”

“Babe, can you just decide? There’s people behind us.” Ethan asks, his tone not changing too much to irritation.

Yet anyways.

“Will you split it with me? What flavors do you want? Pistachio?”

Ethan’s face scrunches up. “Ew! No! Why would you even suggest that?”

Y/N knew he meant both and she laughs. “I’m kidding.” She reaches out for Ethan’s hand, shocking him a bit, and tugs him towards the ice cream sandwiches and other frozen treats instead.

“I might actually get one of these.” He comments, eyeing them, and picks out a Strawberry Cheesecake bar.

Y/N continues to take her sweet ass time, trying to get Ethan to break his “cool” stature.

“I’ll go pay for this while you finally make a decision.”

From the corner of her eye, she watches him and waits until he’s back to turn to him.

“I don’t know what I want.” Y/N fake whines. “Baby, this perio-”

“Sssh!” Ethan waves his hand like maniac and pulls Y/N away from as many people as possible. “You’re fucking joking, right?”

“Yes. And if I was on it, I wouldn’t say it aloud.”

He lets out a deep breath, biting his lip. “Fine. Please just pick something now.”

Y/N stands there in a silence, and now another smirk spreads on Ethan’s lips. He takes a step closer, resting a hand on her divot, and whispers, “Make daddy dolan happy.”

She blushes furiously and busts out a laugh as Ethan cringe laughs.

“Please don’t ever say that again.”

“I swear I won’t.”

She shakes her head and finally walks over to the counter to order an Oreo shake with Ethan directly in tow; all eyes were on them as they left, probably from the outburst scenes.

Worth it.

***

“Take a 15 minute power nap...(Y/N gets sleepy around 2 but she won’t say anything...The power nap is for her more than me).” Ethan reads aloud and looks over at Y/N who’s currently holding the GoPro to film.

Grayson appears now and points to her. “I think it’s someone’s nap time.”

She switches the camera point of view to him. “I’m not that-” She cut short with a small yawn and sends a small glare when the two twins laugh under their breaths.

“Bro, I know you lay with her, do I do that? I don’t want to-”

“It’s fine, E.” Gray looks at Y/N with raised brows. “Right? He’s me today, but it’s up to you.”

She blushes and turns the camera on Ethan, who was also being slightly awkward. But having cuddles for a nap is her favorite part. Y/N finally speaks, “I...like..cuddles.”

Gray makes a small smile and claps his hands together once. “It’s settled. Get cuddles and sleep.”

As Y/N rolls her eyes Ethan reaches out to grab her wrist. “Nap time!”

It wasn’t cuddling as in what Gray would do, but Y/N is fairly content and tired enough with Ethan just lying there next to her she closes her eyes.

Grayson tries to distract himself for fifteen minutes by going out to the pool and blowing up one of the floaties. He decides on the turtle because it’s looking low. He uses the pole net to drag it out and opens the air source to give it more life. With satisfaction, he tosses it back in the pool to let it drift around more then goes back inside.

He carefully picks up Y/N in his arms and carries her to his bed. Ethan has no idea what is coming next as Gray yells, “Power nap! Feel the power!” into his ear. Gray lets Y/N sleep for about an hour as he only sleeps for fifteen minutes for a power nap.

“Grayson!” E groans, covering his ears and tries to cuddle back up with the purple pillow.

Grayson tugs it from him and shoves the GoPro into his face. “It’s called a power nap! Feel the power, yet?”

Ethan looks up at him, annoyed, and reluctantly sits up. “No cause I was up too damn early this morning.”

“It’s a good thing to rise and shine, E!”

He only flips off the camera as he goes to do something else on the to-do list: ‘Do laundry.’

Gray sort of hovers; only to have some fun with annoyance. 

“Make sure to separate darks and lights.”

E gives some side eye before throwing in a load of whites first and pouring some detergent into the pocket above. “I’ve got it, Ethan.”

Gray smirks with a laugh, then walks off to E’s bedroom before he instinctively goes to cuddle with Y/N for when she wakes up.

Ethan came bursting into the room with his GoPro. “Does this mean I win the challenge?”

Still tangled with Y/N, Gray whisper yells, “Not a challenge, E! This doesn’t count, she needs me.” He squeezes his thick ass arms tighter around her until she starts to sleepily laugh.

“Gray, babe, I’m awake.”

“Good! It’s time for us to go get supplies for dinner.”

Y/N rubs her face and pulls herself from her boyfriend’s strong, soft grasp. He pouts for a moment and then gets up to go do something else. The car ride is quiet again, Ethan plays the same playlist but lets it continue onto different songs. When they reach the store entrance, Ethan sighs as he holds up the camera.

“Grayson is super cuddly all the freaking time with Y/N, so I have to be super freaking cuddly with her.” With no warning, he wraps an arm around Y/N’s shoulders and brings her into him and walks in. Throughout the day, Y/N has been warming up more and more to E, they’re friends, but they normally don’t spend time together without Grayson.

If that has not been apparent until now.

Y/N began to get giggly and felt like it was a good time to embarrass Ethan by being obnoxious. She tries on some of the hats and sunglasses as they walk from one end of the Target to the grocery side.

“Do these look good, babe?” She sets the bridge of the white oval sunglasses on the rim of her nose and looks at him over them.

“Yeah...Sure.” He ruffles a hand through his hair.

She smiles and jumps up and down a little. “Can I get them?”

He shakes his head and lets out a small puff of air. “No reason to ask me. Get them if you want.” She tosses them into the cart as he points the GoPro towards the food. “I’m gonna get what’s on the list.”

Y/N follows but quickly deters for the pet section and picks up a bag of dog bones to put in the cart.

“Y/N, Gray and I don’t have a dog.”

“But you could! And if you do, you’ll need treats to train.”

Definitely not for the last time, he shakes his head and puts them back. Y/N crosses her arms and now follows as they go to the sauces section, which also happens to have the spices.

“We don’t need saffron!”

Y/N bites her lip to stop herself from laughing too loud. “You might though! You’re always saying Grayson- I mean Ethan is always telling you need to add more seasoning on food.”

She grab little jars of Paprika and Basil to put in the cart.

***

Gray lays on the bed, thinking of what to do. Then he gets an idea of something to say.

“Ethan is probably trying to deal with Y/N right now. She’s probably putting super unnecessary things in the cart right now… I should’ve warned him.”

He notices his phone light up and sees a text from Ethan.

Ethan: How do I handle her???

He shows the camera his phone, trying to get it to focus on the text a little bit. “I told you.”

Gray: Just have fun with her. She loves when people play along. And she gets kinda nervous if she feels like she’s bugging you. DO NOT let her think she’s bugging you I swear bro!

Ethan: Dude chill you know I wouldn’t

She’s fine I really like her … you picked a good one

Gray: Thanks man

Gonna be home soon?

Ethan: …. Not going to answer that

Gray laughs out loud and looks back into the GoPro. “Ethan is definitely having one hell of a time with Y/N at the store. I can’t wait to see what she convinced him to buy that’s not on the list.”

***

“So what are we supposed to do?” Ethan asks.

Y/N takes the bag of shredded cheese out of his hands. “Get the crust out and then spread pizza sauce on them.”

She watches him carefully do it, yet still leave large random globs of it around. She takes the spatula from him and lightly shoves him out of the way. “I’ll make the pizzas.”

“Don’t put the anchovies on, please.”

“I won’t.” Y/N laughs and finishes up as E does something on his phone. E pretends to be annoyed for the camera as the pizzas cook.

“How much longer, Y/N?”

She gestures at the timer and he squints to read it. “Almost done. Woo!”

Carefully the pizzas are taken out of the oven by the two, Y/N takes the one Ethan is supposed to eat.

Ethan states, “I worked really hard on these. You better eat it.”

Gray glances at the pizza before Y/N. “Did you make sure to put anchovies on the Gray pizza?”

She nods with a small smile.

Ethan’s eyes go wide in realization and betrayal. “Y/N, you said you weren’t going to!”

“Hey, gotta play fair.” She shrugs as Gray laughs under his breath and wraps an arm around her waist.

“She’s my girlfriend.” E snatches Y/N by the wrist to pull her over and he looks at the pizza in disgust. “Do I really have to, bro?”

The doorbell rings and Gray gets up from the chair to answer it. “Yes.” He comes back with a Pizza Hut box and now Y/N drops her jaw.

“Hey, my cooking isn’t that bad! Not as bad as what his would be.” She points to him.

Gray smiles a cheesy smile as he picks up a slice. “Sorry, babe. Only here to ruin Gray’s day. He does this to me all the time.” He takes a big bite and over exaggerates his chewing.

“Come on! Let me have a slice of that pizza.”

Grayson thought about it for a second. “If you...eat half a slice with a large anchovy on it, I will give you a slice.”

Gray and Y/N watch in amusement as Ethan barely eats an anchovy and freaks out enough to run into the kitchen and swash water in his mouth from the sink faucet. He goes back to where the other two are to snatch a piece of pizza.

“Let’s just get on to the next part.”

***

“Since Ethan is Grayson today, that means I get to hold his hand when he gets a tattoo.” Y/N speaks into the camera and walks over to where Ethan is sitting on the seat and takes his hand in hers.

“Bro, this part is unfair.” Gray mumbles.

Ethan laughs. “The tattoo isn’t that bad, bro. Don’t be a baby. You’ll be fine without Y/N holding your hand.”

Grayson slightly narrows his eyes and quickly smacks a hand on E’s arm. “Shut up, I’m not a baby because I want Y/N to hold my hand… It’s comforting, you’ll see.”

All Y/N could do is blush and shakes her head.

***

Y/N decides to stand behind the camera for the recording of their outro; it’s their video afterall. She watches in amusement though as they “switch” back. She should’ve been expecting what happened next, yet she is still surprised.

Gray runs over and tackles her behind the camera. He snuggles his face into her neck and whispers, “You’re staying the night, right?”

She giggles. “You promised a make up for having to hang with the loser all day.”

Ethan picks up the camera off the tripod and points it at them. “Hey! I was a great boyfriend!”

“It’s true, you were great. You’re gonna make somebody very happy one day, Ethan.”

He gets kinda blushy, but super smiley. “Shut up.” He puts the camera back on the tripod and heads to leave the room.

“We gotta finish the outro!” Gray yells.

E sticks his head back in the room to throw up a peace sign. “PEACE!” He gives Gray a look. “Good enough?” Then he leaves for good.

Gray just shakes his head and drags Y/N to sit on the purple couch with him for a more proper outro.

“That’s it for this weeks video. Hope you enjoyed it. I definitely like being me more. What did you think babe?”

She laughs. “I prefer you as you.”

He kisses her cheek and snuggles her again. “Good.”

“PEACE!” Y/N suddenly yells and throws up a peace sign.

“Y/N! We’re supposed to say it together!”

[More DT Imagines]

[txnysheart]

let’s get on with living (while we can) [6]

chapter 6: the sun will rise and we will try again

word count: 5607

warnings: chemo side effects (including hair loss and insomnia)

summary: the three friends do their best to have fun together, but the reality of the situation is always looming over them

read on ao3: x

playlist: x

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 8 - chapter 9

series masterlist | masterlist

━━━━━━━━

An array of distressed emotions flickered over his face, and that snapped MJ out of her stunned silence. “Peter, it’s okay. It’s okay, we knew this was gonna happen,” she tried calming him down, but Peter just pushed away from them, desperate for his dads. He almost fell out of bed, Ned grabbing his arm to prevent it, and rushed as fast as he could to get to his dads.

“Peter!” Ned worriedly called out, but MJ put a hand on his shoulder. She also grabbed the clump of hair from his hand, dropping it on the floor for now; just not keen on Ned to be holding or seeing it for any longer than necessary.

“He needs Tony and Steve right now. It’s okay,” she told him.

Peter wished he could sprint, but his body could barely handle a light jog. And still, it took its toll on him quickly; he stumbled, almost nose diving right to the floor three times before he grabbed onto the door handle that would let him see his dads. First time, he lost his grip, but got it open the second time, stopping for a short moment, then walking into the room.

A raw sob tore up his throat, startling the two men awake from their light slumber. They'd both only fallen asleep less than half an hour ago. He spluttered nonsense as he walked to the bed, and Tony, being the one closest to the door, pulled him into his arms. He physically felt himself snap out of his fog, the need to protect Peter overriding absolutely everything else. He felt it all; it was almost too much, but moved his focus to his hysterically crying son who was shaking in his arms.

“You need to breathe. Peter, look at me, you need to breathe,” Tony encouraged, trying to get Peter to look at him, but he was avoiding his eyes. Steve pieced it together when he tried to calm him by playing with his hair, and instead of melting into the touch, Peter flinched away. An overwhelmed and confused Tony searched Steve’s eyes for an answer, and got it when his husband whispered “hair”.

The already upset Peter really didn’t need an anxiety attack on top of this, so Steve cupped his face. “Listen, sweetheart. Shh, listen,” he cooed, “you’re okay, we’ve got you.” Tears running down his face, eyes wide and mouth in a small pout, Peter looked much younger than he was. “Petey, we knew this was coming. There’s nothing we can do about it, and that’s okay. It’s okay, I promise.”

What they didn’t tell him was that the past couple of days, there’d been strands of hair coming out whenever they ran their fingers through it. Not much; just enough for it to be more than what could be considered normal.

Peter inhaled sharply, his crying breaking up his breathing into small gasps. “I’m so-sorry, I shouldn’t ha-”

“No, sweetie, shh. Nothing to be sorry about,” Tony soothed, rocking him back and forth as if he were a baby.

“MJ a-and Ned. Ned was- he was scared,” Peter cried, voice hoarse.

“He’ll be fine, MJ’s there. There’s nothing she can’t do,” Tony promised him, drying away tears with his thumb. “They’ll be there in the morning, you can sleep here.”

“I can’t,” Peter whined, voice cracking.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Steve inquired, tilting his head.

“Sleep. I… I can’t sleep.”

“You can’t sleep?” Tony clarified, feeling a little sick at the thought. Peter shook his head and then hid his face in Tony’s shoulder, puffing out warm breaths on his collarbone.

“I tried,” the boy croaked, “that’s why Ned was playing with my hair, and then… well, yeah. But- but I can’t sleep. I’m tired, but it doesn’t work.”

“Insomnia is one of the possible side effects,” Steve reminded them solemnly, wrapping his arms around both his husband and their son. “I’ll see the doctors tomorrow and ask if they have something that can help you sleep. Okay?”

A small hum accompanied by a nod made Steve smile. “Good,” he smiled. “So proud of you.”

“We really are,” Tony added, but Peter just wriggled out of his arms to lie between them. He latched onto Tony, Steve holding them both from the other side of Peter. Upon feeling a hand in his hair, he squirmed away with a small whine, but was still clinging to Tony. Whoever of them that’d touched his hair seemed to get the hint, the hand making circles on his upper back instead.

“Can we listen to some music?” Peter mumbled.

“‘Course,” Tony smiled. “FRI, lullaby protocol.”

A playlist consisting of songs that never failed to calm Peter filled the room softly.

The boy tried his best to fall asleep, but couldn’t keep his eyes shut. Both Tony and Steve were wondering if they should distract him somehow, but he didn’t seem to want to move from the bed, having made himself very comfortable.

“You good here? Or d’you wanna do something else?” Steve asked him quietly.

“Stay here,” Peter whispered without hesitation.

“Hungry? Thirsty?”

“No.” Peter huffed a breath out before speaking again. “You two can go to sleep, I don’t mind.”

“We’re gonna stay up with you. Not sleeping is my specialty,” Tony chuckled, earning a glare from Steve, but the rest of his face revealed that he was really just worried.

“You need to sleep, Dad,” Peter argued lazily, playing with the fabric of Tony’s t-shirt - well, actually, it was Steve’s. He’d gotten used to his husband stealing his clothes a long while ago, and he still adored it.

“I’m fine, Pete. Really, don’t worry.”

Peter didn’t believe him, but didn’t push it, instead turning his head to stare at the roof. It was barely audible, but both Steve and Tony had fond smiles on their faces as they listened to Peter humming to the song that was playing. He fiddled with his fingers, and when, in Steve’s opinion, he’d picked at the lunula on his right thumb for too long, he grabbed his son’s hand. He held it, lightly tracing the lines on his palm, the outline of the entire hand, and the small hairs on the back of it. After a while, Peter retracted his right hand, only to replace it with his left, finding it very soothing, and it put the softest look in Steve’s eyes.

────────

In the guest room, Ned had quickly calmed down, but the whole episode was, for them both, a grim reminder of the inescapable.

MJ had moved back to her bed, tucked under the covers. Ned had also gotten comfortable for the night, but none of them closed their eyes.

“This isn’t what it’s supposed to be like,” Ned whispered.

“It’s awful,” MJ said determinedly.

“I’ve known him for so long, I-”

“Don’t do that to yourself, Ned.” She let out a breath, turning to her side so she was facing him. “Can you sleep with music playing?”

“Yeah, why?”

“It helps me take my mind off things. Makes it easier to fall asleep.”

It was an effort to help Ned fall asleep, poorly disguised as something she needed herself. He saw right through it, but appreciated it, so didn’t call her out on it.

“Uh, FRIDAY?” MJ felt a little awkward whenever speaking to the AI, not sure where she should look.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Jones?”

She cringed at being called that. “Please call me MJ,” she sighed, having told FRIDAY to call her that multiple times. It never called Ned Mr. Leeds, so she was pretty sure it was either Peter or Tony messing with her, always changing it back to Ms. Jones. “Anyways, what I was gonna ask was if I put on a playlist on my phone, could you connect it to the speakers here? And put it on a low volume?”

“Of course, MJ. Just put on the playlist you want, and I’ll handle the rest.”

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” She opened Spotify, soon locating her favorite playlist for sleeping. Upon pressing play, the sound only streamed from her phone for a couple of seconds before it was connected to the speakers around the room - which, for the record, seemed to be built into the walls and roof or something, because she couldn’t spot a single one of them. And she was certain there were several, seeing as the music was coming from all sides.

“Feel free to adjust the volume. I guess just tell FRIDAY, and she’ll fix it?” MJ mumbled, feeling her eyes starting to droop.

“It’s good,” Ned assured her. He paused. “You’re a great friend.”

“So are you,” she responded immediately. “Don’t tell anyone I said that. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Oh, yeah, and what’s that? That you don’t care?” he chuckled.

“Bingo. Go to sleep.”

“You too. Good night.”

“Night, Ned.”

────────

Steve deemed eight thirty in the morning an appropriate time to head over to the medical wing to see if he could get some sleeping medication for son. He told FRIDAY to alert Peter’s primary chemo doctor, Anne Reynolds, that he’d be there in a few minutes.

Meanwhile, Tony brought Peter to the kitchen, dishing up pancakes for all five of them, taking a sip of his coffee at least twice every minute. He was very relieved that there was something else than soggy corn flakes he could feed his son - it wasn’t very nutritious. Pancakes weren’t exactly healthy, but they were certainly much better.

Leaning his head on his hand, Peter positively looked a mess. Bags under his eyes prominent, combined with his already emaciated face, he was the poster child of absolutely, completely, thoroughly worn out. Tony felt bad for him, but tried not to show it - it only made Peter feel even worse.

“Could you go wake Ned and MJ up? Pancakes are done in, uh… I’m guessing fifteen minutes,” Tony asked the boy who perked up a little at the mention of his friends.

“Sure, Dad.”

He stretched out his body, both to try and get rid of the aching and to wake himself up - none successful, for the record. Approaching the bedroom door, Peter felt a little awkward. Was he just going to walk in there as if everything were normal? As if he didn’t run out of there in hysterics just hours earlier.

Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand through his hair to try and calm down, but soon regretted it. “Ah, shit,” he muttered to himself when he looked at the too many strands of hair in his hand. His pulse quickened, but he shook his hand, getting rid of the hair before he could work himself up over it.

The slow, heavy breathing he could hear when he opened the door let him know both Ned and MJ were still asleep. There was music playing softly from the speakers.

“FRI, lights at forty percent,” Peter ordered quietly, aiming for a gentle start of the day for his friends, “and turn the music up a little.”

It was enough for MJ, who soon stirred, blinking her eyes tiredly. She looked around the room before her eyes landed on Peter who was kind of awkwardly just standing by the door. “Morning,” she yawned. As if everything were normal. Peter smiled at her.

“Sleep well?” he asked her.

“‘Course I did. If I could steal this bed, I would.”

“Good.” Peter shifted his weight between his feet, and walked to the bed he’d been sharing with Ned, sitting down. “Ned,” he tried, poking his shoulder.

“Hey, Ned.” A little louder, this time with a shove. An unintelligible string of words left the boy’s mouth, drawing a small laugh out of Peter. Ned taking a few seconds to realize he was awake never failed to amuse him.

“Breakfast soon. Dad’s making pancakes,” Peter said, addressing both of them. MJ got out of bed, sending him a thumbs up before disappearing into the bathroom.

“P’ncakes?” Ned mumbled, cracking one eye open at a time.

“Yeah, Ned, pancakes,” Peter chuckled.

“Is Steve cooking?”

“No, Dad is today. Why?” Peter eyed his friend, entertained at how groggy he still was.

“Steve’s cooking’s better,” he groaned, making Peter let out a loud, genuine laugh.

“I know, but I think Dad can handle pancakes. You’ll live,” Peter chortled with a shove to Ned’s shoulder to help him wake up.

“What time is it?” he yawned, moving to lean against the headboard, halfway sitting up.

“Almost nine. I know it’s kinda early, but you guys are heading back home today so I wanted to spend as much time with you as I could,” Peter explained, playing with his fingers.

“I don’t mind at all,” Ned assured him when he noticed the nervous action. “You know I’m tired no matter when you wake me up,” he grinned, playfully bumping Peter’s shoulder with his own.

“Yeah,” Peter laughed, looking up when he heard MJ coming back into the room.

“You losers ready for breakfast?” she asked casually, a barely detectable fondness in the back of her voice, as she stood at the end of the bed.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ned saluted, ready for the pillow chucked in the general direction of his head, ducking before getting out of bed.

The three teens piled into the kitchen just a few seconds after Steve had gotten back. He sent a smile their way before it turned into a smirk as he turned to address his husband.

“I see you’ve managed not setting off the fire alarm with your pancakes,” he teased, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh my god, Steve, that was one time,” Tony protested in a way that made it very clear that this was something Steve often brought up for his own amusement.

“That actually happened?” Ned asked, grinning hopefully.

“It’s true, it woke everyone here up at like seven in the morning. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Auntie Nat scolding Dad while half asleep,” Peter recounted, smug smile plastered on his face.

“I’d pay to see that,” MJ shrugged.

“No need! FRIDAY, can you play-”

“Nope! Not happening, kiddo. FRI, don’t play a damn thing, thank you very much,” Tony interrupted his son, instead shifting everyone’s focus over to the pancakes that he was suddenly busy piling onto their plates. “Brat,” he fondly mumbled when he was standing behind Peter, and planted a kiss on the top of his head. The boy laughed, and thanked him oh-so-politely for the food.

────────

“You wanna watch Star Trek?” MJ suggested, none of them able to settle on how they were going to spend the few hours left before she and Ned had to head back home.

“MJ, stop that, you hate Star Trek,” Peter sighed, slightly annoyed at the fact that she was being too nice. All weekend, she’d been up for whatever Peter wanted, and her teasing was down to an all time low.

“No, I don’t,” she claimed.

“Yes, you do. You always complain when we make you watch it.”

“Well, maybe I have a newfound fondness for it.”

“You don’t,” Peter chuckled, his smile not reaching his eyes.

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you, MJ!” Peter snapped, taking both her and Ned by surprise. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Sorry, it’s just… I get that you’re trying to be nice to me because I- because I’m sick. And that’s… I really appreciate it, don’t get me wrong, but… I just wanna feel normal. Just for a little bit. I’m sorry, I sound like an asshole, I know-”

“You don’t, Peter. I’m sorry.” She looked down at her hands that were folded in her lap. “We… we get it. Right, Ned?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Sorry, Peter.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay. You guys are the best.”

The three of them went quiet, none of them really knowing what to say. They were in the living room, gathered on the couch, and tired of playing Mario Kart. Eyes cast downwards, it was Ned who broke the borderline awkward silence.

“How are you feeli- I mean, what… what’s it… like?” he asked, sounding very uncertain, but also like the question had been burning at the back of his throat for weeks.

“Ned,” MJ hissed. Peter just sent her a look to let her know it was okay.

“I’m… Do you really wanna know?” Peter asked, giving his best friend an opportunity to take back his question.

“Yeah.” He sounded sure.

“Okay. Uhm, I’m tired? A few days before you got here I could barely walk on my own. I was throwing up a lot, had a migraine, and my bones and muscles ache all the time. Right now I think I’m as good as I’m gonna get, and then it’s another round of chemo, and I’ll be back to feeling like crap times a hundred,” Peter explained with a strange smile on his face, almost flinching at how harsh the word chemo sounded and felt. “Ten out of ten would not recommend,” he added with a small laugh.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” MJ frowned, shaking her head.

“But it is. There’s nothing we can do about it, so… let’s just make the best out of it, okay?” Peter asked hopefully.

“I speak fluent Peter, and that right there means let’s just ignore this whole thing and pretend it’s not happening,” Ned smiled sadly. Peter met his eyes with his own tired, somber ones, but he was smiling too. A bittersweet feeling filled the three friends up to the brim, and MJ had to blink away a couple of tears.

Hesitating for half a second, Ned reached out for Peter, and pulled him in for a tight hug. “It’s okay, Ned,” Peter whispered, hugging him back as firmly as he could.

“It’s not, but that’s okay,” Ned mumbled, held on for a few more seconds before leaning back, hastily wiping away a few tears that were running down his face. Peter pretended not to notice, apparently very occupied with the loose thread on the side of sweatpants.

“What about…” MJ smirked, unlocking her phone, “a few rounds of guess the soundtrack?” She searched Spotify for a good soundtrack playlist, receiving optimistic nods from the two boys. It was a successful attempt at making the next couple of hours blithe ones. The game had become a thing of theirs at about three in the morning during a sleepover almost a year ago.

It was a simple source of hours of fun, and before they knew it, Tony plopped down in one of the lounge chairs. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. That’s easy, that’s The Shining,” he said, quickly realizing what game the kids were playing, and recognizing the movie’s main title.

“That is correct, Stark,” MJ, game master, announced, “one point for you. Nineteen more to pass Peter and get second place. Twenty four if you wanna be the golden boy.”

“As fun as that sounds, Jones, I’m actually just here to be the bearer of bad news. Thirty minutes till departure. Steve’s made some snacks for you to have before you leave, so go ahead and pack your bags, and get to the kitchen before I eat it all.” Playful look on his face, Tony lifted his hands to slap them down on the armrests, pushing himself back up. “Chop chop!” he jokingly called over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen.

“Speaking of my last name - who’s fucking with FRIDAY’s code to get her to call me Ms. Jones every damn time I speak with her?” MJ demanded, standing up, and looked accusingly at Peter.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter insisted very innocently. “Let’s go, I’ll help you guys pack your… stuff.”

“Jeez, Pete, you couldn’t lie to save your life,” Ned snorted as they walked towards the guest room.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about either,” Peter claimed, but couldn’t even keep a straight face.

“Dork,” MJ poorly hid with a cough.

Bags were packed, snacks were consumed, hugs were given out in bountiful supply, and soon it was considerably quieter than it had been for the past couple of days. The boy’s shoulders slumped a little as if the air went out of him. While he hadn’t tried to hide from his friends that he was sick, he’d, without a doubt, worked hard to appear less worn out than he actually was.

“Got some pills from the doctor earlier. She said you’d have to wait until tonight to take them so you wouldn’t mess up your sleeping too bad,” Steve said when the three of them were alone.

“Sounds good,” Peter commented, failing to hide how relieved the news made him. He was so tired; the thought of falling asleep nearly euphoric to him. It was still a few hours until he could do so, but at least he had something to look forward to.

In an effort to make time pass, he plopped down on the couch, putting on The Great British Bake Off - it was surprisingly addictive. He lost count of how many episodes he watched, but when Happy joined him after driving all the way to Queens and back, he realized it had been more than just a few.

Peter being Peter, he let his head rest on Happy’s shoulder who he knew didn’t mind at all, but would deny it if asked; even though everyone had a soft spot for the boy.

“Season seven again?” he asked, just as obsessed with the show as Peter. It had kind of become their thing.

“It’s the best one,” Peter murmured, his attention on the screen.

“Hmm, you’re not wrong,” Happy hummed, lifting his arm to put it around Peter to let him cuddle up to him just like he’d done ever since he was little. It was one of Happy’s favorite things. He’d deny that too.

While it may not seem obvious, Paul Hollywood and Mary Berry critiquing desserts was actually very soothing. Especially combined with Happy’s calm breathing. So soothing, in fact, that it had Peter’s eyes drooping. Before he even noticed it was happening, he’d fallen asleep. Nearly forty hours of no sleep was his body’s limit, apparently, because he was out like a light.

“I’ve always wanted to taste that mousse cake. Maybe if you ask Steve with those puppy eyes of yours…” Happy trailed off when he looked down to discover that Peter had fallen drifted off. He let out a relieved sigh - Tony had worriedly told him about the boy not being able to sleep.

The longer he looked at Peter, the more it hurt. He’d tried his best not to think about it, but that wasn’t easy when he had him sleeping in his arms. Up until that moment, he’d thought maintaining a certain distance was the best. That it would hurt less. He wanted to yell at himself for thinking such a thing. His time with Peter was running out, just like everyone else’s, and it became so obvious that doing anything other than spending as much as possible of it with him was foolish. Yes, it hurt to see him so up close, to see how the cancer was eating him up, but it hurt more to avoid him.

“Pete, you-”

“Shh!” Happy stopped Tony. “He’s asleep.”

“Wha- he is?”

He nodded. “Dozed off a few minutes ago.”

“Good. That’s… very good,” Tony sighed, sitting down in the same lounge chair as earlier, this time making sure to be quiet. His expression as he watched his son was a blend of many emotions; most prominent were love and melancholy. He looked so small, like he should be covered by the red blanket he was so attached to as a kid.

Tony let out a heavy breath, running a hand over his face. “One sec,” he mumbled and got back up, walking to the kitchen where Steve was making some food for Peter to have before going to sleep. “Honey,” he breathed out, and gestured for him to follow him, leading the way back to the living room.

The sight of a sleeping Peter put a soft look on Steve’s face. “I’ll take him to bed,” he whispered, kissed Tony’s temple and walked over to the couch. Just like he’d done so many times before, he gently lifted his son, pausing a little to make sure he was still asleep before walking steadily to his room.

Having tucked him in, he stood watching him until he remembered Peter hadn’t had his pills so they’d have to wake him back up. “Damn it,” he muttered, walking out of the room silently, and made the decision to let him sleep for at least a couple of hours.

“Thank god he’s finally asleep,” Tony said when Steve sat down in the lounge chair next to him.

“We’ll have to wake him back up,” Steve groaned, rubbing at his temple with his index and middle finger.

“What for?” Happy asked from the couch.

“Pills,” Tony realized, letting his head drop back. “Let’s at least give him a couple hours just in case. It’s still early.”

“‘Course,” Steve said, reaching a hand out towards Tony, who took hold of it with his own slightly unsteady one.

Happy stood up, shoving his hands in his pocket. He didn’t necessarily feel like he was intruding, but he’d been around the pair enough to know when they needed to be alone, even though they didn’t always know that themselves. “Well, I think I’m gonna say good night now. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Happy. Have a good night,” Steve smiled, waving at him as he walked away from them. “You’re tired,” he sighed when it was just the two of them.

Tony let out a chuckle. “So are you, honey.” His thumb was drawing small circles on the back of Steve’s hand. “We’ll sleep later when Peter’s had his pills.”

“You can take a nap if you want. I’ll be here. You’ve been awake almost as long as Peter.”

“So have you,” Tony smirked.

“Not the point, babe.”

“If anyone should take a nap, it’s you. I’m fine with no sleep.”

“As a witness, I beg to differ. It wears you down, Tony. I know you can’t tell, but I can.” He lifted Tony’s hand, pressing light kisses to his knuckles.

“I’m fine.” Tony’s eyes were closed, his full attention on Steve now fiddling with his hand, drawing figures and touching it so gingerly it almost gave him goosebumps.

“You always are.”

Turns out Tony was way more tired than he’d ever own up to. It only took five minutes of Steve gently caressing his hand and lower arm for him to doze off. It didn’t come as a surprise, and he was happy to just sit there with him. In the past year, Tony’s insomnia had been making less appearances. It was kind of a big deal. Steve was beyond relieved at how often they went to sleep together instead of Tony coming to bed in the early morning hours or not at all. It would still hit him hard from time to time, but he was better than he’d been in a long time. Better than Steve had ever seen him.

When it looked like Tony was in quite a deep sleep, Steve decided that Peter wouldn’t be the only one he carried to bed that night. Still holding Tony’s hand, he stood up to place it in his lap instead of just letting it dangle over the side of the chair.

He wiggled one arm behind the smaller man’s shoulder, and placed the other one under his knees. Making sure he had a good grip, he slowly lifted him up. The feeling of Tony in his arms warmed his heart, putting a smile on his face that stayed there all the way to their bedroom where he put him down as gently as he could. He removed his husband’s shoes and jeans before tucking him in. Then a forehead kiss, and he left the room to go wake their son up.

On the way, he grabbed the pills from the kitchen, along with a large glass of water. He had FRIDAY turn on the lights at forty percent, and sat on the bed. What he did next was pure habit, and he was so relieved Peter was still asleep. He’d ran his fingers through his hair, and stared at the clump that’d come out. Quickly, he discarded of it in the trash can next to Peter’s nightstand, opting for running his hand up and down his back instead, and cleared his throat.

“Hey, Pete. You gotta wake up,” he spoke at a high enough volume for it to register with the sleeping boy. The only reaction he got was a barely audible groan accompanied by him burying his face into his pillow.

“Just for a couple minutes, bud,” Steve chuckled. “You gotta take your pills.” Another groan. “I know, I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“I’m tired,” Peter mumbled, keeping his eyes shut.

“It’s okay, you can go back to sleep in a minute.”

“What if I can’t?” he whined.

“You can. I’ve got sleeping pills for you too. Now let me see those eyes, Petey-pie.”

He turned so he was facing him, and opened his eyes slowly, complying when Steve guided him to sit up. One by one, he swallowed the pills, nodding when Steve asked if he wanted a sleeping pill.

“You good?” Steve asked, watching as his son got comfortable again.

“Mhm,” he confirmed.

“Okay, sweetie. Go back to sleep.”

“And starve,” Peter mumbled instinctively. Steve furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Are you hungry? I could get you some food if-”

“No, Pops,” Peter laughed, “it’s a vine.”

“Oh. Right,” Steve chuckled. “Well, good night, sweetie. Love you” He stood up.

“Night, Pops, love you too” Peter yawned.

“If you need anything-”

“I know,” Peter smiled lazily, one eye open to look at Steve who was standing by the door. He shook his head fondly, his smile not leaving his face until he fell asleep next to his husband.

────────

“You sure you want this?” Tony asked, looking at Peter through the mirror.

“Mhm,” Peter nodded, determined, shifting his eyes from Tony to Steve, who was holding the hair clippers. When he turned it on, Peter flinched a little.

“It’s okay, we can wait,” Steve assured him, looking concerned.

“N-no. I wanna do this now. Feeling my hair fall out is worse.”

“Okay, if you’re sure, sweetie,” Tony smiled, Peter giving a tiny one back.

When the clippers were close to his head, he squeezed his eyes shut, but stood still. It wasn’t too bad at the back of his neck; he’d had tons of haircuts where they used clippers in that area. What did feel weird, though, was when he was nearing the top of his head. That was a new, not so nice experience.

“Doin’ alright?” Tony asked, watching Peter’s scrunched-up face. His own face expression was similar, not at all enjoying his son’s adorable curls fall to the floor. He’d really miss running his fingers through them. And miss how much Peter loved it.

“Mhm,” he confirmed. “Just wanna get it over with.”

Nothing more was said until the haircut was finished. Tony was biting the inside of his cheek, fighting back tears at the sight of his son who was now bald. It made everything more real. More looming.

“We’re done, Pete. Just gotta blow the stray hairs away,” Steve explained, getting the hair dryer. Peter’s eyes were still closed.

He opened them when the hair dryer had been turned off and he felt two kisses on his head. Fighting the urge to squirm away from the foreign feeling, he studied himself in the mirror.

I look so sick, he thought to himself. Without hair on his head, his face looked even more gaunt, and the way his clothes were hanging off his ever-thinning frame didn’t make it better at all. He couldn’t help it when his face scrunched back up again; this time in distaste for his own appearance.

“It suits you,” Tony commented. But he’d think Peter was the most adorable kid no matter what he looked like, so it didn’t really count. Same thing went for Steve who was nodding in agreement.

So Peter scoffed. “It doesn’t. I just look more sick.” He tore his eyes away from the mirror, exiting his bathroom in a rush. He didn’t want to look at himself any longer.

They followed him into his bedroom.

“I think you look great, Petey,” Steve attempted.

“Please don’t. I don’t wanna think about it. I, uh… I’m gonna take a nap.” He curled up in bed, pulling the covers over him.

“Okay, sweetie. We’ll wake you up for dinner,” Tony said, but got no answer. His back was facing them and he was clutching the covers so tightly.

First thing Tony did when they got out of the bedroom was finding Happy, ordering him to go out and buy beanies, baseball caps, bucket hats, you name it. Anything the kid might want to wear. He had a feeling he’d want something on his head, judging by the way he’d looked at himself in the mirror.

It didn’t matter what Steve and Tony thought. Peter really hated what he looked like. And while that hurt to think about, both dads were willing to do whatever it took to make him feel just a little bit better.

[aussiebee]

Valentime’s Day*

(*Nope, that’s not a typo ;) )

“You’re about as subtle as a brick through a window, Der,” Laura told Derek as she returned empty glasses to the bar to replace them with fresh drinks.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek said airily as he continued slicing limes, very obviously not looking at the couple sitting at table eight. “I’m just making drinks, here.”

“Well, Bambi and his date would like refills, without the side-order of wistful staring.”

“I’m not making him another vodka tonic,” Derek said immediately, shaking his head. “He doesn’t like vodka.”

“He ordered it, Derek,” Laura sighed. “Just make the damn drinks.”

“He didn’t; the idiot he’s with decided to go ahead and order for him.”

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot,” his sister huffed, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Make him whatever you want. But you’re the one who’ll have to deal with it when they complain about their order being messed up.” She reached across the bar and poked him in the chest, grinning wickedly when he swung to slap her hand away and missed.

Checking to make sure he still had some lychee juice, Derek set about making a Raspberry Blush- all sultry gin, sweet lychees, raspberry and rose cordial, tart raspberries and lime. Not only was it pretty and pink, it tasted great. If there was one thing Derek knew Bambi liked, it was tasty drinks. There was still a polaroid of him-- incredibly intoxicated and beaming wildly with false eyelashes on and a face covered in glitter-- holding a Rainbow Swimming Pool cocktail from Ladies’ Night surrounded by a laughing group of Beacon Hills’ resident drag queens stuck up on the Hales’ Wall Of Fame behind the bar.

He carefully rimmed the glass with sugar that had edible gold glitter mixed in, added two cubes of ice and strained the drink over the top, garnishing the glass with a slice of lime. He added a (boring) vodka tonic to the tray, signalled for Laura that the drink was ready, and then looked up and smiled a greeting at the Gal-entines Day group that had come in, a party of ten Laura had booked as part of the bar’s holiday promotion.

For the next little while he was kept busy, making cocktails and lining up shots for the Gals, as they had taken to shouting in salute as they all drank, so Derek didn’t get to see Laura deliver the drink to Bambi. But she gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up from the other end of the bar when he met her eye as she helped him with the drinks.

Over the next hour and a half he managed to snatch the odd glance over at table eight, and to his disappointment, it seemed that the date was going well. Bambi was laughing, his big hands gesturing wildly as he spoke, and Vodka Tonic stared raptly at him. Derek was not at all tempted to swap bookkeeping duties for tending the bar for a month with Laura if she’d just go over there and drop a drink into Vodka Tonic’s lap.

Although when he saw Vodka Tonic reach across the table and lay his hand over Bambi’s, Derek sure was tempted to do it himself.

Distracted by a Gal and her Gal-pal who had appeared before him in a cloud of perfume and overly-loud giggles, Derek busied himself making another round of cocktails-- Fruit Tingles, this time. He was appreciated with squeals and applause when he added a glow stick to each poco grande glass as the stirrer, and he sketched a quick bow behind the bar with a grin.

But when he looked up, Bambi and Gin and Tonic were gone.

*

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to witness a fiery breakup,” Laura told him as they began cleaning up after close, the last Galentine having just been poured into her Uber. “For what it’s worth, Bambi loved the cocktail. Should have seen his face light up when he tasted it. And I’m sorry it looked like his date went pretty well.”

Derek shrugged one shoulder. “It’s V-Day, Laur. Someone should be getting lucky tonight.”

“That will be me, if I ever get out of here,” Laura sighed.

“Go home, loser,” he told her after glancing at the clock and seeing that it was past three a.m. “I’ll finish up here and be gone in the next fifteen or twenty minutes anyway, so you may as well.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Laura said, tossing her apron onto the bar and boosting herself halfway across the top of it to kiss Derek on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too, you harpy. Get out of here.” He waved absently as Laura laughed and left, refilling the fridges beneath the bar.

“Oh hey, Derek?” Laura called several minutes later, sticking her head back in the doors, making Derek startle a little. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Not anymore it’s not,” he grumbled, crouching down to check what his juice levels were like. “Leave, before I find something for you to do.”

“I can think of a few things,” a deep voice said.

Derek shoved to his feet, ready to roll out the old sorry-but-we’re-closed spiel, but froze and snapped his mouth closed with an audible click, manfully ignoring Laura who was making vulgar hand gestures and wiggling her eyebrows unbecomingly as she slipped back out the door with a wide shit-eating grin. Because there, bright-eyed and still dressed in the same clothes he’d worn for his date, stood Bambi.

“Hey,” the guy smiled, and fuuuck, he was gorgeous.

“Hi,” Derek said eventually. It was criminal how perfectly Bambi was his type-- tall, obscenely broad shoulders, slender hips and long, long legs. He was lost in his blatant admiration for a moment before frowning, glancing at the clock again. “What are you doing back here at three in the morning?”

“Hoping for another one of those dangerously delicious Raspberry Blushes, if I’m not too late?” The question was hesitant, clearly expecting a rebuttal, but Derek just nodded and reached over the bar to grab the back of one of the leather stools and pull it out in invitation. “I’m Stiles, by the way,” Bambi-- Stiles-- said as he shrugged out of his bone-coloured coat to reveal the blue and white knitted cardigan and blue button-down beneath it, both unbuttoned at the throat.

“Derek,” Derek told him, creating another cocktail and setting in down in front of Stiles. He frowned when another love song began playing through the sound system, so he grabbed his phone from its spot next to the register and pulled up a playlist on Spotify to replace it with. Nine Inch Nails’ Closer began playing, and Derek could feel the flush crawl up the back of his neck as he fumbled to change it.

Stiles snorted inelegantly into his drink, eyes sparkling as he looked over the rim of it at Derek. “Don’t change it on my behalf,” he said innocently. “I’m quite fond of that song.”

Derek tossed his phone back down and mentally told himself to get a grip. “So, where’s your date?” he asked as a diversion, not sure whether or not he was going to like the answer.

Huffing out a disbelieving laugh, Stiles just shook his head and failed at fixing a regretful expression on his lovely face. “That was never going to work out.”

“Oh?” Derek’s eyebrows shot upwards in curiosity. “Seemed like it was going well.”

“It was doomed from the start,” Stiles told him dramatically. “How could the poor guy have ever competed with the gorgeous barman who sent over the specially-made cocktail?”

“Laura said she told you it was a mistake--” Derek began, then clamped his mouth shut when Stiles grinned triumphantly.

“I freaking knew it!” he exclaimed, and actually fist-pumped. “I knew you’d been watching me all evening!”

“Who’s to say I wasn’t watching your date?” Derek teased easily as he leaned forward on his forearms on the bartop, confident in where this was all heading given Stiles’ enthusiastic reaction.

“The fact that you remember that I hate vodka from when I was here on Ladies’ Night,” Stiles grinned, “and that I love gin and lychees from when I was here for Lydia’s bachelorette party.”

Damn, how had Derek forgotten about that?

(He hadn’t… the spray painted-on jeans Stiles had worn that night starred in a recurring fantasy of Derek’s.)

“Maybe I’m just really good at my job, did you think of that?”

“Of course you are,” Stiles agreed readily, “but I could see your face in the mirror on the wall there every time you looked over, and whenever Mitchell touched me or leant into my space you got these incredibly terrifying expressions comprised primarily of eyebrow.”

“Damn it,” Derek muttered, his blush making a reappearance.

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles told him, finishing his drink. “I’ve been working up the nerve to come in here and ask you out since Lydia’s thing, so tonight you just gave me the push I needed.”

The butterflies in Derek’s belly went crazy. “Are you going to, then?” he asked, reaching up to pull his bowtie free and unbutton the top buttons of his plain white uniform shirt.

“Uh…” Stiles began, eyes wide and fixed on the newly-exposed hollow of Derek’s throat. He blushed prettily when Derek swallowed deliberately and glanced up to meet his eyes. “Sorry, what?”

“Are you going to ask me out?” Derek asked patiently.

“I’m going to ask you to fuck me on the bar, first,” Stiles said breathlessly when Derek’s fingers moved up to undo the buttons on his vest.

Derek’s hands faltered, twitching involuntarily with the need to touch. “And then a date?”

“Or a proposal,” Stiles said wistfully. “Why did you stop?”

“You just propositioned me,” Derek told him honestly, amusement curling his mouth upwards at the corners. “I was surprised.”

“It’s alright,” Stiles told him with a wicked grin, “Laura said we could. She also said to remind you that it’s Black Light Night on Friday, and to make sure everything was thoroughly cleaned once we were done.”

Derek groaned as Stiles slid his empty glass to the side and stood. “Although I’m happy to just take this back to yours, if you’d rather not mop?”

With a disbelieving laugh Derek reached across the bar and hooked two fingers in the front of Stiles’ shirt, drawing him close. “There’s a whole closet of cleaning supplies out the back, I think we’ll be fine.”

Stiles’ laughing mouth tasted like lychees and rose cordial and gin.

*

Much later, barely dressed in just their pants and sitting on the floor behind the bar (which yes, thank you Laura, was going to need to be mopped before Friday) as they passed a bottle of ice cold beer back and forth, Derek spoke, his head in Stiles’ lap.

“Why did you really end the date?” he asked, eyes drifting closed as bottle-cool fingers smoothed his hair back from his forehead.

Stiles huffed indignantly. “It was a non-- starter,” he said assuredly. “I mean, seemed great on paper, but just…”

“Just what?”

“He called it Valentimes, Derek. With an m. There’s no coming back from that!” Stiles’ incredulous disdain couldn’t have been more obvious than if he’d slapped Derek with it, and all he could do was roll his face into the warm, bare skin of Stiles’ belly and laugh.

*

Every Valentine’s Day card Derek bought for Stiles in the years after that always had the n crossed out and replaced with an m.

Every single one.

(From the reverse image search I did, it looks like credit for the manip in the header pic is due to https://sterek-love.deviantart.com/... if this isn’t the case, please let me know!)

Come be my Valentime on AO3!

[masieofthevalley]

All I Really Want is You (Spideypool) - Chapter Twelve

Find the Masterlist for this fic here! Read this fic on AO3! Check out my Ko-Fi if you would like a commission!

Summary: “Who are you, the big bad wolf?” She snarked. She mentally congratulated herself that her voice hadn’t betrayed the fluttering in her gut.

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?”

Peter Parker is an exhausted and overworked student in her senior year of college. Sleep-deprived and running on coffee and fumes, Peter really just wants to get through this semester. On a rare coffee run to ensure that she doesn't fall asleep on patrol or in her textbooks again, she quite literally stumbles upon Deadpool. Try as she might, she just can't stay away from him, and along the way, she finds herself in the middle of a nefarious plot between HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D.

A/N: Hello, everyone! Today’s chapter is Chapter Twelve: Absolutely Smitten. This chapter is named after the song Absolutely Smitten by Dodie. 

As always, there is a playlist for this fic, and you can find it on YouTube and Spotify. Spotify won’t play in order unless you have Spotify Premium. You don’t need to listen to it in order, but each chapter has a specific song associated with it. There is also a song associated with the entire fic, which is She Looks So Perfect by 5 Seconds of Summer.

If you liked this chapter, like, share, and reblog, and please leave comments! They make my day, and I will gladly respond. You can also head over to my AO3 and comment there, and I will also respond there! Enjoy!

Chapter Twelve: Absolutely Smitten

Chapter Summary: Peter spirals before her date with Wade, and Wade reacts to Peter all dolled up.

Peter was close to having a nervous breakdown. She was splayed out like a starfish on her bedroom floor, and she wanted to scream due to the anxiety bubbling beneath her skin. Scattered around her on the floor was almost every item of clothing she owned, dirty or clean. She had no idea which articles of clothing needed to washing now, but her sensitive nose could probably find out rather quickly what was dirty if she needed to.

 She had been trying to figure out what to wear for the past fifteen minutes. She had taken a long shower, unsuccessfully trying to calm her nerves. When she got back to her bedroom, her previous panic from earlier about what to wear was reignited, hence her lying on the floor. It was already 7:00 PM, and she was supposed to meet Wade at eight. She didn’t have a lot of time to figure out what to wear. 

Peter couldn’t stop thinking that this date was going to go horribly wrong. What if Wade actually thought she was annoying and ended up hating her? He said earlier that he wasn’t good for her. What if he thought she was too good for him? What if this was all just a colossal mistake? Could she even go out on another date? She hadn’t been on a date with anyone since Gwen. Oh, Gwen. Could she do that to Gwen? 

Peter’s freakout was interrupted by the shrill ringing of her regular cell-phone. She flopped her hand around on the floor until she found the phone. She didn’t look at the screen as she answered it; she knew where the accept button was by now. Peter brought the phone up to her ear and licked her lips. 

“Hello?” she asked, her voice too loud. 

“Peter! How are you, Honey?” Aunt May’s voice was a soothing balm. Peter sighed. 

“Hi, May.” 

“It’s good to hear from you, Sweetheart! Now, do you remember my friend Jamie?” Peter was too distracted to think about why May was suddenly diving into a different subject, so she just went along with it. 

“Yeah, I remember, May.” Peter hoped her voice didn’t sound too weird. She didn’t want her aunt to worry. 

“Well, a few days ago, I was sitting at the front desk right…” 

Aunt May managed to distract Peter for about ten minutes with talk of her hospital and Jamie. Apparently, the other nurse had asked out May, and they were going to get dinner next week. Peter didn’t know how she expected to feel after hearing the news. She didn’t have any ill feelings toward Jamie or toward Aunt May, for that matter; she was just happy for the two women. Aunt May deserved to find someone who loved her just as Uncle Ben did, and Peter was glad that May was finally moving forward. 

Toward the end of their call, Peter looked at the time and realized that she needed to start getting ready if she was going to meet Wade. She told May she needed to go, but she hesitated before speaking again. 

“May?” Peter asked, running her hand through her hair. 

“Hmm?” May hummed, and Peter pictured them sitting together at the older woman’s kitchen table, something they had done hundreds of times over the years. 

“Hypothetically, if I was going out with someone tonight, what should I wear?” Peter’s voice was small as she finished her question. 

“I would say,” May began, sounding like she was trying to imagine all of the shirts in Peter’s closet. “You should wear one of your nicer tee-shirts with that floral button-up you have. Oh, and a pair of jeans.” 

“Thanks, May,” Peter sighed in relief, a small smile on her face. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”

“I love you, Honey. Be safe,” May slipped in, and Peter rolled her eyes. 

“Love you too. Bye.” 

“Bye, Peter.” 

Peter put her phone back down on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. She gave herself a few more minutes to think before she stood up and stretched, cracking her back. It didn’t take long to find the floral print shirt that May was talking about, and Peter quickly threw on a pair of jeans that she thought were clean. The tee-shirt she chose was 70’s inspired, with the words, “You axolotl questions,” printed on it along with a picture of an axolotl. It was one of Peter’s favorite shirts, even though it wasn’t exactly nerdy or Science-based in general. Peter turned to look in her small mirror as she buttoned her top half-way. Her button-up was a light-pink color with tiny blue and purple flowers, and the ruffled, short-sleeves complimented her arms quite nicely. She loved how her legs looked in her skinny-jeans, though she had to roll them up twice at the bottom. Finally, she slipped on her sneakers and pulled on her brown jacket, debating on whether or not to add her one beanie to her outfit. Instead of putting it on her head, Peter tucked it into her coat. She looked at herself one more time in the mirror before turning and leaving her apartment. 

Peter was thankful for the ride to Sister Margaret’s. She still wasn’t 100% calm, and skating in the cold October air gave her air to breathe. It also gave her time to look at all of the Halloween decorations in the windows of the shops she passed, and Peter reminded herself that she needed to buy candy the next day. Halloween was the day after tomorrow, and even though there were only a few kids in Peter’s apartment building, she still wanted to have candy for them. 

Peter slowed as she approached Sister Margaret’s. Someone was leaning against the wall outside the bar, and Peter skidded to a stop. Peter grabbed her board and walked closer to the bar, watching as the person slowly pushed off the building. She was close enough now that she could make out black and red leather. It was Wade. 

“Baby Girl!” he cried, waving both of his hands over his head. Peter sighed through a smile and pointedly waved one time. She had the urge to flash Wade peace signs or finger guns, but she resisted. Barely. 

“Hi,” Peter said lamely, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. She was standing directly in front of Wade now, and as she looked up at his face, she felt her cheeks warm from the direct attention he was giving her. She didn’t know if she was disappointed that he was in his regular Deadpool attire or if she was relieved that he wasn’t in something more serious. Maybe he was worried that she wouldn’t recognize him without his suit? Peter didn’t know, but there were bigger fish to fry. 

Like the look that was on Wade’s face. His mouth was open beneath his mask, and his eye lenses were the widest she’d ever seen them. He looked genuinely astounded as he continued to stare at her, and Peter started to worry that there was something wrong with her appearance. She hadn’t worn her suit beneath her clothes, right? No, her suit was at home in her backpack. Was there a bloodstain on her shirt? She didn’t think there was, but she looked down just to double-check. One could never be too sure when they were a crime-fighting vigilante. 

“What?” Peter eventually snapped, mildly irritated with Wade’s staring. Wade immediately snapped out of his trance and shook his head. 

“You look very nice, absolutely lovely, little Cottontail,” Wade finally spoke, and Peter furrowed her brow. He wasn’t trying to flirt with her or embarrass her. It was out-of-character based on the few interactions Peter had had with him previously. 

“Um, thank you,” Peter muttered, nervously running her free hand through her hair. He thought she was pretty? “You look nice too….Wade.” 

“Well, shucks, Bambi, don’t flatter me, it’ll just go to my head!” Wade giggled, and Peter relaxed. There he was. 

“I’m serious, though. You’re stunning, Peter,” Wade murmured, stepping forward as Peter took one equal step back. They continued this dance until Peter’s back was flush with the concrete wall behind her. Well, fuck. 

“Yeah?” Peter was breathless, her thoughts spinning around and around in her head as Deadpool crowded in on her. She couldn’t have tried to formulate a coherent sentence if she tried. Her legs began to buckle, and she was grateful for the wall behind her. Her limbs, her very insides, had turned to jelly by Wade’s mere presence. 

“Yeah, Sweetheart.” Wade leaned one of his arms against the wall, pressing himself even closer to Peter. Though they were separated by mere inches, she could feel his body heat. He smelled like leather, gunpowder, and strangely enough, gingerbread. 

It was intoxicating. 

Wade leaned in closer, his hand tipping Peter’s chin up until she was looking directly into the eye lenses of his mask. Peter’s face was on fire. She wanted to rip his mask off and peer into his soul. She wanted to see if he had freckles on his face, and if she did, she wanted to kiss every single one of them. She wanted to feel his body pressed against hers, feel the heat of his palms on her bare skin. Wade’s hand cradled her face, and Peter leaned into it. She tilted her chin even more and rose up on her tiptoes, trying to get closer. She wanted to kiss him - 

“Let’s get this show on the road, Shortstack! Time to get some Italian! Oh shit, I didn’t even ask if you liked Italian!” Suddenly, Wade was five feet apart from Peter and blubbering out some nonsense that Peter could barely keep up with. 

“What?” Peter asked, mind reeling from the abrupt change in atmosphere. 

“Do you like Italian food, Bambi? Please tell me you like Italian!” Wade pleaded, his hands raised in a praying gesture. Peter was getting whiplash. “Shit, I knew I should’ve gone with Mexican. Everyone likes Mexican!” 

“Yes, yes, I like Italian!” Peter huffed, grabbing onto one of Wade’s flailing arms. Wade squawked before relaxing. Peter peered up at him, raising an eyebrow at the weird look on Wade’s face. 

“Stop looking at me like that! Let’s just go!” Peter demanded and made to take her hand off of Wade’s arm. As soon as Peter let go of him, Wade grabbed her hand in his own and laced their fingers. Peter looked down at their entwined hands before looking back up at Wade.

“This okay?” he asked quietly. Peter’s jaw went slack at the raw concern and anxiety present in Wade’s tone, and she nodded, unsure of what to say. 

“Let’s go, Honey Bunches of Oats!” 

“Don’t call me that ever again.” 

“Okay, whatever you say, Honey Nut Cheerios.” 

“No, absolutely not!” 

“Oh, don’t be such a Frosted Flake!” 

“WADE!”

[fallenloverecords]

Interview:  Gentle Brontosaurus

Hi lovers! Here at Fallen Love headquarters we periodically interview people that we adore in order to shine a spotlight on our wonderful pop planet. We post all those interviews right here for your education and enjoyment.

Gentle Brontosaurus are an indiepop band from Madison, Wisconsin, USA. They are Huan-Hua Chye (ukulele & keyboard), Nick Davies (keyboard & trumpet), Cal Lamore (guitar), Paul Marcou (drums), and Anneliese Valdes (bass). Fallen Love head Harley interviewed the band through a computer. Fallen Love Records: How did Gentle Brontosaurus begin? Huan-Hua: Get ready for some band lineage in excruciating detail:

Nick and I used to be in a band called TL;DR that broke up after a couple of band members moved away, so we decided to start a new band.

We knew Paul and Jon from having played with their old band, Baristacide, and we recruited Michael to play bass for us through Craigslist.

Eventually Jon decided it was time to part ways with us and we asked Cal to play guitar. Nick and I had met Cal through a songwriting website called FAWM, February Album Writing Month.

Last year Michael moved to Milwaukee and decided to leave the band so we recruited Anneliese, whom I had met via a community ukulele club called MAUI and who had filled in on bass for us a while back for a Buffy The Vampire Slayer Musical Episode cover show we did with our friends Croaker.

And here is a curated selection of a few of our other related current or recent projects you might want to check out - we are busy individuals: Square Bombs (Paul & Jon) The Werewolverine (Anneliese) The Ferns or C. H. Lamore solo (Cal) Vowl Sounds, Red Tape Diaries (Huan-Hua) Spiral Island (Nick)

FLR: All five of you sing. Was that something planned on from the early stages or did it just discover itself? HH: We used to only have three vocalists (max one lead and one backing at any given time) but decided that seven instruments and three vocals between five people wasn't making the sound guys' lives hard enough (not to mention ours) so we added some more. It has definitely been a voyage of self-discovery. I think we'll try to streamline a bit more in the future, though, since venues almost never have enough mics. FLR: Based on your social media some people might expect you to be a comedy or novelty band. Are new listeners ever caught off-guard? Nick: Is this regarding the Facebook account where we share dinosaur memes or the Twitter account where we post things like Baha Men trivia? Early on I had our genre listed as "brony rock" on Facebook just as a joke and it’s come back up occasionally. Like the time Jimmy K, a local radio personality, had both us and The Ferns (Cal's previous band) on an episode of his show and he got his intro cards mixed up and called The Ferns "brawny rock." HH: Also we got invited to put a song on an actual brony rock compilation, which was unfortunately vetoed by other band members. Anyway I aim to keep expectations at rock bottom so that new listeners can only be pleasantly surprised when we turn out to be (hopefully) honest and charming and good. I don't usually aim for funny when I'm writing songs (although sometimes it ends up there) but I usually aim to be entertaining on social media. (I usually man the Facebook account and Nick the Twitter account). I feel it's the least I can do. FLR: Who writes the lyrics? Each song carries a real depth, like a full short story condensed into four minutes. HH: Nick and I are about 50/50 on songwriting. On the first album our old guitarist wrote one and our old bassist wrote one but I think on the new album it's more or less evenly divided between me and Nick as far as lyrics go. I think the two of us share a love for possibly ill-advised wordiness and allusions so sometimes people have been surprised to find out who wrote which songs. I wrote poetry for years before ever turning to lyrics and a few songs, like "Rabbit Test", are remnants of poems or stories or concepts I could never quite make work on the written page. N: I don't intend to give every song a narrative but in addition to FAWM in February I participate in NaNoWriMo in November. Maybe some of that bleeds over into songwriting. Storytelling does provide a way to address topics without being tied to your own perspective. I'd be kind of uncomfortable writing songs all about Nick and how Nick feels right now, especially if we might decide to have someone else in the band sing it. HH: I, on the other hand, love writing songs all about HH and how HH feels right now. Maybe this is why we have so many songs about food.

FLR: Your debut album, Names Of Things And What They Do, came out in November 2015. What was the process to get there and how has the path shifted since then? HH: That album was very DIY like our new one will be. We recorded it over a period of months in our old practice space and our old guitarist Jon mixed it. Similar approach this time around, all home recordings. It's going to be an interesting mix as some of these songs, like "Kevin Bacon", we've played for years (it almost made it onto the first album) and others, like "A Shot" or "For Emma, Forever Ago", we'd only been playing for a few weeks and had never played live before starting to record. So for those newer songs we're kind of figuring out arrangements and parts as part of the recording process. We recorded all the drums and scratch tracks live, the way we're used to playing, and are now going along and re-recording individual parts to replace the scratch versions. One of the things that's pretty interesting about our piecemeal recording process is that we often can't hear/process the cool things everyone else is doing since we are distracted at the time with our own performances. Sound balance is also difficult to get right live with five people,so there have been a lot of moments where, once you're listening to a clear recording, you go "Oh, I had no idea you had this awesome part happening here." It makes you appreciate everyone and their contributions and musicianship just that much more. FLR: Do you think dinosaurs had feathers or scales? Anneliese: Yes, and some had neither. FLR: Why hasn't Netflix rebooted popular '90s sitcom Dinosaurs yet? A: This might be a question for the Jim Henson Workshop. Fun fact: Kevin Clash, who's the voice of Elmo, was also the voice of Baby Sinclair. And Jessica Walter (of Arrested Development) was the voice of the mother. HH: I'm sure it's on the horizon since we are apparently officially in the midst of a serious worldwide franchise shortage. I will officially volunteer us to provide the soundtrack for the inevitable gritty, sexy reboot. (I mean have you seen Riverdale, the gritty, sexy Archie reboot? Anything is possible.) The theme song will be called "Nobody's Baby" and will be in the style of Julee Cruise and everyone will wear black leather jackets and white undershirts in a very sexy James Dean kind of way. Also, if you don't have a physical copy of our album, Baby Sinclair fans should check out the art on the inner sleeve. FLR: Do you ever get tired of answering dinosaur questions? Will your choice of band name haunt you for the rest of time? HH: No and no. Since we are from the Land Before Time I'm not totally sure yet what this "time" thing is but I'm sure I'll figure it out one of these days. (Sorry to the random person on Tumblr I stole that joke from.)

FLR: What's your earliest musical memory? N: The first songs I wrote were entirely MIDI, written in a sheet music editor. Sadly they were lost forever in the mp3.com buyout of 2001. I thought I had a cassette copy but I went back to my parents' house in D.C. this past summer and the cassette is gone too. After that era I started recording angsty stuff with a beat-up acoustic guitar and some ill-conceived "rapping." Unfortunately there are surviving copies of that. A: Dancing around the living room to my dad's old boogie-woogie records when I was three or four. HH: They gave us recorders in grade school because the only thing better than one five year-old playing the recorder is fifteen of them all at once so I clearly recall making some really avant-garde noise rock as part of my early musical education. Also one of our music teachers was a grad student at the UC Berkeley School of Music and wrote an opera called The Nightingale that he made us learn, like a troupe of performing opera monkeys. FLR: What song have you listened to the most this year? HH: I went to look at my Spotify stats and some of my top tracks in recent months have been: Frankie Cosmos- "Fool", Big Thief - "Masterpiece", X - "The World's A Mess, It's In My Kiss", Eux Autres - "Other Girls", and Jens Lekman - "To Know Your Mission." N: I'm also enjoying the new Jens Lekman album! Crying's Beyond The Fleeting Gales has been the album that has hardly left my car stereo this year. FLR: What's one question you've never been asked in an interview that you would love to be asked someday? HH: You are standing in front of two doors. Behind one lies immeasurable riches, behind the other lies certain death. There are two guards guarding the doors, one sworn to always lie and one sworn to always tell the truth, but you don't know which is which. What is the best song ever written, and why is it "Africa" by Toto? N: If we're ever interviewed by Nardwuar [The Human Serviette] I hope he knows that I dressed as him for Halloween once. HH: Also I think Paul and Anneliese were hoping to do a Jerry Springer-style interview someday with paternity tests and chair fights in front of a studio audience. FLR: What does 2018 look like for Gentle Brontosaurus? I know you're working on your sophomore album. N: We've started recording out at Cal's parents' barn in Cambridge, WI. You must have seen the big chart on Facebook. Once we get that released I think we're hoping to go out on tour again. Maybe reconnect with some of the folks we met on the road in 2016 or maybe play some shows around the upper midwest where we actually haven't been yet. FLR: The first album came on CD with a piece of toast. Will the new album come as a download code in a jar of jam? N: If someone bought our toast in 2015 and is still hanging onto it in 2018, I don't think jam is going to make it edible. HH: I'm not really into jam bands. Gentle Brontosaurus on Bandcamp Gentle Brontosaurus on Facebook

[bnrobertson1]

Chin Up, Algorithms

Greta Van Fleet is known for three things: (1) Shamelessly sounding like Led Zeppelin, (2) Getting critically shat on for shamelessly sounding like LZ and (3) being the cause of people attacking the music press for, you know, just not getting it, man.* I haven’t had the privilege or desire to meet the band of Detroit teenagers, but I don’t like the thought of these up-and-comers, who so clearly have the world by the tail, being down about the cruel nature of living in the public eye. So, I decided to encourage them the only way I know how: by giving them Pump Up Speech they’ve essentially begged me for **.

*Sample quote: “It’s like an awesome new version of Led Zeppelin and refreshing for people who (like myself) are overloaded with electro-pop and generic rap that is dominating the airwaves and Spotify streams.”

** in my mind

[SETTING: BACKSTAGE @ University of Phoenix Stadium. Although the stadium walls shake with blandly enthusiastic anticipation, the band is depressed after some especially rough reviews. The label has flown me in to get them in a better headspace before they go “shred” with Imagine Dragons in front 100,000 people in the desert. They await my arrival in their green room.]

BONGO DRUMMER (I’m guessing his name is Derrrbb) [flustered]: Well, the label said they’d…

SMASH. Before anyone even realizes the door has been kicked open, Derrrbb’s head gets hit with an unidentified object and caves in like whatever politician you don’t like being questioned by whatever politician you do like.  

All are silent. There is a vacuum in the air that all present notice and appreciate, a calm before the storm heavy with some serious truth debris.

I stand motionlessly, a cricket bat (name: BAM BAM) dangles in my hand like a windchime. Finally, I animate. The next five minutes consist of me smashing any and everything that needs smashing. Vanity mirrors. SMASH. Two Man Harps. SMASH. Curling irons. SMASH SMASH SMASH. To add to the effect, my face is bleached with flour meant to resemble narcotics. Red dye, surprisingly sweet, is also on my face for even further dramatic effect, although it is mixing with the flour, making a fairly delicious combination that is difficult not to lick. I then remember I left all that fake drug crap back in my van, so we’re on the real deal, baby. My eyes start twitching as my pupils dilate. Fucking Great Van Fleet. I was saving all that for Frasier night at mom’s house. Oh well, might as well get this over with. Taking a slightly manic British affectation, I speak.

“Listen. Up. You. FUCKS!!!”

I find the closest “Eastern” instrument and spend close to half an hour tirelessly destroying it with BAM BAM into pieces so infinitesimal that it would be nearly impossible to prove that it ever actually existed. An Imagine Dragons’, let’s say, oboist(?) cries in the background, I tirelessly smash the Sitar out of its misery. Noticing I’m distracted with obliterating instruments, Greta Van Fleet’s lead singer slowly starts to gain some courage, finally speaking “Hey man! Th….”

“SHUTTTTTT ITTTTT,” I politely interrupt, picking up the lead singer, let’s call him Gene, by his VERY COOL  “Indian” apparel, discus throwing him into the sun. I finally take a deep breath. Then another. Then I seethe for fifteen minutes before speaking.

“Perhaps, I should start from scratch. I’m here because your record label paid me enough a volcano-choking amount of dough to fly here and give you boys a pick-me-up because you’ve been down in the dumps with all this negative pWess. You know, a little pep pep. Maybe a pat on the noggin, a drink at me teet. And yep, boys, it’s been brutal. Look what it says here [picking up a stray computer]: ‘derivative,’ [I throw the computer at the regular drummer like a throwing star, it sticking in his head, killing him instantly] “vampiric,” [I just punch some dude for having a pube stache], “totally passionless” [I consider how many pounds of pasta a crazy busy Olive Garden goes through the day].

I continue. “And so what? Did you really get into rock n’ roll to impress critics. CRITICS!?! Some 45-year old cumrag making in a year what you do you do in a day selling your ‘Indigenous Peoples’ Greta Van Fleet Start Pack?’ Do you think for one segment of a second that one of those keyboard warriors wouldn’t change places with you? They’d floss with the bones of their young just to have one person applaud them out loud, much less a 100,000 at one time.

Full name: Indigenous Peoples’ Greta Van Fleet Start Pack* with individually numbered Bansuri

So what do they do? They talk shit on the internet like the true desperados they are. Real John fucking Waynes, this lot. ‘Oh, they’re just some product made by record industry focus group testing?’ Oh really? Well guess what else is- EVERYTHING. But there’s hope: all the stuff you get in return does not know the difference. Let me assure you, gentlemen, breasts and narcotics…” [and this point I disappear for 45 minutes. I return very, very excited to continue our chat].

“YEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH. Where was I?!?! Buildings! No. Oh Greta Van Fleet. So yeah like I was saying, your record label didn’t think they were signing the new Lou Reed or the new Daft Punk or fuck even the new Seven Mary fucking Three when they got you to sign on the dotted line. They just have enough data to know people like Led Zeppelin’s sound and to know that you fill that bill quite nicely. Sure, those Steve McQueen-esque critics may call you “derivative” as they take a break from their marathon love-making, but guess what- so is everybody who has ever used the word ‘the.’ Plus, derivative or not, none of you are in your sixties going on about Satanism and asking for stupid amounts of money, so the powers picked you. Plus you didn’t seem to have any pre-existing medical conditions.  But don’t fool yourself: each and every one of you cash registers are just glorified human-shaped SONOS machines. Play these songs, get your paycheck, and then exhaust all of your senses- especially which ever one tells you to ever speak. I LOVE THE LIGHTS!

Anyway, boys, think about this: Your songs have been played billions of times. BILLIONS. Add that all up and that’s more time than the entirety of Mr. “I have a Graduate Degree Yet Make Less than $35,000” Journalist McFuckFace has been on this planet, or any other. Don’t let him sting you with limp-dicked insults, boys. You have won. Look at this [picks up $10,000 guitar]. And this [picks up a huge pile of vaporizers with both hands]. ALL THE VAPES IN THE WORLD! AND THIS! [I open the treasure chest full of jewels that is in the room for some reason. I take a few of the jewels out and starts rubbing them all over my body for, let’s say, 20 minutes.]

[I continue.] Critics get to be “smart,” you get to be “rich and famous,” which is another way of saying you get to be anything you want, except smart, which is overrated. Just ask the chess master who lives in the park next to my 9,600 sq. penthouse suite. He asks for the cheese on the wax paper of my morning bagel I’m usually far too hungover to eat. That’s the type who “know about music.” When you’re thinking about what type of ice sculpture Wedding 9 should have, he’ll be teaching a Community College Class about the “Evils of Capitalism,” and mates, he’ll know that truth as soundly as you won’t remember one fucking fact about him.  

My point, my little gold mines, [I take the bassist’s face in my hands] my beautiful little gold mines [that’s not the bassist. I don’t care]  is that none of this shit matters. We’re just here for a blip, so make it a boom. Who cares if “the right people” respect you? Or if that cute girl with the thick-brimmed glasses who keeps uncracked Pynchon nearby admires your mind? I’ve got bad news for you all: none of you are Thom Yorke. I also have great news: NONE OF YOU ARE THOM YORKE. You’re not doomed to spend your days thinking about the feelings of a vacuum cleaner replacement part or some shit. Embrace your inner hedonism- that is the true spirit of LZ. Not some stolen blues riffs and shark fucking (google it). Let your creativity run wild with how you put things in and out of your bodies. AND BECOME A GOD FOR IT.  

So sorry, people will not be studying your album notes decades from now looking for clues into your genius or how the structure of some ballad is meant to mirror some fucking world ill. And that shouldn’t bother you one bit- worrying about how the future will consider you is for academics and people who think because their current life blows that it will somehow be championed in the future because they didn’t have the gall to do anything in the present. If they’re lucky they’ll get a paper towel made in their honor. If we’re lucky, that paper towel will be produced using child-labor and earth-destroying products. Nothing wipes the shit grin off their “sophisticated” faces quite like hypercriticism, and buddy, we’ll assure you there’ll be plenty of that.  

So people are calling you just a rip-off of Led Zeppelin? Congrats, you’ve hit the gold mine. Now all that’s left to do is shine. Oh, you’re welcome. Now fuck off.”

As I start to leave, one of the band member’s asks a question about “authenticity” and whether I wondered whether aping the musicians who aped other musicians “problematic.” My brain- whose resting speed is somewhere in between a figuring out how to fly and a full blown aneurysm- weaponizes, liquifying all remaining members who are in the room. I take the liquid and make ceremonial “Energy Pendants,” where I put a drop or two in a vaguely “spiritual” rock (I call them ‘crystals’), selling them for $3,500 a piece. I become a millionaire and marry Kate Upton on the moon. Oh, and because I’m so well liked and wealthy, the actual Led Zeppelin plays the reception. They play a 14- minute version of “Kashmir.” It slays.  

THE END  

[masieofthevalley]

All I Really Want is You (Spideypool) - Chapter Ten

Find the Masterlist for this fic here! Read this fic on AO3! Check out my Ko-Fi if you would like a commission!

Summary: “Who are you, the big bad wolf?” She snarked. She mentally congratulated herself that her voice hadn’t betrayed the fluttering in her gut.

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?”

Peter Parker is an exhausted and overworked student in her senior year of college. Sleep-deprived and running on coffee and fumes, Peter really just wants to get through this semester. On a rare coffee run to ensure that she doesn't fall asleep on patrol or in her textbooks again, she quite literally stumbles upon Deadpool. Try as she might, she just can't stay away from him, and along the way, she finds herself in the middle of a nefarious plot between HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D.

A/N: Hello, everyone! Today’s chapter is Chapter Ten: This Side of Paradise. This chapter is named after the song This Side of Paradise by Coyote Theory. 

As always, there is a playlist for this fic, and you can find it on YouTube and Spotify. Spotify won’t play in order unless you have Spotify Premium. You don’t need to listen to it in order, but each chapter has a specific song associated with it. There is also a song associated with the entire fic, which is She Looks So Perfect by 5 Seconds of Summer.

If you liked this chapter, like, share, and reblog, and please leave comments! They make my day, and I will gladly respond. You can also head over to my AO3 and comment there, and I will also respond there! Enjoy!

Chapter Ten: This Side of Paradise

Chapter Summary: Peter receives her first text from Wade, and Spider-Woman and Deadpool work together to stop a group of bullies. 

It didn’t take Peter long to wake up Sunday afternoon. She’d gotten plenty of sleep the night before, and for the first time in a long time, she felt rested when she opened her eyes. She still wasn’t ready to leave the warmth of her bed though, so she just grabbed her phone off the nightstand and huddled up beneath the blankets.

As she opened up her phone to respond to one of MJ’s texts, she vaguely remembered her burner phone going off as she climbed into bed last night. She stuck her arm out of her blankets and blindly reached around for her other phone. After searching for a few seconds, she found it and dragged that beneath her blankets as well. She felt very content as she opened up her burner phone, flipping through it to get to her messages. She was content, and yet, she felt like something was missing. Not something, but someone . Someone that was tall and huge and usually dressed in a black and red suit and who Peter just knew would fit cuddled up against her back.

But Peter was alone in her bed, and that was very unlikely to change in the near future. So to distract herself from the slow creeping of loneliness, she pulled up her messages on her phone.

She expected the text she had gotten the night before to be from Natasha. She had talked with her yesterday, after all, and it was possible that the spy wanted an update on Peter’s situation with Wade. But, it wasn’t from Natasha.

It was from Wade.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Peter whispered, wiping the last dregs of sleep from her eyes. Her heart started to race, and she wished that her eyesight would stop being so blurry. It had been years since she had last needed glasses, thanks to the spider that so kindly bit her, but that never stopped the blurriness that came from sleep.

She couldn’t get her heart to stop beating so fast, and the anxiety in her veins that accompanied her rapid heart rate was almost like a distant, familiar friend. She didn’t feel like she was having a panic attack; she could still breathe normally, and her senses weren’t acting up. Maybe it was a stroke? Was she having a stroke? Surely, she was too young to have a stroke, right?

“Calm the fuck down,” Peter hissed at herself, blinking rapidly as her sight finally adjusted. Fuck, fuck, okay.

Peter clicked on the new text, and the anxiety stopped just as quickly as it had started.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she whispered in disbelief, her eyes scanning over the message again.

this is ur daily msg from ur friendly neighborhood deadpool, here 2 tell u 2 get ur perfect ass in bed! reminder: it is recommended that cute lil bun-buns (like urself) get 7-9 hours of sleep. :)

Peter didn’t know what she was expecting from Wade’s text, but that certainly wasn’t it. Before she could stop herself, her fingers were flying across the keyboard, her thumb tapping “send” within a matter of seconds. Realizing what she had done, Peter blinked, groaned, and flopped back on her back. She really wished that life had an undo button.

And this is your daily reminder from your friendly neighborhood Peter, here to tell you that I can function plenty on limited sleep. It is recommended that friendly neighborhood Wade’s (like yourself) go to sleep instead of bothering friendly neighborhood Peter’s.

She had never been good at texting or flirting, but as she reread her message for the third time, she wondered when she had gotten so bad at it. Peter shrieked as her burner phone buzzed in her hands. She dropped it in her pile of covers, and she spent a good fifteen seconds trying to fish it from the depths of her blankets. Prize in hand, Peter leaned against the headboard, swiping to open Wade’s newest message.

some1 is grumpy, did u not listen to ur friendly neighborhood dp and get enough sleep????

Peter just rolled her eyes and fired back with two words.

Bite. Me.

Much to Peter’s surprise - because for some reason, she was still surprised every time Wade so much as looked at her in a flirty way, let alone all of the shit that he actually said - Wade’s reaction was just risque as it had been the night before when Peter had said those exact same words.

i’d be careful if i were u lil girl

I’m not scared of you.

no, ur not. but u might be scared of what i’ll do to u. isn’t that right, peter?

Peter’s world was on fire. Wade’s texting shorthand had not done anything to take away from the heat of his words. A deep growl rang in her ears as she remembered how Wade had sounded yesterday when she had told him her real name. Arousal settled low in her gut, slowly warming her from the inside out. She shifted her legs on the bed, a nearly-silent whine escaping her throat as the seam of her shorts rubbed against her core.

all jokes aside bambie u should sleep more. sleep = good 4 u.

And just like that, the heat was gone from their conversation. Wade was giving Peter whiplash; one minute he was joking, the next he was turning her on like there was no tomorrow, and then he was back to joking around again. She couldn’t figure him out.  

She continued their friendly banter for a few more minutes before getting up and moving around her bedroom. She had finished all of her assignments the day before, but she needed to study for tests that were coming up in nearly all of her classes. Not to mention that she wanted to go patrolling again tonight; she had liked her longer patrol yesterday, and she was eager to do it again.

Peter kept her conversation with Wade steady throughout the rest of the day. She managed to resist the urge to immediately text him back every time her phone vibrated, but only barely. She had to give herself scheduled breaks in her studying to check her phone and respond accordingly. When late afternoon came, she switched gears from studying to trying to research more into HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D., but she was so distracted by Wade that she didn’t get any productive work done. She did get to see some pretty cute dogs just chilling in Central Park, though, so she didn’t think it was a huge waste of time.

At one point in the day, Wade’s comments turned more sentimental, immediately drawing Peter’s interest and suspicion.

u seem so lonely. r u lonely?????

What?

if ur lonely, cum b lonely w/me ;)

He was such a romantic.

Eventually, 8:00 PM rolled around, and Peter reluctantly put her phone away in favor of pulling on her suit. She tucked her phone into the pocket she’d once designed for that exact purpose, and then she was climbing out of her window and into the night.

Peter’s phone buzzed in her pocket as she swung across town, but she ignored it, relishing the feeling of the cold New York air against her skin. She had switched out her usual suit a few days ago for the insulated one that she only wore during the winter. It trapped her body heat inside of it, ensuring she didn’t freeze during New York’s brutal winters.

Peter swung closer to the ground, throwing webs at streetlamps so she didn’t end up splattered in a puddle of Peter. She hadn’t been out long, but already, her spidey-senses were alerting her of some sort of danger in the nearby vicinity. The prickling on the back of her neck became more intense as she rounded the corner, and she landed on the side of a building before crawling into an alleyway.

In the alley were three big, buff dudes surrounding a very small, lanky boy. He couldn’t have been older than 13, and the other guys were clearly in their early 20’s. The boy was shaking, and Peter could see the rips in his clothing. She glared at the sight; if there was something that she never tolerated, it was bullies.

“I-I told you! I can get it next week!” the boy protested, holding his hands up in front of his face. One of the goons grabbed onto his wrists and yanked them down; it was clearly painful judging by the boy’s shriek. Peter tensed her muscles, ready to jump into the middle of whatever was going on, but a voice coming from the mouth of the alley startled her. The fuck?

“Now, now, now, what do we have going on here? Some sort of tussle?” the newcomer drawled. Peter stifled her groan, as she realized without looking that it was Wade. She should have known that it was him from the fact that he had - once again - foiled her spidey-sense. And the fact that he said the word “tussle.” Nobody said tussle anymore.

“Fuck off,” one of the goons, the one holding onto the boy’s wrists, called before turning back to the boy.

“No can do, Sweetheart,” Wade crooned, walking closer. Peter bristled at Wade’s use of the pet-name, though she had no reason to. As Wade walked by her, he swung something between his palms, and Peter recognized it as a metal bat. His katanas were still strapped to his back, and all of his guns seemed to be in place. Strange.

“See, three against one is not fair at all,” Wade continued, shaking his head as he stopped just a few feet away from the group. A grin stretched over his mask. “It makes me think that you guys are bullying this poor little guy here, and I really fucking hate bullies.”

“So do I,” Peter announced, her voice coming out more higher-pitched than normal as she dropped to the ground. Wade didn’t turn around, but she heard a small squeal coming from his direction. She blushed and smirked to herself.

“Crush the bug, I’ll take care of this fucker,” Head-Goon ordered, shoving the boy harshly. He hit the wall and fell with a crunch that made Peter see red.

“I’m an arachnid,” she snarled before kicking him in the face. Deadpool whooped, and as she spun to grab one of the other goons, she saw him swing his bat at the third goon. It connected with a sound that Peter didn’t even know how to describe, and the other man collapsed.

“No killing!” Peter hastily objected, growling under her breath and rolling her eyes as Wade let out a high-pitched whine. She was so distracted by Wade that her next punch was grabbed out of the air by the goon she was currently fighting.

“Now where are your manners?” she snarked, dropping to the ground and sweeping her leg out in a move that Nat had shown her a few months ago. She knocked his legs out from underneath him. “You’re not even going to buy me dinner first?”

Peter webbed him up against the wall with the first goon, and she turned to make sure that Wade had the last one under control. She was breathless as she watched him pin the bully to the wall, growling harsh and vulgar insults in his ear as the other man cried out in pain. The warmth from earlier had returned to Peter’s gut, and she quickly looked away, her eyes searching for the kid from earlier as she desperately tried to think about anything but Wade.

Peter slowly walked over to the still shaking boy, hands held up in front of her so that he knew that he was in no danger. The last thing that she wanted was for him to bolt.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her eyes scanning over the red, angry handprints on his skin. She winced; they were going to leave bruises.

“Yeah, m’fine,” the boy said, looking at something behind her with apprehension. She heard a thud coming from that direction, and she knew that Wade had finally ended his little battle.

“Do you have somewhere to go, kid? Somewhere we could walk you to?” Peter asked gently, keeping her distance from him. She didn’t want to seem threatening and in his personal space.

“I was just on my way home,” the kid replied, his voice hardening as he talked. “I can get there just fine on my own.”

“While we don’t doubt that, Spidey here does have a duty to personally make sure that everyone gets home safe and sound,” Wade chimed in, suddenly right next to Peter. Though they weren’t touching, she could feel the heat that his body was giving off. It was nice, and Peter had to fight every instinct in her body to remain standing up straight and not curl into his side.

“What he said,” Peter finally managed to say, wincing when her voice cracked. A smirk appeared on Wade’s mask, and she just knew that he was preening beneath it.

It took Peter a few seconds to shake herself from her embarrassment, and when she rejoined reality, she noticed that the boy and Wade appeared to be locked in a staring contest. Wade’s mask should not have been able to blink, but it did, and he immediately started pouting while simultaneously yelling that it wasn’t fair or cool to be beaten by a teenager.

“Deadpool, cut it out!” Peter snapped, and immediately, Wade straightened. Peter raised an eyebrow in surprise. Interesting .

“C’mon, let’s get you home, kid.”

The kid’s apartment turned out to only be a few blocks away, but Wade made the five-minute trip seem like an eternity. Peter called the cops while they walked, though neither the kid nor Wade seemed to notice. Wade never shut up, once. He talked endlessly about tv shows and shit he’d seen online, and at one point, the kid made a comment in regards to a cooking show that Wade was rambling on about, and Wade took it and ran with it. He talked about cooking shows that didn’t even sound real . Peter mostly just tried to shut both of them out, and she was very grateful when they reached the kid’s apartment. After he went inside and she heard him open his apartment door, Peter turned to scale the building. Before she could leave, Wade’s hand clamped down on her forearm, large and warm - there was a dick joke in there somewhere - and unyielding. Peter managed to hold in the “Yeep!” noise building in her throat, but it took a lot of effort.

“Hey, Spidey! Thanks for helping me out tonight! That was fun, we should do it again!” Wade exclaimed, letting go of her arm once he had her attention. She swiveled in place and stared at him, crossing her arms over her chest as she raised an eyebrow under her mask.

“One, you helped me out, I was already there when you showed up, and I had everything under control,” Peter said, her voice somehow steady as she kept up her false bravado. “Two, absolutely under no circumstances are we going to do this again. I work alone, and I don’t need distractions.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Wade pouted, his stance matching hers as he crossed his arms over his chest. Even stomping his feet and slouching a good foot, he was still more intimidating than Peter. It was just offensive.  

“I can help, I promise!” The eyes on Wade’s mask got much larger as he continued to beg. Peter’s resolve was cracking fast. “I’ll be a good little Dobby, no killing, only maiming or a little bit of serious injury!”

Peter shook her head and spun around. Before Wade could grab onto her again, she shot a web at the building to her left and pulled herself onto the side of it. She scaled the building in a matter of seconds, and when she looked back down, Wade was no longer pouting. Instead, his head was tilted to the side as he looked up at her in what she thought was awe.

“Dat ass just keeps getting better, Spidey!” Wade called up, cupping his hands in front of his mouth even though he clearly didn’t need to. Christ, she wasn’t even that far up, just a few stories. It was like he lived to embarrass her.

“Call me, beep me, if you wanna reach me!” Wade shouted as Peter took a running start and jumped off the building. She sighed as she swung away, though a smile had already begun to worm its way onto her face.

Peter spent the next few hours patrolling on the other side of town, trying to stay clear of Wade. She was distracted the entire time, especially when her burner phone buzzed again. She called it quits just after 1, and she would never admit to the fact that she swung home twice as fast as usual.

When she climbed in her window, the first thing she did was yank off her mask and collapse on her bed. She whipped out her burner phone, her thumbs gliding across the screen as she unlocked it. The first message from Wade was a picture of a dachshund in Central Park. It was followed up by a picture of another dachshund, though this time, the dog was in a hot dog costume. It was the greatest thing ever.

There was a string of actual texts after the two pictures.

u no like weenie dogs???? tht is a war crime, bby-girl

or mayb u fell asleep like a good bun-bun???

tis late after all

k i’ll see u in ur dreams then bambi

sweet dreams sweetheart. catch those z’s 4 me

Peter rolled her eyes as she reread through the messages again. The pet names sent warmth through her chest, and her nerves felt jittery, like she was on some sort of sugar high. She closed her phone without responding to Wade, knowing that the man was probably still awake, and if she texted him, he’d only reprimand her for not sleeping. The thought of Wade scolding her wasn’t as disenchanting as it should have been. Her fingers itched to send a taunting message to Wade, just to see what, exactly, he would do to her. Hastily, Peter tossed her phone onto the other side of the bed so she couldn't do anything rash.

Peter stripped off her suit with a groan. She shut her window before moving to the bathroom. It seemed that a cold shower was in order.