#and i have to miraculously do it while not throwing out every piece of garbage my mom buys

[hungee-boy]

why does everyone expect the impossible from me why do i deserve that constant cycle of failure and guilt

[laurie-stark]

Get up and get out

Summary: Sort of part two to Unwanted. A year after fighting in Germany, y/n has to deal with the insufferable Peter Parker being around the house all the time. 

Pairings: Peter Parker x stark!reader, tony stark x daughter!reader, Natasha Romanoff x daughter!reader. 

Warnings: swearing, angst? i guess? mentions of blood. mentions of panic nightmares 

A/N: Again, I want to make it very clear so there isn’t any confusion: Y/n is Tony’s biological child, however, being raised also by Natasha, Steve and Pepper, she calls them Muma, Pops and Mom. Hopefully that makes sense LOL oh and also i’ve never written like...kiss scenes before so just go with it okay?

He was here again. Third time this week that he has come barging into my home and taken over my training center. Okay, to be fair, it was not my training center but still. Peter Parker will never stop being a pain in my ass. Ever since that stupid trip to Germany, he has been coming over and training for hours, or working with Dad. Three times just this week I’ve had to endure listening to Peter talk with his stupid little voice and walk around my house like he owns the place. Who does he think he is? And every time I have to sit through another dinner of Dad blabbing on and on about what a miraculous boy he is.

               “Really y/n, I think you two would be great friends,” I rolled my eyes as I picked at my dinner. The rest of the family ate in silence around the table. The last thing I wanted to do is spend more time with stupid Spider-boy. On the afternoons when he was here, I tried my best to stay out of his way. I would stay on my floor and he stays on his. Simple. I don’t need a new friend.

“…And he’s coming by again tomorrow, so I was thinking of showing him A.P.R.I.L. if you wanted to join us-” Dad continued.

What the hell? I thought. “No!” I snapped. “No way. A.P.R.I.L. is mine, I don’t want him messing with her.” Dad frowned at me. The rest of the table looked up in my direction. My shoulders tensed up as I faced my father. A.P.R.I.L. is my baby and I was ready to go toe to toe with him if I needed too.

“What do you mean no? I thought you’d be excited to share that with him,” he started.

“Well I’m not, so back off,” I sneered. The shift in his expression made me want to bite my own tongue. “Please.”

“I seriously do not understand what your problem is. You’ve been complaining for years how there’s only adults but the second a kid your age comes by you’re all “oooh no don’t talk to me Peter!””

I scoffed. “Sorry, I guess I just don’t want to bother you and your new best friend.”

“There it is. Why are you so jealous of him? He’s not that cool. He hasn’t made a fully functioning A.I at the age of 15. He just spits sticky stuff out of his fingers. Honestly y/n, you’re making zero sense right now.”

“Whatever, I’m over this,” I said, pushing my chair back from the table. I grabbed my untouched dinner plate and headed towards the kitchen. “I’m not hungry. And don’t show him A.P.R.I.L., I mean it!” I dumped my plate in the sink and marched right down the hall towards the elevators. My dad was right. I wasn’t making any sense. Ever since I made A.P.R.I.L I’ve used every excuse I could find to shove her down people’s throats. Anyone who would listen to me, I would tell them. Tell them all about how I programmed her to have realistic personality. How she’s running through the walls of this place, through my room, even inside the bracelet I never take off. All I knew is that I didn’t want Peter Parker anywhere near her.

I shut the door to my hard, and flopped onto my bed. A.P.R.I.L. reminded me that slamming the doors usually results in a punishment. I acknowledged her with a half-hearted grunt. I started programming A.P.R.I.L. when I was thirteen. Or rather, reprogrammed. A.P.R.I.L. was made from an older prototype version of F.R.I.D.A.Y. The base stuff was already there, I just moved some things here, recoded there until she was perfect. I don’t know why I got so defensive about Peter meeting her. Or why I had to pick another fight with my dad.

It was easier these days. To fight him, I mean. I suppose I never got over the whole “Peter is better, I choose him over you, blah, blah” thing as much as I thought I did. So, I would pick fights. Fighting over Peter was the simplest way to go, considering he was the reason I was so angry in the first place. Sometimes we would fight over him, other times we would fight over silly things. Like how I keep forgetting not to put my coffee grounds in the garbage disposal. Most of the time it was all just bickering that would blow over in thirty minutes, give or take. Sometimes it was explosive, like today.  I took in a shaky breath and sprawled out across my sheets. Sometimes this family is a fucking nightmare.

Dad didn’t come by this time. It threw me off for a second because he always comes by. Even if it’s six hours later and neither of us should be awake, he still comes by with a box of milk duds that we share in silence before one of us apologizes first. That’s how we work. When it finally sunk in that he was not planning on coming, I put A.P.R.I.L. on the job. I figured perhaps he left the compound, maybe took Mom for a nighttime stroll.

“Your father is on floor B, Miss Stark,” A.P.R.I.L. informed me.

“Jesus A.P.R.I.L., how many times have I said to cut the formalities,” I muttered.

“My apologies, y/n.”

Floor B. What the hell is he doing on floor B at…12:00 in the morning? Floor B is strictly for members of household and other Avengers. There are a billion different training rooms down there. Weight rooms, boxing, a huge pool, stuff like that. Not to taint his image, but I can safely say the last time my father willingly worked out for fun was probably before I was even born. Why was he down there? Unless…

“A.P.R.I.L. who else is on floor B right now?” I asked. “Throw it on the hologram, would you dear?

The sounds of the hologram starting filled the room. A.P.R.I.L. pulled up the security map of floor B, like I’d asked. There was my dad, floor B in the boxing room of all places. Pops and Sam looked to be going at it in another one of the combat training rooms. My confusion only rose when another nametag popped up on the screen. My brows furrowed.

Peter Parker

What was he doing here? Why was he boxing? Why was he not in his own home at midnight on a Thursday? My mind was spinning with questions. A knock at my door startled me.

“Come in…”

Natasha popped her head through the doorway. “Hey there…whatcha doing kid?”

I swiftly swiped away the hologram screen and sat up straight. “Nothing. What’s up?”

“Well, we’re getting a little worried about you,” she said. We being everyone else at the table who had to witness my brawl with Dad. She sat down beside me. “You haven’t fought back like that in a long time and I’ve noticed you’re fighting with him a lot recently. You want to tell me what that’s all about?”

I wanted too. God, I wanted too. I hadn’t told anyone what my father said to me that day after the airport, not even my mom. But it didn’t matter. I’d get over it sooner or later, so there was no point troubling anyone else with my problems…right? My eyes started to well up but I blinked away the tears. “No. Everything’s fine,” I put on a smile.

Natasha tucked me in under her arm. “Okay then. Maybe tomorrow.” That was Muma for you. She never pushed me to talk but knew I would come around at some point. In the meantime, she just held me. I cried into her embrace. She let me cry into her shoulder for a long while, until I was empty. After a time, I let go and she got up, giving me a kiss on the head before wishing me a good night.

I rubbed my hands over my face, brushing off any remaining tears. “A.P.R.I.L. bring the hologram back up please.”

“Are you sure y/n?”

…

“Yeah.”

Peter was still in the boxing room but my father was not. Upon further digging, I found the nametag reading Tony Stark on my floor. He’d gone to bed. I pondered to myself as to whether or not I should venture downstairs. What is the worst thing that could happen? Peter is secretly a Hydra spy and kills me? No, I shook my head. Don’t be ridiculous. Another minute passed and I’d made up my mind.

“A.P.R.I.L. engage “I am definitely here”,” I commanded.

“”I am definitely here” protocol engaged. Volume minimized to 5% and your tracking tag will be pinned to this room,” A.P.R.I.L. responded. “Good luck on your mission small agent.”

“Oh shut up,” I chided. I closed the door to my room as softly as I could. It was nearly one in the morning, most of the hall would be asleep. Or at least they should be. The hallway was silent, except for the soft noise of my socks padding along the floor. I cursed myself for looking so ridiculous. If anyone caught me, I could easily say that I was just getting a midnight snack. Not sneaking down to spy on Spider-bitch. Boy. Whatever. Sneaking added to the excitement.

I made it downstairs all in one piece. Steve and Sam nearly passed me in one of the halls, but I had ducked into a briefing room. I could totally be a spy. Maybe I’m a Hydra spy. I thought. And they sent me here as a baby to take down the Avengers from the inside. What was I going on about? This was why I should really be in bed, I was clearly delirious. Once again, distracting myself in my thoughts led to me getting startled. I hadn’t even realized I was outside the boxing room. I would have walked right in if not for the handy wall that I smacked into.

Peter was in the ring, practicing his punches. He’d lowered down one of the punching bags from the ceiling and it was close to ripping at the seams. He was really going ham on it. The questions piled on. So, he came over to my house at midnight to…train? Something he had all afternoon today to do? God, he was weird. I suppose I didn’t quite know what I was going to get myself into when I finally walked in to confront him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, arms folded tightly across my chest.

Peter started and looked down at me. Sweat was dripping down his face. He looked exhausted. “Training,” he said bluntly. He returned to treating the punching bag like it had run over his dog.

“At one in the morning? And after you spent like six hours today doing just that?” I was not letting him off that easy. Peter ignored me and continued punching. “Your form is shit.” I mocked.

That made him stop. “Funny coming from the girl who never leaves her room. When have you ever trained? Like ever?”

“I still beat your ass.”

“Yeah like, a year ago when I was barely an avenger.”

I rolled my eyes. “You still aren’t.”

“What do you want?” Peter spat.

I shrugged. “Dunno.” I stared him down with a smug look on my face.

“You are always such a bitch, you know that?”

I faked a pout. “Aw…bite me.”

Peter was chewing the inside of his cheek in anger. “If you’re going to stay here and pester me, you might as well get a few punches in.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Consider it a rematch.”

I studied his physique for a moment. He’d grown a lot since Germany. He’d also trained a lot since then as well. I had done little of either. I knew that entering that ring would probably end up with me losing my dignity and maybe even a tooth. But I was not going to let him stand there with his stupid, sweaty face and get away with it. This is not a good idea, I thought as I took off my socks. I moved the ropes and stepped into the ring, standing a foot in front of the boy.

“I’ll still win.”

“No powers either.”

“Deal.” Not like I’ve touched my powers since…since the incident.

Peter took his stance and I did my best to mirror him. I realized in that moment that I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know the first thing about boxing. Or sparring. I didn’t know how to fight without my powers. Oh, sweet Jesus.

We kept our distance at first, fists up. He threw a few punches and missed. I followed in suit. I finally got the first hit, a nice throw to his chest. He took it like a champ and didn’t flinch. Or rather, I couldn’t hit for shit and it didn’t hurt. He threw a punch to my left, only to miss on purpose and punched me square across my jaw. Ow. I chuckled lowly. The taste of blood filled my mouth from the fresh cut on my lip. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. All I could see was white rage.

Forget form, forget rules, forget everything. I lunged at him with everything I had. Lunged at him for all the bullshit he had brought into my life. For all the bitter things I had to hear my father say that weren’t even Peter’s fault. He was clearly not expecting my attack because we both fell to the ground. We fought tirelessly on the mat. He was physically stronger than me, so by default he was winning. He wrestled me until I was pinned under him. One hand was pinning my hand above my head, the other arm pinning down my body. In any other circumstances I would be amused to find myself in such a scandal. I looked in his eyes briefly and I could already tell he thought that he was winning. If there’s one thing I learned from Nat, it’s to always step on their moment. I hooked my leg around his knee and used all my force to flip us over. I had him pinned down now, my hair falling around my face. We were both breathing heavily.

“Told you,” I taunted. I was mentally preparing him to punch back but he didn’t. He snapped his arms out from under me and shoved me off him, hard. I fell back against the mat. He rose to his feet, brushing his hands off on his pants. “What the hell?” I exclaimed. I jumped to my feet while his back was turned to me and gave him a taste of his own medicine. He stumbled a few steps after I pushed him. Slowly, he stretched back up to reach his full height.

“You’re right,” he turned to face me and extended a hand. “Shake on the truce?” I took his hand, accepting his surrender. Only, he was not really surrendering. The moment my hand touched his, he yanked me towards him. I tripped over my feet and fell into him. My chest crashed onto his. The world was a blur as he grabbed me with force and spun us around, so he could push me up against the ropes of the ring.

“Stop, Peter get off me you bitch!” I fought back. I flailed my whole body around, trying to break loose. One hand reached up to grab the back of my head, pulling my hair and forcing my head back. I froze. His face was dangerously close to my exposed neck. His shift let my opposite arm break free. I took a breathe and reeled it back, ready to smack him in the across the face. He caught my wrist in time without taking his eyes off mine.

He lowered his head to whisper in my ear, “I win.” His breathe trickled down my neck. He had won, but he wasn’t moving. One hand was still in my hair, the other was pinning me against the ropes. His chest breathed heavily against my own. His grip on my head loosened slightly and I was able to look him straight on. He had that same smug look pasted across his face. His eyes moved from mine, trailing down my face, my neck, my body, before they settled on my lips. I momentarily lost the ability to breathe.

He kissed me hard. I tensed up slightly before giving into him completely. It tasted like blood and sweat and I felt like I was losing my mind. He pulled me closer, if that was even possible and claimed my mouth with his until my knees gave out. A newfound wave of warm washed through me. The hand in my hair gave a slight tug and my lips parted while that same hand moved to cup my jaw. For all I knew, the entire compound was wide awake and watching but I did not care. I brought my fingers to his hair, tugging at the ends. I smiled cunningly when he groaned into my mouth. He kissed me greedily and fully. Like he hated me. And I hated him.

We broke apart, limbs numb and chests heaving. The moment had passed, and our actions sunk in. What. The. Fuck. He lifted the ropes for me, and I climbed out of the ring. My head was still spinning from that kiss and my lip stung. Consequences I suppose, for kissing someone with a busted lip. I silently pulled my socks back on and Peter handed me a towel. Neither of us said another word. I left the room and didn’t look back. I could hear him behind me, but I was in no rush to have to look him in the eye ever again. What just happened?

 I woke the next morning to A.P.R.I.L. alerting me that “Father Dearest” was outside my door. He came in and sat on the edge of the bed. We both stayed quiet for a while.

I spoke first. “Where were you last night? You didn’t come by after…” I let my words trail off.

“I was going to, I swear. But then something came up with Peter and I had to go take care of that,” Dad answered.

I frowned. “Typical. Peter over your own flesh and blood, right?”

Dad inhaled sharply like he was going to bite back, but changed his mind. “That’s not true and you know it. Peter is…he’s going through something and I knew how to help him. Not everything is about you, you narcissist,” He said, joking at the end.

I had to push down my own smile. “Yeah well where do you think I got it from?” I sat up and leaned into my father. He brushed a hand down my back. “So, what’s wrong with Peter then?”

“I really shouldn’t tell you, it’s personal.” I looked up at him with my doe eyes. He rolled his eyes and sighed, nodding a silent defeat. I felt like I was nine again and he was gossiping with me about the latest secretary. Like every fight had been forgotten in this moment. “He’s been having some nightmares ever since DC. You remember the ones we used to get after Loki?” I nodded. “Now you, you always amazed me at how you handled those. But for me and Peter, we needed a different outlet. So, I let him come over in the middle of the night. I didn’t think anyone would notice.” I hummed in response, not sure what to make of that information. I mean, I kind of felt bad for the guy. He was still a bitch, but those dreams suck. No one should have to deal with them. “He really isn’t as bad as you think, you know.”

“Yeah,” I hummed. “I think you’re right.”

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[dessarious]

The Angel of Death Pt27

Inspired by this Story Starter by @someone-ev

AO3   Prologue   Beginning   Previous   Next

As Tris finished clearing the perimeter she could only sigh in annoyance and disappointment. So far she’d killed seven sentries and no one had noticed. These idiots didn’t even deserve to call themselves assassins. How do you not have regular check ins? As she made her way to the side entrance she honestly considered just bursting in the front door to see how bad their reaction times were but decided that just because they had no idea what they were doing didn’t mean she should go against her own training and plans.

There were only fifteen total people in the compound and the eight she hadn’t dealt with were all in the room where they were holding Fu. She was honestly a bit thankful he’d managed to fixate on the only assassin organization that was just as inept as he seemed to be. When she entered the room silently three were taunting Fu, two were sleeping in chairs, one was on a computer and the other two seemed to be staring off into space. How had this become her life?

She dealt with the two sleeping first. It wasn’t even a challenge to sneak up on them and put blades through their back. The one at the computer was next because he was the only one that might actually look at the outside cameras and realize the sentries were gone. However when she got behind him it was to see a bunch of funny animal videos. Every time she thought this couldn’t get any worse they proved her wrong. Once he was slumped over the desk she weighed her options. The two that seemed to be in their own little worlds were standing so she might actually draw attention if one or both went down. That could cause the three to kill Fu before going after her, depending on whether they considered him an asset or not. If she went for them first she’d be able to shield the man from the other two as they attacked.

She’d picked up guns from the sentries. These guys might be incompetent but they did have good weaponry. All their sidearms had silencers and while she normally hated using firearms with five against one it was the most efficient option. The three around Fu all went down within a minute. Headshots because she didn’t want to risk anything lower and possibly hitting Fu. Her marksmanship was impeccable but her luck had always been shit so she did her best to avoid any unlikely contingencies like one of them moving at the last second or risking she’d hit a piece of gear she hadn’t seen that would cause a bullet to ricochet.

She apparently didn’t need to worry about the two idiots standing by the wall. One look and the bodies and one started screaming while the other threw up. She couldn’t believe she’d had to lower herself to take out such unworthy opponents. But it could be considered helping mankind by removing them from the gene pool she supposed. She stepped out into the open but neither noticed. Pathetic. Fu watched her shoot both with a look of horror on his face though his gag kept him from scolding her at the moment. She really didn’t want to listen to a lecture from a man who had no concept of her life or how much danger he’d put them both in. Before she could untie him the wall in the back crumbled. She had both guns aimed at the hole but could only groan as she saw who stepped through.

“Why can no one listen and follow simple directions?” She was done, with all of this to be honest. In front of her were Ladybug, Chat Noir and... “How did you even get a hold of Wonder Woman of all people on such short notice?” As far as she knew the Miraculous holders had never asked for outside help. Wayzz popped up between the two groups.

“Tikki can contact former holders if they’re alive, one of which is her mother. I’m sure they didn’t mean any harm.” Tris could only grumble in annoyance as she finished untying Fu. When she turned back around it was to see the heroes looking at all the bodies in horror.

“You did this?” Wonder Woman’s tone was half disbelief and half censure and Tris spoke through clenched teeth to avoid throwing a tantrum like a child.

“Yes I did.” She tried to keep her voice even and managed it, barely. She pointed to Fu. “This idiot came here and gave these worthless piles of garbage information about me that I can’t afford to let spread. Not to mention they’re already making me a laughing stock in the community and I won’t let that stand. Now everyone will know exactly what the consequences are for slandering my reputation.” She had put on her mask with a voice modulator for a number of reasons, though the primary one was that it made her sound older so she could just claim to be short rather than a teenager. Now that the Miraculous holders had shown up she was extremely glad she’d taken the precaution.

Everyone in the room was looking at her like she was a monster which was annoying but not unexpected. No one seemed to know what to say to her though she could see a lecture building in both the adults. She was about to tell them they would need to hold it in when she saw one of her strings move, indicating the person was close. She spun around pointing both guns she held on the target as her Nonna stepped out of the shadows. What the hell?

“Gina, you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on the perimeter.” How on earth did Wonder Woman know her Nonna? The string between them was a reddish brown color that she thought indicated friendly acquaintances but definitely not friends. She really, really, needed to do a deeper background check on the woman.

“No need, my granddaughter is amazingly efficient.” Tris only had a chance to start cursing in her head before everything went to shit. Wonder Woman blinked at Gina in confusion.

“Granddaughter?”

“Marinette?” Ladybug’s voice was strained but far too audible and Fu frowned in confusion.

“I thought your name was Tris.” Son of a…

“Tris?!” Chat’s startled yep caused everyone but Tris and Gina to jump in surprise. She couldn’t stop the explosion that followed, granted she didn’t really try.

“Damn it, am I the only one that has any type of common sense or self preservation instincts? You know what, never mind I don’t care. Here.” She tossed the two Miraculous she’d kept on her at Fu before turning to head out the window. “I’m done. This is why I don’t work with anyone, let alone amateurs who can’t grasp even the simplest things. I’m not going to stay here to be killed by your stupidity.” She’d almost made it to the window when a new voice sounded behind her.

“Wait! I’m going with you.” She turned in time to see Nooroo grab their Miraculous from Fu’s open hand before flying to her and attaching themself to her collar. Well that complicated things.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” She tried not to sound harsh but the Kwami drooped with a hurt look anyway.

“But you said I could be useful. Don’t you like me?”

AO3   Prologue  Beginning   Previous     Next

Ko-Fi

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[bitterlikesweets]

Love Bites Ch 12

This is the twelfth chapter of a modern/vampire AU ereri fanfic. You can also read it on Ao3. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Next

Eren’s still not sure if he should be impressed by Levi's weapon closet, or if he should be terrified. Levi is halfway absorbed by it, his upper body hidden by black cloaks and coats and he rummages through the more dangerous contents deeper inside. Eren is a few feet away, perched on the armrest of Levi's black sofa, his nose scrunched in annoyance.

"You rub those clothes in garlic or something?" Eren asks, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

"Every other week," Levi replies.

Eren scowls. That must be why he didn't smell it last time.

"Why? And why the hell did you still do it when you knew I was going to come over?"

"Sometimes I need to smell like shit to save my own life." Levi sticks an arm out between the coats to flip the grumpy vampire off. "And you can get over it."

"Does a stinky coat really help you that much?"

"I think you being halfway across the house from me proves that it does."

Eren frowns. He can’t disagree, although he would be keeping his distance from Levi right now even if the man didn’t dive headfirst into a closet that stinks of garlic. Eren's not sure if he should be close, if he can be close. Because as much as Levi’s touch and his presence sets Eren at ease, the fact that he always almost bites Levi’s throat when they get too close has the opposite effect.

Eren doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the way his body moves without him even noticing. He doesn’t like the way those movements always lead to fangs against Levi’s neck because what if Levi doesn’t notice next time? Levi is quick and alert, but he’s also comfortable. He laughs, he jokes, he lets Eren lean against him like it’s nothing. Like Eren is just a human, a person, not a monster with the ability to rip Levi’s throat out, just like—

Eren squeezes his eyes shut.

He just doesn’t want to hurt Levi or anyone else. And the more this keeps happening, the more he becomes unsure if it’s safe for people to be around him. Levi has noticed and stopped Eren every time the vampire gets too close to biting him, but what if there’s a day that Levi doesn’t notice? What if there’s a moment where the former hunter thinks he's safe and ends up bitten or turned or worse, just because he trusted a vampire when he shouldn’t have? What if—

“Hey.”

Eren’s eyes fly open, and he finds Levi standing right in front of him, pale lips curved into a frown and gray eyes staring up at Eren in concern. Eren forces out a brief laugh and averts his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“S-sorry, did you say something?” Eren asks. “I kind of zoned out for a second.”

Gray eyes narrow, and Levi steps to the side, into Eren’s field of view. Eren lowers his gaze to the floor. Then he drops his hand from his neck to the armrest he’s still perched upon.

“Zoned out,” Levi says.

“Yeah, yep. That is, uh… I did say that.”

When Levi stays silent, Eren clears his throat, his grip tightening on the sofa’s black fabric.

“Sorry, why don’t we just—”

“Eren.”

Eren blinks and raises his gaze to meet Levi’s. And Levi—Levi is closer, stepping closer, moving closer, and Eren's eyes flicker down slightly, to Levi's still exposed neck. He thinks about his fangs too close to Levi’s neck and his own bite scars throb—

Eren slides backwards. He does it forcefully too, bracing his hands on the armrest and shoving, launching his own body backwards with speed that surprises him so badly, he knows he accidentally activated his vampire strength. He sees gray eyes going wide before his ass is off the armrest and his balance is lost. He tumbles to the other side of the sofa, half of his back slamming into black cushions and the other half hanging limply in the air, all four of his limbs flailing in panic.

And while that's happening, all Eren can think is, I'm a fucking idiot.

Then something catches one of his flailing limbs. A hand wraps around his left ankle. Eren looks up and sees one of his feet dangerously close to Levi’s jaw, probably just seconds away from kicking the former vampire hunter in the face.

Eren’s body stills, one of his arms dropping to hold himself up off of the ground, the leg not currently being held hostage by Levi lowering and bending slightly, to rest upon the sofa cushions.

And Levi’s just staring down at Eren in silence. Just looking, his gray eyes as dark as a storm cloud at dusk.

Eren’s about two more seconds of awkward silence away from telling Levi to just put him out of his misery.

“Wait here,” Levi says before Eren’s shame ascends to unbearable heights.

“Wha—”

Levi tosses Eren’s leg aside like he’s just tossing a piece of garbage into the trash, and Eren’s body twists with it. The remnants of the vampire's balance that were keeping Eren miraculously still on the sofa crumble to nothing, and Eren tumbles into a heap on Levi’s carpeted floors, spluttering out a mix of questions and curses.

When he gains enough sanity to prop himself up onto his hands and knees, the last thing Eren sees of Levi is a pair of feet at the top of the stairs across the room.

Eren just stays there for a moment. His mind is taking a moment to process, rewinding the past few minutes to make sure that actually happened. Honestly, it feels a bit like he’s hallucinating. Or having some sort of horrible dream. A naked-in-the-classroom sort of horrible dream.

He looks over his shoulder at the sofa that he’s put in complete disarray. The extra gray pillows that used to be tucked neatly against the armrests are on the floor, one of them trapped beneath Eren’s knee. The cushions are dislodged, showing the rough fabric and metal beneath. Eren’s pant leg is rolled up where Levi had him by the ankle. And Levi…

Levi disappeared.

Eren pushes himself up off of the floor into a sitting position, resting his back against the sofa and wrapping his hands around his ankles.

Eren massively fucked that up.

He didn’t mean to. He was thinking about not hurting Levi physically, and now he’s gone on to hurt the man in other ways. But Eren’s mind is just… everywhere. Or, more like nowhere. His mind is everywhere and nowhere at once because if he lets his brain go, he’ll just start thinking about everything. Then, all of Eren’s focus goes to try to get his mind to shut up for a fucking second—

And then he gets caught off guard. And then his thoughts go everywhere again. And then Eren is launching himself away from the man who means the world to him without a thought for the consequences until it’s too late.

Eren is messy. Single-minded. God, he just feels like such an idiot sometimes. Of course Levi left him after that—

Eren’s ears twitch. His grip tightens around his ankles.

The water is running upstairs. He can hear the humming pipes, the dozens of tiny droplets hitting tiled floors.

Levi is… turning on a shower?

Eren blinks. He tilts his head when the sound changes, senses heightening, ears angled towards the sound unconsciously. The sound is quieter, the drops not falling so heavily. They’re traveling shorter distances, landing on something less rigid. It has to be flesh, skin, unless Levi has shoved something random into the shower to throw Eren off. (He wouldn’t do that… Would he? Does Levi think of weird pranks when he gets mad or something?)

Levi is showering. Eren jumped away from Levi like the man was the embodiment of the plague, and Levi… Levi is showering.

Eren can’t tell if he’s just stupid or if Levi just doesn’t make any fucking sense.

A few minutes later, the sounds stop. If Eren strains, he can hear fabric rustling, quiet footsteps across the floor. And then he doesn’t have to listen because Levi is coming down the stairs, a towel hanging from his neck and a few droplets falling from his dark hair.

Levi pauses at the bottom at the stairs, meeting Eren’s gaze from across the room. Eren straightens a little, his eyes scanning Levi’s face for annoyance—and also scanning his new outfit, because the dark t-shirt clings to Levi’s wet torso, and fuck Eren needs to get his head together.

Levi’s gaze shifts above Eren’s head to the areas directly beside Eren. Levi shoves his hands into the pockets of his black sweatpants, averting his gaze as he sighs. Eren flinches, closing his eyes and preparing for the worst—

“You could’ve at least cleaned up a little.”

Green eyes pop open. Gray eyes are already ready to meet that gaze.

“...Huh?”

“I was up there for a little while,” Levi says, then he juts his chin out to point in Eren’s general direction. “You could’ve fixed your mess.”

“What?” Eren looks over his shoulder and the mess of pillows and cushions before springing to his feet. “O-oh, yeah, I can, uh—I should’ve—I’ll clean up right now!”

Eren turns his back on Levi, frantically attempting to shove the cushions back into their places, though it feels like he’s only succeeding at displacing them at different angles.

He feels more than sees Levi come up next to him, mostly because he’s keeping his gaze stubbornly on the sofa. Levi helps him put the rectangular cushions back in their rightful place. Their shoulders brush, just once, and Eren’s breath stutters.

“...You’re just as worked up as earlier,” Levi says, bending down to pick up one of the little gray pillows.

“Oh, I just, uh…”

Eren clears his throat and dives for a pillow, but Levi catches hold of his hand.

“It didn’t help?”

Eren finally meets Levi’s gaze again.

“What didn’t?”

“The shower.”

Eren blinks.

“What was the shower supposed to help with?”

“The smell.”

“I… what?”

“The smell,” Levi repeats, a frown coming to his lips. “You were already complaining about it, then I came close and you jumped away. So, I assumed—”

Eren should probably feel bad for how loud he laughs, how hard it shakes his shoulders and bubbles out from his lips. But when Levi is looking up at him, tenderly holding his hand, wet from the shower—because he thought Eren was that bothered by how the man smelled like garlic—

He really can’t bring himself to feel bad when it’s just this damn funny.

“What?” Levi snaps, dropping Eren’s hand. “The hell are you laughing at?”

Eren is still laughing, bent over with his hands on the couch to keep himself upright. But his arms are shaking with his shoulders as he laughs, and he slips. His body veers to the side, into Levi, and the man wraps an arm around Eren, to steady him.

Though when Eren looks up, eyes watering, Levi certainly looks less than happy about it.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” Levi nearly growls.

Eren bites back his laughs with his flat front teeth, just long enough that he can suck in a few greedy gulps of air afterwards. And when he’s finally calm enough to form words, Eren flashes a grin at Levi and says—

“You, obviously. Dumbass.”

Levi drops him. Eren bursts out laughing all over again.

“I just don’t see what’s so fucking funny.”

Eren looks up at Levi, standing over him with his arms crossed and a scowl on.

“You are,” Eren says. “Thank you for worrying about me, but—”

Eren starts to laugh again and barely chokes it back in time to finish his sentence.

“You must really like me, huh?” Eren asks.

It’s a joke. Eren’s still half-laughing as he says it. He doesn’t mean the words, not really—though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t projecting a bit of hope into them—and he never intended for Levi to take him seriously.

That’s why it freezes Eren. It kills the laugh in his chest, the way Levi’s expression falls back into the stiff mask, when the man’s entire body tenses and angles away from Eren. Levi’s mouth opens and falls shut. His eyes, the most expressive part of him, are blank.

Eren’s body goes cold. It’s not even a rush, not a flood of blood escaping him. It’s instant, it’s freezing. He has Levi’s blood in him and he can’t feel it. What he feels like is a corpse.

And… he is one. It’s just that with Levi he forgets. He always, always forgets.

“I, uh…” Eren’s mouth is dry. “I was joking.”

Levi’s shoulders lower a little. He turns his head even farther away. He does that thing with his mouth again. Open. Close. Silence. Then—

“...Oh. Good.”

Good. Good? Good?

“No, fuck, wait—”

Levi’s talking but Eren’s head is fuzzy. His ears are clogged. He stumbles to his feet, and when Levi reaches out for him, he dodges.

Good. Good. No, of course. Of course. Because if Eren was serious, that’d be bad. Because of course, Levi doesn’t feel that way, not towards Eren. He must feel the opposite because why else would he react so strongly to a fucking joke—

“Eren.”

“Look, I know we were supposed to be practicing, but I really just want to go home right now.”

He can feel Levi at his heels as he rushes to the door. He refuses to look back.

“Please, just let me explain—”

“I really need to go home.”

“Eren—”

There are fingers at his wrist. Eren jerks his hand away before Levi can get the chance. He can’t—he can’t right now, can’t be here, can’t listen, can’t be touched. It’s too much, and it’s not just the joke, it’s the neck and the biting and his newly realized feelings, and Eren just can’t.

He’s so cold. He’s shaking all over. He doesn’t want Levi to touch him. Not right now, not when he feels like this.

He doesn’t want those warm, human hands anywhere near this walking corpse.

“Eren—”

“Levi, please—”

“Eren, I’m in love with you.”

Eren’s hand is already on the doorknob. His back is to Levi, and the door is already open. The cool night air is making him even colder. He’s shaking. His mind is—his mind—it’s everywhere, nowhere, not where he fucking needs it and even it was, it never helps him anyway. He’s far from thinking straight, far from having any coherent thought at all.

Maybe that’s why, even with Levi behind him, saying everything he wants to hear, Eren runs out the door.

[bugaboowritings]

Date My Best Friend, You Dumb Cat - Superhero Accidental Reveal Fic

Alya Found Out Adrien's Secret and is MAd that He Isn't Doing His Homework

So... I had this piece in my head since I saw that old Instagram post about Alya and Adrien being partners for a school project and that comic about Adrien and Alya having an accidental Reveal when their glamour dropped. 

May make this a series.. Also have this same thing but with Chloe - Check them out! ( 1 ) and ( 2 )

And then with Marinette/Ladybug and Adrien - ( 1 )

Two months, one week, three days, and seven hours since the new semester started. 

Two months, one week, and twelve hours since Miss Bustier assigned the first group project.

Two months, one week, eleven hours, and forty minutes since Alya Césaire and Adrien Agreste were randomly selected to be partners.

Four minutes after that, Alya teased her best friend mercilessly if she wanted to trade partners. 

Two years, six months, two weeks and twenty-three hours since Ladybug and Chat Noir first appeared in Paris.

Two years, six months, and three weeks since Alya met her best friend, Marinette Dupain-Cheng on the first day of school in a new town. 

Two seconds since she discovered Chat Noir’s identity. 

Two years, six months, and two weeks since Marinette confessed to Alya about her crush on a certain blond she thought Marinette strongly disliked. 

Seven seconds since she found out about Chat’s secret identity. 

Two years and five months since Alya decided to investigate the real-life superheroes patrolling the city. 

Eleven seconds since the mask and the magical spandex fully disintegrated off her skin. 

What happened only moments ago played as if someone clicked freeze-frame on this point of Alya Césaire’s life as her miraculous glamour dropped. 

Leaving Alya Césaire in the cold alley as Rena Rouge vanished into thin air. Ending the superhero illusion when her suit reached its five-minute limit.

The dazzled Lady-blogger watched the little coy Fox God of Illusion twist their expression in amusement. The corners of their mouth turned up in a sharp smile, playfully flicking their tongue at their user. 

“Oh, this is going to be fun explaining to the Leader Lady.” 

-

“You’re-! ADrienN!” Alya choked.

 “How- OH MY GOD! You’re- Oh my god!!” She stuttered, barely grasping what was going on as she tripped over her words while the fatal conclusion hit her gut. Her stomach felt hot and twirled in knots. Her cold, clammy hands traveled to her curls, locking her fingers in her hair as she pulled strands away from her face. Not believing what she just witnessed. 

  Alya swore on this day that she went brain dead before her eyes widened and readjusted to the dark atmosphere. Without her mask, Alya was left without her magical night vision, forced to focus on the scene organically while her glasses slowly dipped off the bridge of her nose. 

 The gears clicked and ground in Alya Césaire’s observant mind, jumping faster to conclusions than a gun could fire a bullet into a clear sunny day. Pinning ideas and theories then shuffling around clues that could make this sound believable to herself. Even as she sat there, sitting in the middle of the alley-way trash bin, watching the aftermath of the Miraculous unfold. 

 GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

   Of course, she JUST HAD to make the grave mistake on dropping into the same alley that Chat Noir did.

   AND OF COURSE!!-, she did it without thinking it through! Not while the adrenaline levels spiked up in the blood in her veins, giving her this deadly sense of invincibility. The same feeling that made her fearless when she leaped over buildings and dropped from heights that could kill her and her courage.

   However, in the heat of the moment, there’s no time left to worry when her necklace gave an urgent beep. Alya remembered thinking that she had more time to spare, yet the second she blinked -her orange suit was already peeling off her body. Causing her to lose her footing in mid-air which led to one of the most ungracefully landings she has ever made. Drawing blood as she scraped her hands hitting the brick wall and almost breaking her neck if she hadn’t landed in the stuffed dumpster or pushed her feet under her weight to cushion her fall. Her sweatshirt returned back on her body and her hair was no longer crimson red, but tree bark brown with fading colored tips. 

Then with a loud THUMP, BOOM, and CRASH, a commotion that surely woke up the surrounding neighborhood and scared off any stray cats in the area, the two heroes fell out of the sky and landed into their civilian selves. 

Of course, Alya didn’t realize she wasn’t the only one that crash-landed in the alley until it was a second too late to do anything about it. 

  Untangling herself from the garbage-bins tagged with graffiti and unsettling stains, Alya puffed and huffed, holding her breath to trap the last bit of fresh air she had stored in her lungs. Only to gasp for air, not because of the grime and disgusting odors around her but she noticed the glow and gleam of green and black across from her. 

  Alya swore that she covered her eyes, for her sake and his- but she recognized that voice as it groaned. Along with those familiar orange shoes that kicked up and around, same with the sweats with a familiar logo stitched on the side. 

The Gabriel Brand. 

Gabriel Agreste. 

THE Gabriel Agreste. 

One of the top lines in fashion.

Practical clothing but at expensive prices. 

A-And that! What he was wearing was part of a new street-wear! One only rumored to exist and if so- it wasn’t hitting the stores for a figure of a few months!! (Thank you, Marinette for your vast knowledge of fashion and launches and your endless rambles about them.)    

Yet, how could-!? How could this sly cat have access to the brand or rumored collection!? How could this leather-wearing flirt have the cash to have anything with the Agreste brand on it?

Was he some sort of business partner? A loyal customer with benefits? Heir to a company that has ties with the Agreste? New money or old?!

No- that can’t be right. Gabriel wouldn’t just hand off his secret collection unless…Unless it was someone worth giving to. 

It wasn’t until the infamous cat raised his head up in a moan that Alya Césaire, local Lady-blogger, saw his face, Chat Noir’s face, without the mask. 

As ungracious this whole situation was, this seemed like the only right way to figure out the kitty’s identity. 

All thanks to a series of unfortunate events and some bad luck. 

Something totally on-brand for him. 

 The blond brushed his hair with the tips of his fingers before lightly rubbing the sore spot over his neck. Rocking his head back and forth and around to alleviate the stinging. His forehead wrinkled as he groaned once more, knitting his eyebrows together. All before opening his acid green eyes wide at the reporter when she released the breath she held in. 

  Adrien Agreste being this cocky superhero that swirled and twirled about the city- the same one that wore a bell and slick black leather- explained so little and left so many questions unanswered.

 It did, however, explain the little details that she looked over when it came to Adrien Agreste. How he jumped into action when he heard the Akuma Alert, how he didn’t run for his life but quickly claim that he needed to go to the bathroom when a giant semi-monster or Akuma loomed over the city, how he seemed to be a true Ladybug Stan since the beginning it all- even when Paris was barely getting used with their new super-reality, how he checked with Alya after almost every blog post if she uploaded something during school hours, the quick comments and awkward praise given about his alter-ego when the Miraculous Duo came to be the topic again in the lunch table. 

The Lady-blogger knew that Chat Noir playing offense when Darkblade came to claim Paris could be a clue, how Chat Noir knew where to take the students when evacuating the school after a nasty Akuma attack when he ‘supposedly’ never been there, and then how Chat Noir called everyone by their name when it was the first time her classmates even had the chance to see him in person and not on a news-recap. 

 Why Adrien had to miss the grand installment of the Miraculous Duo Statue in the park, but he never really missed it because he was THERE! Chat Noir was in her classroom and she didn’t even-!!

Alya gasped. 

“Our project is due before 12!” Cupping her mouth before throwing her hands out to the blond. Yanking him out of the trash by the collar of his jacket.

“Why are you here and not finishing the first draft?!”

Adrien Agreste, still pressed up against the alley wall with his back supported by day-old trash, digested Alya’s words before rolling his eyes. A snarky reply slipped his mouth as he shifted his body into a more comfortable spot after getting squashed in the tight alleyway. 

“An evil super villain possessed a child, Alya. I have priorities.” 

  “And our grade isn’t!” 

Adrien tucked his legs under himself as a cat kwami popped out of his light blue jacket. Struggling to get on his feet from the buzz sensation in his legs after his fall, resting his hands on the dirty concrete before showing more of his superhero persona.

“Again priorities, Alya!” He uttered, ruffling his hair as he took their current situation in. 

Stretching his arms as he stood up to his full height. His hair, messy and tangled, suede one side to the other as Adrien shook his head. 

“I can’t leave my Lady alone when a crazed toddler is on the loose.” 

----

Who would have guessed? 

That the Cat with the dangerously charming grin was the same boy that can’t go out with his friends if work intervened or when his dad flatly said no to his face through a tablet held by his black-suited assistants. The guy that would merciless flirt with the red heroine (he still drinks respect women juice tho) was outside of the world of superheroes and villains, a guy that never went out on a proper date with anyone before. 

God, this would surely make a great article. 

Alya Césaire had uncovered one of the biggest secrets in Paris, all in a matter of some lucky seconds. Not because of her totally-awesome journalist skills, but all because of dumb luck. 

Wait-.

She just lost her secret identity too. 

--Ladybug is going to kill her.

Alya got sick and pale when she thought this situation over, not with her Lady Blogger brain, but with her superhero ego. Forgetting how her project was late or the fact if she didn’t return home quickly her family would worry if they didn’t find her in bed at this hour. 

Ladybug is going to kill them.

 No-... she gonna take away their miraculous FIRST so they then don’t have a chance to fight back and THEN kill them. Most likely after her speech about breaking the most important rule of being a superhero. 

“Keeping your secret identity a secret.”

Alya groaned into her hands as the memory of Ladybug’s lectures and advanced fighting skills played in her head. 

She is so dead.  

Letting that fact sink in before taking in a big deep breath. 

“It’s fine,” she can work with this. She can bounce back. She can just explain this to Ladybug without losing her chance at being a Miraculous Holder. It’s gonna be fine- 

Parting her hands from her face to see Ch-Adrien pull out a little container of cheese for the black kwami nagging and floating by the blond’s head. The tiny god grinned as it nibbled (inhaled) on that snack as it hovered over his Chosen’s shoulder. 

Alya screamed in her palms once more, making her peace on earth.  

---

Alya thanked Adrien for the slice of cheese. Handing it to Trixx to get him ready for another transformation. The duo decided that it was better to wait it out for their Kwamis rather than try to walk home in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night. 

Once Alya came over the shock of finding out Chat Noir’s identity, she bit her tongue before asking any questions. Taking in what was behind the mask, a good observation was key for a reporter since that can tell more than questions itself could.  

His hair was different, it wasn’t the right length (when thinking of his magical alter-ego). Nor did it curl by his ears, but it still had that ‘swish’ and ‘fluff’ texture. His eyes were still that acid green color but seemed more on the light shade and looked more ‘natural’ and ‘safe’ compared to the huge, glowing cat eyes he had before. The same eyes that scared criminals in pit black or lit up a night sky. His face’s silhouette matched the pictures of the hero’s. His jaw was the perfect shape and his height was exactly the same, give or take the added milometers from his boots. Yet, it seemed so weird to see this. 

There, Chat Noir peeled away left Adrien Agreste. Laying against the tagged-up walls and using the crunchy trash bags to break his fall and now as bean-bag chairs as he laughed at something his Kwami whispered. 

“You’re Chat Noir.” 

It was the first sentence she said without coughing or yelping. Scaring Adrien to just hear Alya speak in her stern tone, ruining the silence he thought they (unspokenly) agreed to keep. Nevertheless, Adrien should have known that the quiet could only last for a while before Alya recovered and spit questions with a blink of an eye. 

It was too good to be true if he thought they could just forget about this and walk away. 

 The golden boy bit his bottom lip in what seems to be a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and a dash of amusement. Giving Alya a shy smile before shrugging his shoulders. 

“Guess the cat is out of the bag,” Adrien, no, Chat Noir grinned.

 The Lady-blogger had to stop the burning need to deck him so hard. 

 A thin, yet toothy smile appeared before losing it when Cha- Adrien’s kwami, a tiny grumpy cat-god with two white-ivory fangs that stood out in contrast with his deep purple fur, asked for more cheese before showing the rest of his sharp teeth in an attempt for a wide innocent smile. 

It was terrifying. 

“GOD!” Alya cried, rolling her eyes as her fox kwami fled to talk to Chat Noir, wait no, Adrien’s kwami. Still not over that her classmate was part of the Miraculous Duo. The reporter gasped for air even harder as she reached another conclusion. 

“I knew it was you! AH! Ha! I knew it in the beginning!” Alya uttered, switching from frustrating sounds to a laugh that made Adrien question the report’s ability to handle and process all this before Alya pumped her fist up before cursing the universe out loud. Her painted nails rubbed circles on her temples while she munched on this memory in her own flashback. 

“I-urgh! I knew! I knew you looked too much like Chat Noir, too much to call it ‘chance’. But no!- Marinette brushed me off. Telling me ‘That’s too good to be true!’- and now!” Tossing her hands out to the blond and his kwami. 

The undeniable evidence that landed on her plate. 

“Here you are! Both Chat Noir and Adri-“

A cold hand cupped on Alya’s mouth. Stopping her from shouting even louder or even finishing her sentence.  Pushing her back to the old brick wall. 

The Lady-blogger instinctively fought back, her hands reaching for the fingers over her mouth, but she stopped herself before she scratched the blond or bit his hand (or worse, spit in it). 

“Alya,” Adrien hushed. “I know that you know this- but you can’t tell anyone about this. Living or dead- Not a soul, not in any journal entry, not on your blog or to Nino, ever. Not even to Marinette.” 

Alya nodded at the sudden serious tone. 

“Bad enough that Hawk Moth is still out there with his eye out for our heads. If you or I get akumatized it’s gonna be game over for Ladybug and Paris. You understand that, right?” 

Alya shoved his hand away. 

“First off, your hand smells like Camembert. Gross.” 

“Second,” she sighed. Letting her fingers press against the creases of her forehead before sliding down to her cheek. 

“. . .Does Ladybug know?” 

Adrien’s fingers tugged on his hoodie string as he nibbled on his lips. His nose crinkled in dissatisfaction. 

“We planned to reveal ourselves when Hawk Moth’s gone and defeated . . . “ 

“How noble.” Alya snorted.

Before Alya could ask anything else, Adrien beat her to the punch. His voice filled the air as cars in the background beeped at each other at the late ride home or to work. 

“My turn with this interrogation.” Moving his face a little closer, Adrien Unaware-of-Boundaries-Because-He-Was-Locked-In-A-House-His-Whole-Life Agreste frowned.

 “What do you mean by ‘I knew it” and how does Marinette think- wait, does she know that you’re Rena? Alya did you-” 

Alya pushed Adrien a step off before rolling her eyes. 

  “Of course not!” She scoffed. 

“I tell Mari everything, but - But Ladybug trusted me with the miraculous and I kept my secret and promise  to her.” Twisting her leg in anxiousness before quickly commenting, “ Well it was a secret before THIS happened.” 

----

~Study Session at the Library. Be here by 2

~Same table as always

Adrien clicked on the message, typing out a quick response and a time change. Sweeping his hair back, happy with what he wrote after rewriting twice and finally pressing send. 

-2:15, but I’m still in the locker room. I’m there by 2:30, tops. 

Alya hummed as she saw the little dots on Nino’s phone before disappearing again and then reappearing with a new message. Huffing through her nose before typing a response back. 

~It’s due this week and we are out by 3:45. 

Adrien pulled his clothes from his locker before hearing the soft buzz of his phone in his gym bag. Groaning in defeat before typing out a dull reply. 

-K. 

---

Peeling another sticky note to add to the right corner of the book, not before uncapping her thin felt-tipped marker as Marinette scribbled a slanted question. Looping her y’s and not paying attention to the clicks towards the table since it could just be Rose asking for another pen from Alya. However, a chair scraped across the wooden floor and a gym bag thumped on the ground which sent vibrations up the table. Making her jump, pulling back her hand before she accidentally drew a huge line down the page of her textbook. 

“Thanks for organizing this session, Alya. I’m glad that we managed to meet up even with my schedule.” 

Marinette continued to scribble in her sticky notes. Her handwriting got sloppier as she wrote faster. Her anxiousness escaped from her in her blush and in her quick penmanship. Exhaling sharply, catching Nino’s attention only to lose it as his dirt-colored eyes noticed his best friend. Tugging his headphones off his ears. 

“Dude, nice to see you finally make it to one of our ‘nerd meetings’.” 

“Hard with my Father and all my tutors back home. Are you gonna finally let me play Mega Strike on your phone or wait until your phone is at 5 percent like last time?” 

“Adrien, it was one time!” 

“SHH!” the librarian hushed. Quieting the boys and they slowly mellowed in their chairs. The librarian broke his stare and returned back to the paperwork on his desk. The boys broke their silence and the tension in the table as they couldn’t help the chuckles that came up their lips when they looked at each other. Bring back that light environment when the boys nudged each other playfully. Chuckling under their breath as Adrien set his pens and books out from his school bag. 

Marinette tried her best to keep her eyes on her paper. She can’t be blushing and rambling like she always did. But God, this was gonna be so hard to do since old habits die hard. As hard as she gripped her pen while she carved the words on her notebook page. The music in her earbuds crashed with her emotions. The lofi beats weren’t calming her; it just made her feel like she was on the wrong station. Debating to switch her playlist to something quicker and louder to make her concentrate on her work and not on something more captivating. . .

WAIT,,, NO!!!! BAD MARINETTE! Don’t think that- he is just a friend!!

 Pushing her earbuds in her ear deeper in hopes to drown out his laughter. Her finger swiped across stations and then deciding on to Jagged Stone’s new single. Killing the urge to stare at the model or steal looks at him, but surely looking at him couldn’t hurt-

GOD! WHY DOES SHE HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS!? 

They’re just friends. And “just friends” doesn’t mean that you should stare at each other’s eyes. “Just Friends” means just friends especially when one of the friends looks like a certain blond and is potentially dating someone else-

A pink pen rolled over her notebook. 

Is that- a Ladybug pen?  

Marinette tugged on the wires of her earbuds, letting them fall off her ears and pausing the first verse of Jagged’s song. 

“Ah-could you guys pass me my supplies?”

Marinette’s blue eyes finally did the thing she prayed she wouldn’t do. 

She looked up. 

There, Adrien rushed to pick up his pens, pencils, markers, and highlighters as they rolled off the table. Nino was already crouching down, grabbing the ones that fell under his chair’s legs while Alya picked up the ones that came her way. 

“I didn’t know they sold ladybug stationery?” The lady-blogger grinned, twirling the pen between her painted nails. Wiggling her eyebrows at the flustered blond who try to brush off her looks with an eye roll. Hoping that if he ignores the blush that came up his face, they won’t comment on it. 

“It was in a pack, Alya.” Adrien bit his lip, reaching over to snatching the pen back from Alya. Only to miss her hand completely as she pulled back her arm in the last second. Teasing Adrien with the pen, holding it out of his grasp. Tossing it to Nino when his fingers reached a little too close to the pen. The boys rough-house a minute before earning themselves another scorning from the librarian. 

Over the last two years of going to public school compared to the first day he tried to sneak through the front gates, Adrien Agreste would have died on the spot if he got scorned by an authority figure other than his caregiver, well ‘care’-givers, at Françoise Dupont High School - but with time, Adrien Agreste mellowed into the new role of Adrien, the student. 

Just the student. 

 A different persona from the one that lived at home and bloom when entering school grounds. Adrien would say that he’s more care-free and open than before as he learned how to sneak out and what buttons to press when joking with his closest friends. Like how Nino always fell for the “What’s that?” trick- no matter what or how Kagami liked puns even if she frowned or how Marinette would shot a sarcastic remark if given the chance (so Adrien tried his best to set the joke to hear Mari’s slick comments which often ending with an innocent smile before walking away). 

So it wasn’t unusual for Adrien to act like this, like a teenager and not some super famous model. Just a student who was currently blushing in embarrassment due to his Ladybug stationary. 

“They’re nice.” 

The study group turned to the peep in the corner. Marinette swiped her thumb over the magical ladybug clip on the pen.

 It felt heavy and good in her hand, it had nice weigh to it. All with a slick design that didn’t seem cheesy or cheap. It’s hard to make polka-dots work nicely, but who would know right? 

 “I’m more of Chat Noir fan though.” A small smile slipped out as she spun the pen in her hand one last time. Her face softens as she thought about her partner and how cute it would be to have his cartoon face on sticky notes if it didn’t add to his ego.  Marinette finally passed the pen to Adrien who unconsciously held out his hand when her hand went out to him. 

“Cool,” Adrien answered. Not knowing what to say without giving himself away or boasting about the Miraculous Duo without sounding stiff or awkward. 

That little moment was gone as a voice cleared the air. 

“So you’re a cat stan now?”

-------

“I didn’t know you dig that type of leather, Mari?” Alya purred as she grinned a little too hard as her joke, causing her cheeks to squish the edge of her amber-colored iris. Narrowing her four eyes at her clueless friend. 

“I’m not- why are you making it sound so weird?!” 

“I’m not!” 

“Yes. Yes, you are.” Marinette rolled her eyes before shaking her head. Quickly stepping down the stairs with the reporter on her heels. Blowing her bangs out of her eyes, reminding herself to trim them when she gets home or when she’s free by this weekend. 

“And-stop looking at me like that, Alya!” 

“I wasn-” 

“I can feel your laser vision from here.” 

“Okay, fine! I give, Mari. I can’t lie to you no more.” Throwing her arms around the designer’s neck and tugging her near. Marinette pulled her legs under her before she choked herself with Alya’s hold. 

“The truth is- I’m setting you up with a superhero, but can’t unless I absolutely know that you’re into them.” 

“. . . .what?” 

-------

[singledarkshade]

Waverider Detective Agency

Part Nine

(Part Eight can be found here)

 Kendra was impressed by the apartment John brought them to. It had three bedrooms, a kitchen, and a large lounge with a balcony that overlooked the city. It occurred to her as she stepped across the threshold that they really didn’t know much about the man whose bar/café/restaurant they used as a second office.

“You look tense,” John noted sitting beside her on the couch.

Kendra sighed, “I’m just worried about them.”

“Come here,” John reached out and pulled her feet onto his lap, “Before you protest, I was the masseuse on a cruise ship for about six months. I am fully qualified.”

Kendra frowned, “Why only six months?”

“I got fired for punching a guest,” John explained, “He was harassing one of the waitresses and when I intervened, he told me to get lost and he’d paid for the perks,” he shrugged, “I decked him and broke his nose.”

Before Kendra could reply, John dug his fingers into the ball of her foot, and she moaned.

“Why did you never tell us you could do this before now?”

“Because I knew I wouldn’t get any peace if I did,” John replied, “Now shut up and let me concentrate.”

Kendra closed her eyes as John worked, both looking over when Eddie appeared from the kitchen on his phone.

“Are you sure?” he frowned, worry covering his face, “Of course. Let me know as soon as you know anything. Thanks, Joe.”

“What’s wrong?” John demanded.

Eddie grimaced, “The car with Rip and Gideon didn’t make it to the safe house. It was found wrecked on the side of the road with Officer Johnson unconscious beside it.”

“This is probably wishful thinking, but could they have went for help?” Kendra asked.

Shaking his head, Eddie grimaced, “We don’t think so.”

“Then Druce has them,” John stated darkly, “And we have no idea where they could be or how to track them.”

“Track them,” Kendra breathed, her eyes widening in realisation, “Eddie, do you have any pictures of the car?”

Confused he shook his head, “But I can get them. Why?”

“Gideon may have something in her pocket that I hope could help us find them,” Kendra explained.

 Kendra studied the photos on the screen that Eddie had managed to get for them. She highlighted and zoomed in, making sure she didn’t miss a thing before nodding.

“Okay,” she turned surprised to see Joe West had arrived, “I’m sure Gideon still has a device I gave her that Ray, our tech guy, made. It looks like a toy car so they might not realise what it is.”

“What is it?” John demanded.

Kendra frowned before realising she hadn’t explained, “It’s got a camera and microphone which can link to the laptop for surveillance. We need to talk to Ray to see if he can track it for us.”

“Ray Palmer, by any chance?” Joe asked.

Kendra nodded.

Joe pulled his phone out and began to dial. John clapped Kendra’s shoulder comfortingly while they waited, hoping that she was right, and Ray would help find them.

                                 *********************************************

 “Rip.”

The voice was far away as the blackness surrounding him slowly receded.

“Rip.”

The voice became clearer but so did the fact he was in pain. His ribs and arm ached, but he was sure they were only bruised, not broken. His head felt like someone had used a baseball bat on it, but the world was coming into focus once more.

“Please wake up, Rip.”

He knew the voice, the voice was someone he cared for, someone he wanted to protect.

“Miranda,” he breathed hopefully, despite part of him knowing it couldn’t be.

A hand gently stroked his hair, “I’m sorry, no. It’s Gideon. Please open your eyes.”

Forcing his eyes open, Rip grimaced at the light that hit them but managed to focus on the face coalescing in front of him.

“Tell me we’re in the office and I’m just really drunk,” he whispered.

Gideon gave a sad shrug, “I wish I could.”

Taking several slow breaths Rip managed to sit up and looked around finding they were in a windowless room with a door across from the couch they were both sitting on. Getting to his feet, Rip walked the room knowing there was a camera, more than likely in the corner across from the couch.

Turning back he frowned seeing the black eye Gideon was sporting, annoyed that he hadn’t noticed it until now. Moving to her side he gently tilted her head to check, “Are you okay?”

“It hurts,” she whispered as Rip’s thumb gently stroked the uninjured cheek, “But I’ll be okay.”

Rip sighed, “I’m so sorry, Gideon.”

“This is not your fault,” she reminded him.

“Oh, but it is,” Druce’s voice came suddenly making Gideon jump and Rip stiffen, “Isn’t it, Rip. Because you couldn’t keep your nose out of my business, your wife and son are dead. And now your new girlfriend is about to join them.”

Rip stood and glared at where he was sure the camera was, “Leave her alone. If you want to kill me, do it but leave her.”

Druce’s laughter filled the room, “Rip, you are still so incredibly naïve. I used to find it amusing but now it’s just pathetic.”

“I’m pathetic?” Rip snapped, “You’re the one standing outside the room, watching us. You want to taunt me, do it to my face.”

Silence followed before a definite click of the lock before the door eased open. Rip moved back to Gideon pulling her to stand behind him as the man who created his nightmares stepped inside.

   Gideon swallowed in fear as their captor stepped in the room, she could feel the anxiety radiating from Rip as she held onto his arm. Sliding her hand into her pocket she felt the small car Kendra had given her earlier. She’d turned it on the moment she realised it was still there but had no idea if they would be able to use it to find her or if anyone would even know she had it. Druce was holding a gun, and Gideon could see a knife tucked into his belt as well.

“Rip,” the older man said, his voice soft and fatherly, “You have no idea how much this hurts me. I taught you, I trained you and you betrayed me.”

Ripples of anger rippled through Rip’s body, while Gideon held onto him tighter so he didn’t do anything stupid.

“All you had to do was what I told you,” Druce continued, “Keep your nose out of my business.”

“You’ve given me this speech once before,” Rip snarled at him.

Druce chuckled, “Of course the night you got your wife and son killed. We are still assuming he was yours, aren’t we?”

Rip pulled out of Gideon’s hold and lunged at Druce, the older man slammed his fist into Rip’s ribs before throwing him across the room. Rip cried out in pain clutching at his side as he gasped for breath

“No,” Gideon cried, freezing when Druce turned and aimed his gun at her.

He gave her a quick smile, “I see that my boy has a type,” Druce noted conversationally, “You resemble Miranda quite a bit, do you know that? Petite, pretty and, from what I’ve been told, very smart. Unfortunately, you’re going to die the same way she did.”

Backing away trying to find a way to get out of the line of fire, Gideon heard a yell when Druce fired the gun. She fell backwards, sliding off the couch to floor aware only of the pain blossoming in her side.

   “No!!!” Rip yelled, pushing himself off the ground towards Druce, managing to deflect the gun slightly. Gideon was hit but it wasn’t a kill shot.

Druce grabbed him, as Gideon fell, “Stupid boy. Now that poor girl will die slowly and painfully instead of quickly. And I’ll make sure you’re here for every second.”

Struggling against Druce, Rip managed to pull away and fell down beside Gideon. He pressed his hand to the wound in her side, trying to stem the flow of blood.

“History repeats itself,” Druce laughed watching them.

Anger filled him and Rip placed Gideon’s hand over the wound, catching her eye so she would keep it there. Mustering all his energy, Rip slammed his shoulder into Druce’s stomach forcing him against the wall, the gun flying out of his hand. The older man grunted before slamming his elbow down on Rip’s back, making him cry out in pain. Druce grabbed Rip’s shoulders and threw him to one side so he slammed into the wall. Rip cried out in pain, his ribs and arm on fire.

“Rip,” Druce shook his head sadly, “I trained you, I nurtured your potential and did everything to make you the best. But you were always so needy. Desperate for a father figure after your own discarded you like the piece of garbage you are. You were so easy to manipulate. A pat on the head and a kind word was all it took. I was happy to shoot you and get rid of you,” Catching Rip’s chin, Druce forced Rip to look at him, “This time, there won’t be any miraculous survival.”

Reaching for his knife Druce frowned, realising it was gone, Rip gave him a malicious smile before slamming the knife he’d lifted during his attack into Druve’s chest.

“That was something you didn’t teach me,” Rip stated coldly.

Surprised, Druce staggered back, clutching the knife as he fell to the ground. Rip dropped down beside Gideon, ripping his shirt to try to bandage her wound.

“Rip,” she whispered.

“Don’t talk,” he told her, “Save your strength. I’ll find a way out of here. Just hold on, okay?”

Gideon gave him a soft sad smile as she nodded.

Noise from outside worried him for a second before he recognised one of the voices.

“Detective West,” Rip yelled, “We’re in here. Gideon’s been shot.”

A few seconds later the room was full of people and Rip was moved away from Gideon who was surrounded by medics.

   Joe West led the team into the small cabin that Ray Palmer had given them the coordinates to, they moved through the front room finding a screen showing a small room. Gideon looked to be hurt while Rip leaned over her and there was what looked like a body half in shot.

“Gideon?” Joe called, “Hunter?”

“Detective West,” Hunter’s cry came from the back of the cabin, “We’re in here. Gideon’s been shot.”

Turning to the officer closest to him, he ordered, “Get the medics.”

Heading towards the room at the back of the building, Joe saw the body of Zamon Druce on one side with a knife through his heart while Hunter was kneeling beside Gideon, his hands pressed to her stomach blood covering his hands and her top.

“Medic,” he yelled.

As the paramedics arrived Joe caught Hunter and moved him back from Gideon, helping him onto the couch.

“Are you okay?” Joe asked Hunter, pulling his attention away from Gideon.

“Ribs and arms hurt from crash,” Hunter murmured, “I don’t think they’re broken.”

Joe nodded before asking, “Druce?”

“I did it,” Hunter replied coldly, “I stopped him this time.” He looked up at Joe worry filling his voice, “Is she okay?”

“Maria,” he called over to the lead paramedic who was organising a gurney into the room, “How is Gideon?”

“She’s stable but we need to get her to the hospital,” Maria told him, “Mr Hunter, you need to come with us too.”

Hunter stood, “Is she okay?”

“She should be,” Maria replied, “If we go now.”

Nodding the other man took a step forward and collapsed unconscious. Joe caught him and sighed, “Well that was inevitable. Let’s get these two out of here.”

[jungshookz]

You know what would be great???? Culinary student! Jin and a hopeless y/n who eats ramen out of coffee pots and eats cool whip straight out of the can. Also ily and I hope you know that

→ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

→ genre: what a surprise it’s bratty!y/n, culinarystudent!jin and his fancy pasta, humour, a touch of nsfw because i’m obsessed with jin’s broAd shoulders it’s almost ridiculous

→ wordcount: 3.4k

→ note: i hope i did ur request justice also i love u more :~)))

(gif isn’t mine!) ((also i was going to use a gif of him actually cooking but tumblr refusEd to accept it so i’m sorry)) 

listen

being completely honest

jin thinks you’re really cute

like SUPER cute

like he’s really REALLy frickin attracted to you because you’re just so??? yOU and somehow it works and it gets his gears GRINDING okay

you were the one who moved in right next door and you greeted him with a friendly smile and a ‘here, i baked cookies!’ and of course he accepted the cookie because he’s not a complete monster

but good GOD

that cookie was awful

and to be fair he’s a culinary student so it makes sense that he has high standards but even a fOOL would know that your cookies were god-awful

before you got the chance to distribute your nasty cookies out to the rest of the people on your floor jin was like hEY hEY how about you give me.,.,,. all of your cookies,.,.. because i,.,. really like them.,.,., and.,., i want to eat.,.,. all of them.,., thank u., yes,.

anyways

you’ve known each other for almost eight months?

and nothing has happened because let’s be real

you’re both wussies

and no one’s admitting anything to anyone so you’re kind of in this flirty-friendly space and you’re both FULLY aware that there’s like.,.,. a sprinkle of flirting going on.,,

but you know what

that’s beside the point

he doesn’t even know why he’s thinking about his undeniable crusH on you

because right now all jin can focus on is the fact that you’re eating ramen out of a coffee pot

let him repeat himself

you’re eating ramen

out of a

a COFFEE pot

you’re in the middle of rambling to him about your day and he’s trying to pay attention to what you’re saying but he wants to scream every time to pause to sluRP out of the coffee pot

laundry room gossip is a pretty normal thing for you two

you’re both so busy during the day

you with your classes and jin with his culinary classes

so once or twice a week you’ll both coordinate a time to come down and do your laundry together (you guys usually shove all your clothes in together because u end up saving some $$ too) and you’ll both end up sitting there for a couple hours just talking to each other while waiting for your clothes

jin raises a brow before pressing his lips together

his mother raised him not to be judgemental but COME ON

RAMEN

out of a COFEE POT??????

out of all the things he’s seen you done this has to be the absolute worst

here are a couple of examples as to what monstrosities you’ve exposed him to:

a cold pizza sandwich (two slices of cold pizza with a drizzle of ranch and crunched up cheetos as the filling)

cereal eaten out of the baG ITSELF (u poured the milk in and everything)

chicken pancakes?? aka shredded deep fried chicken and shredded cheese mixed inTO pancake batter and panfried and then topped with a dollop of sour cream and a sprinkle of green onions

one time you made scrambled eggs in a mug and dat shit looked nasty

but this

this doesn’t even make sense

disrespecting what looks like a pretty high-quality coffee pot (he remembers you got it for christmas or something) by using it as a holder for $1 ramen

it’s probably going to stink up the coffee pot and every time you make coffee it’s always going to have that faint aftertaste of chicken broth

a shudder goes down his spine and he winces

you perk up when the drying machine suddenly beeps and stops rumbling “god finaLLy”

jin keeps his eyes glued on the damn coffee pot as you set it down next to your basket and go to retrieve your freshly-dried clothes

you bend down and pop open the dryer and the loud hiss makes jin look over

“jin?” he glances away quickly and looks up at the ceiling as a poor attempt to conceal the fact that he was totally just checking u out just now

“hm, what?” he clears his throat

“aren’t you going to come and get your clothes?”

“oh, right.” jin pushes himself up off the ground and grabs his basket

he props it up on his hip and starts picking out his clothes from the pile

“hey, these are cute.” jin can’t help but smirk as he twirls a burgundy thong around his finger

your cheeks flame up immediately

“cut it out, you perv” you scowl playfully and grab it from him quickly

the little voice in the back of your mind can’t help but wonder if perhaps jin would be interested in seeing you wear the thong

it comes with a matching bralette

hm

“ya-“ jin pokes your arm and you look over at him “was that your dinner?” he points to the coffee pot and you glance over at it “didn’t you have ramen yesterday?”

“…yeah. instant ramen has been my dinner every day for the past week. why?” you hum nonchalantly and continue picking through the pile

you help jin out and toss one of his white t-shirts into his basket

jin can’t help but let his jaw drop

you’ve been eating processed garBAGe for the past weEK

how???????????

“it’s never enough for me tho so i usually eat a bag of chips too. i might have a frozen mac n’ cheese thingy in the freezer so that’s an option too.” you gasp excitedly “ooh i can crumble the chips over the mac n’ chee-“

“oh my god.” all of a sudden jin reaches over and puShes the rest of the clothes into his basket before grabbing your wrist and dragging you towards the door

“hey, we haven’t finished sorting out the-“

“we’ll do it later i just need to get some actual foOD into your system before all the MSG and sodium starts breakING down your internal organs”

as he’s dragging you up the stairs (the elevator is broken again what a surprise) you can’t help but admire how b r o a d his shoulders are

the cotton shirt he’s wearing is kinda thin and u swear u can see his back muscles flexing slightly

you can’t help but wonder what it’d feel like

running your hands all along his back

digging your nails into his shoulders as he,.,,., y’know

wrapping your legs around his tapered waist as he.,,.,.,. y’knOW

s i g h

you purposely pull back a little so jin slows down and gives u more time to ogle him

are you a pervert for doing that

you might be

“let me see what’s in your fridge so i can work my magic”

he’s never actually been in your apartment before

well

he’s never had a reaSon to

(you always wanna invite him in to watch a movie or something but u get shy and shrivel up immediately)

he has a good idea of the layout because his place is exactly the same as yours

he’s not surprised to see that your place is relatively neat and organised besides a couple scattered markers on the coffee table and a throw blanket tossed haphazardly over the couch

there’s a candle burning away in the middle of the coffee table that makes your place smell like warm vanilla

but then

he enters the war zone

the kitchen

oh my god

this is a living nightmare

this is HIS living nightmare

there’s just

he sees all the takeout boxes in the bin and the pizza box sitting on your kitchen island and the- well that must’ve been your breakfast or something because you sprinkled cinnamon toast crunch on a bagel smeared with waY too much cream cheese

“oh hey i forgot about this” a piece of jin’s soul dies and floats up to heaven when you pop the rest of your cinnamon-cream-cheese-bagel monstrosity into your mouth and chew thoughtfully

why does he like you

“ah, i probably should’ve offered you a bite… i’ll make one for you tomorrow if you want!”

whY DOES HE LIKE U

“i’m… good. i think i’m more than good.” he shudders before nudging past you heading to your fridge “lemme see what we’re working with here…”

“you know you really don’t have to make anything for me. i told you i had a frozen mac and cheese…” you’re rambling and jin is most certainly not paying attention to you mainly because he’s shocked becAUSE you have like NOTHING in your fridge

a bottle of three-cheese ranch

a couple oranges, an avocado, and one red apple

a half-eaten sandwich?? it looks like turkey and a shitload of mayo

a takeout box with…,,. three pieces of orange chicken and a piece of broccoli that you’ve taken a bite out of

a baby carton of chocolate milk and a regular sized carton of milk

and a can of cool whip

unless he makes an orange-chicken-turkey-avocado sandwich with ranch on the side accompanied with a glass of chocolate milk with a dollop of whipped cream on top there’s not a lot he can do here

is thiS how you live

“you know what, maybe you should just come over to my place!” jin closes the fridge and clasps his hands together “yeah, let’s do that.”

“what do you mean?? i have plenTy of food in my fridg- okAy” you stumble over your feet when jin grabs your wrist and drags you away from the fridge

when you enter jin’s place he pushes you down on the couch and you nearly bounce off of it “you stay here, and i’ll whip something up for us.”

as he turns to head towards his kitchen he hears a vioLent schrrr

he turns back around and your finger freezes on the nozzle on the whipped cream canister

“wha- where did you even hiDe that” jin furrows his brows and you shrug before squirting some more into your mouth

“you sure you don’t need any help??” you’re already bored and you’ve only been here for less than a minute

“i don’t want you burning down my kitchen, so i’m good.”

“but i’m boRed and i’m hunGRY” you whine and flop back against the couch

jin raises a brow before bending down and grabbing the remote

he turns the tv on and it just so happens to be playing the late-night cartoons

perfect for a petulant child like you

miraculously jin gets 20 minutes of peace and quiet until he hears you whining again about how hunGry again

that’s what happens when you eat nothing but empty calorie foods

your eyes light up with excitement when jin emerges from the kitchen

he has a rag tossed over his shoulder and a grey apron hanging around him that you assume is from his culinary school

his cheeks are kinda pink from the heat of the kitchen which is adorable

he sits down next to you and you turn to fully face him while crossing your legs

he hands you the plate

wow

“….do you go to culinary school or something?” you tease and jin snorts

the pasta’s been plated into a loose nest and there’s a pretty little basil leaf sitting on top

“chicken, bacon, and spinach spaghetti. and since you’re a whipped cream freak we can have assorted berries and whipped cream for dessert.”

“assorted berries.” you mock quietly and jin scowls playfully before handing you a fork

he doesn’t know why but he’s a little bit nervous lol

like he KNOWS he’s good at cooking but for some reason he feels like he’s presenting a dish to gordon ramsay or someone of that calibre

you twirl a bit of pasta around the fork and shove it into your mouth

and you didn’t think it was possible

but you’re pretty sure your mouth is having an orgasm

HOLy shit

fireworks are going OFF

the bacon has retained its crisp

the spinach is wilted but not toO wilted that it’s falling apart

the chicken is so soft and tender

the spaghetti is cooked *ahem* al dente

and the sauce!!!!

it’s so creamy

so flavourful

you swallow your bite and blink down at the plate of pasta

“what’s wrong?”

“this is…. almost too good.” you mutter and poke at a piece of perfectly cooked chicken before stabbing into it and popping it into your mouth

jin’s cheeks warm with pride as he watches you continue to eat

“it’s almost as good as my frozen mac n cheese meals.” you joke and jin resists the urge to smack you with his rag

it doesn’t matter if you’ve eaten 20 pounds of food for dinner because you’ll always aLWAys have room for dessert

especially if dessert involves whipped cream

it’s healthy-ish!! it’s basically dairy and don’t u need dairy for strong bones or something

and strawberries and blueberries are fruit

and fruit is healthy

so if you really think about it assorted berries and whipped cream is the ideal combo if u wanna get in shape

jin doesn’t trust you with the canister of whipped cream (because he’s 100% sure you’re just going to hog all the cream and squirt all of it into your mouth) so he’s squirting some out onto a particularly juicy looking strawberry that he knoWS you want to devour

he turns and offers it to you and your mouth opens automatically as you lean forward to take it into your mouth

“hold on now.” your brows immediately knit together when he pulls away juSt as you’re about to take a bite “admit it. my spaghetti is much better than your stupid mac n cheese meals.” there’s a glint of playfulness in his eyes as he points to his ear and waits for your response

“i dunno. i get the mac n cheese from whole foods so you know it’s good.” you tsk but keep your eyes right on the berry hovering in front of you

“huh. i guess i’ll be enjoying this seasonal japanese strawberry for myself, then.” jin pouts mockingly

“nO i WANT IT“ jin yelps when you’re suddenly clambering over and grabbing his wrist so that you can shoVe the berry right into your mouth

now

a normal person would eat the berry and then return to their seat

unsurprisingly

you are far from a normal person

you keep your hold on his wrist and suck the whipped cream off his thumb after swallowing the strawberry

god have mercy

your eyes flicker up and you see jin staring right at you with parted lips

“…something the matter?”

and within one second

the berries and your trusty canister of whipped cream have both been abandoned in favour for

well

“can’t believe it took you thiS long to make a move” you murmur against jin’s mouth and he responds by nipping at your bottom lip

“says you!” he gawks before proceeding to press kisses down your neck

and you finALLY get to feel his muscles rippLe underneath the soft cotton of his shirt as you slide your hands from his waist to his back

meanwhile jin’s hand has found its home in between your legs and your eyes flutter shut “god, jin…”

“something the matter?” he mocks before pressing a chaste kiss to your mouth “you gonna admit it now?”

“admit wha- oh, jin - admit whaT”

“that my food is better than your frozen TV dinners” you would’ve burst out laughing if it weren’t for the shocks of electricity tingling up your spine

“n-no way-“ your back arches against his chest and your mouth falls open in a silent moan

and suddenly

you let out a pathetic whine when jin’s hand pulls away from in between your legs “fine. i guess we’re done here!” he sits up but keeps your legs wrapped around his waist

god

you are just a vision aren’t you

you’re flopped back against the arm of the couch

your chest is heaving slightly

your cheeks and nice n rosy

“you are the absolute worst.”

“c’mon… say it…”  he hums and slides a finger from your knee cap to your inner thigh

you know for a fact you two aren’t done here because jin’s already hooked a finger into the waistband of your shorts but you’re naturally a veRy impatient person and so-

“fine, you idiot. your food is significantly better than my frozen TV dinners. happy?”

“…i’ll take it.”

((spoiler alert: you are rewarded with not one not two but thREE mind-blowing orgasms for admitting it))

((maybe you should learn to be less stubborn))

“good morning!” jin is startled awake when you plop on top of him with your legs on either side of him “it’s 10 o’clock and i made us some food”

“christ, don’t scare me like that!” jin scolds you playfully and reaches up to pinch the side of your bare thigh

you’re wearing the shirt he had on last night and it’s starting to droop off your shoulder

“good morning indeed.” his voice is thick with sleep and his hand slides up from your thigh to grasp at your waist “whatcha got there?”

“cinnamon toast crunch bagel” you murmur with a mouthful of bagel and swipe at a lil chunk of cream cheese on the corner of your mouth “my wonderful creation that i made fresh for you”

you’re getting crumbs all over jin but he can’t seem to care because the idea of a cinnamon toast crunch bagel makes him want to throW YOU ouT THE WINDOW

he sits up slowly and wraps an arm around your waist before nuzzling into the crook of your neck “you’re lucky i like you otherwise i would throw your wonderful creation righT into the garbage bin right about now.”

you scoff in mock offence and pull away from him before jabbing a sticky finger into his bare (b r o a d) chest

“don’t knock it til you try it!!”

“the day i try one of your inventions is the day i- mmph!” you shut him up and shove the last bite of your bagel into his mouth before clasping your hand over his mouth so he can’t spit it out

jin chews slowly

and swallows

what the hell

that actually..,,. that tasted good

“that was okay, i suppose. kinda sweet. but i can think of something that might taste a little sweeter.” before you know it jin is flipPing you over and you find yourself pinned underneath him

you’re a giggling mess because you’re trying to get the cream cheese and sugar particles off your fingers but jin is being very vEry distracting

“hOLd on a second sir i have breakfast waiting for us in the living room!” jin’s already made his way down your chest and is about to set up shop in between your legs

he looks up at you before offering you a cheeky grin “…i’m in the mood for breakfast in bed, aren’t you?”

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

masterlist

[sabraeal]

Wide Florida Bay: They come from two entirely different worlds. Their friendship is a surprise most days, even to them. -Kiki and Obi finding common ground because of, or rather in spite of, their incredibly different upbringings.

“What are you wearing?”

Obi jerks back, head catching painfully on the closet jamb. Some pointed four-lettered opinions pour out of his mouth about it before he glances over his shoulder. Kiki’s perched on his bed, practically lounging, and for a minute he’s glad people can’t breath smoke because he’d be steaming.

“Why does everyone say I need a bell when you exist?” he grouses, turning back to his task of unearthing his duffel bag from the mount of crap that litters the floor. One good yank gives him nothing but a crick in his back, and he has some real words about that too.

“Because,” she drawls, one eyebrow raised at his struggle, “people want me to catch them with their dicks out. Now, what are you wearing?”

“What, like, now?” He looks down, assessing his gym shorts and half-zipped track jacket. Strictly doing-sweaty-chores material. Real laundry day couture. “Why, Ms Kiki, I could be wearing nothing but a pair of boxer-briefs and a smile, if you just say the –”

Kiki makes eye rolls look as easy as breathing and as elegant as waltz. “I meant for your date.”

“Oh.” He yanked at his duffel strap again, trying to have some reason not to meet her eyes. The thing won’t budge. He rubs his neck. “You mean the bid thing.”

“No.” The word is all edges, made to cut. “I meant your date.”

Air burst from him, like he’s been hit. She might as well, if she’s going to be – be like this.

“I don’t know.’ He twitches his shoulders, as close to a shrug as the tension in his muscles will allow. “Any of your places got a dress code? I think I have a sports jacket somewhere.”

“You mean that awful thing you wore to the frat banquet?” She wrinkles her nose. “Absolutely not. The only thing that’s fit to be at is it’s own viking funeral.”

Annoyance nips at him. “Well, it’s what I have.”

“Get something better.”

She says it so easily, and of course she does – Kiki Seiran has never had to sit down at her kitchen table and decide whether she gets a new pair of shoes or eats for the rest of the month. She doesn’t look at a hole in her jeans and wonders if she can soak the cost. Her net worth is estimated in the billions; she could wear her designer jeans once and throw them out every day for the rest of her life, and still never worry about whether she can Christmas in the Alps.

“It’s what I have,” he grits out, wondering if there’s any amount of emphasis that can break through that level of affluence. If her face is an indication, this isn’t enough.

She unfurls from his bed, eyebrows lifted with impatience. “Let’s go, you can’t bring that and – what is that, a skull tie? – on your date.”

There’s no amount of breathing that can get rid of the tension in his back now. “I don’t have the money for that.”

She shrugs, like the fact that some people have finite resources is a speed bump, not a road block. “I’m paying, then.”

“You already did your rich thing to get us the dinner reservation.” His hands fist in his lap. “And you’re paying for the hotel.”

“I’m not paying for the hotel,” she tell him, pedantic. “Seiran’s don’t –”

“It’s the same thing!” He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but she just – she won’t listen. “It’s too much. You’re doing everything –”

“You’re paying for the –”

“That’s not what I mean,” he snaps, getting to his feet. He can barely stand to look at her. “You can’t just – fix everything for me. I’m not a charity you donate to so you can feel better about yourself.”

He’d swear the temperature drops ten degrees. “I didn’t say you were.”

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “But you all act like it.”

She’s silent for a long, long while.

“Fine,” she says, but the word is flat, roadkill on the highway. “I didn’t realize you felt like that.”

He lets out a breath. “It’s hard not to.”

“Never –” She bows her head, lips pressing together. “Never mind abut the shopping. What ever you have – it’s fine. I’m sure.”

Relief hits him like a wave. “Good. It’s what I have.”

“Don’t worry, Obi.”She smiles at him, lips parting to show teeth, and – and it’s not real. He can count on his hands the amount of times he’s seen Kiki smile – really smile – and this is limping next to that. It needs to be taken out behind the shed and put out of its misery. “Whatever you have is enough.”

She closes the door, leaving him alone in a room so cold it might as well be haunted.

“Well,” he mutters to himself. “That went shitty.”

Kiki is definitely upset.

She can’t just say it, of course not, but Obi knows how to tell. There’s no miraculous second smoothie out of the blender at Starbucks when she meets him for kickboxing in the evening. She doesn’t stop by his room to tell him when she’s done with the shower, leaving him to practically have to step on Kai and Shuuka to get in there before they mess it up. Texts he sends her no longer get a k in response, just…silence.

He knows he’s in trouble, though, when she’s not waiting at the bottom of the stairs Wednesday morning.

“What the fuck,” he tells the carpet. “It’s leg day.”

He pads into the kitchen, thinking maybe she’s – running late, or something. But instead of Kiki and a bowl of kashi, Zen is pouring syrup on a stack of Eggos, blinking at him owlishly as he peers around the corner.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, capping the bottle. It’s in the shape of a maple leaf; Mitsuhide’s family taps it themselves. Because if you’re going to be as Canadian as Mitsuhide is, you might as well go big or go home, or something. “Are people actually awake this early?”

“Dude, you know Mitsuhide.” The man is more regular than a rooster when it comes to getting up at dawn.

Ooh, he’ll have to remember that one. You get up more regularly than a cock is sure to get some quality glowering out of the Big Guy. “You seen Kiki?”

“She already left. To meet you, I thought.” Zen squints, taking in his gym shorts and tank. “Hey, are you guys having a fight or something? It’s just been…weird around here, lately.”

Obi lets out a hopeless sigh. “Fuck if I know.”

Zen’s head nods sagely. “Yeah, she’s like that. What do you think it was?”

“I don’t know.” That’s only half a lie, but – Zen’s trying to help. Obi braces himself. “I don’t know, a little while ago she was asking me about like, what I was gonna wear to t-t–”

Oh, goddamn it. Maybe he really needs to talk to Mitsuhide about this.

Zen’s eyes suddenly focus on him, not wary but – watchful. “To your thing with Shirayuki,” he supplies, casual.

“Yeah. My…thing.” He scrubs at his face. His stupid fucking feelings need to just – stop. It’s getting inconvenient. “And I said I had, like, a sports coat –”

“Not the one you wore to the banquet right?” Zen pops a soggy piece of waffle into his mouth. “Because that thing belongs in the garbage.”

“Oh my god, let me live.” Obi tugs at his hair and just – is there some sort of magazine rich people subscribe to so they can be so out of touch? “Anyway, she said she’d take me shopping, and I just – I tried to say no, and she pushed and I said –”

He’s not dumb enough to repeat that part. Not to Zen.

“– No, only…not nice.” He lets out a dry laugh. “Ish.”

“Ah,” Zen says, like it explains everything.

“Ah?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” He chews thoughtfully, fork end tapping at his chin. “Kiki doesn’t know how else to be friends.”

Something ugly twists in him. That can’t be right. “She thinks friendship is just…spending money on people?”

Zen’s shoulders twitch. “Yeah. I mean, Seiran International is worth something in the order of billions. Everyone at our school was in the one-percent, you know, but Kiki – I mean, I don’t even know how small that decimal has to be. And just – some people were more…inclined to take advantage of that than others.”

All his joints feel stiff, petrified in revulsion. “You mean some people were her friends because she would spend money on them? Kiki put up with that?”

Chief’s eyebrows furrow, mouth bent into a frown. “Middle school and high school is rough for everyone, no matter how much money you have. Her mom had just died, she was an only child – I mean, we were friends but like – I don’t know, rumors would start up whenever we were together.”

“So you just left her to deal with it on her own?” What the fuck kind of friendship was that?

“No! Of course not.” His cheeks are flushed, angry. “She hated them too. We wouldn’t talk in school, just after, and only when there weren’t cameras around to catch us. So she had to find other friends, and it just –” he shrugs, uncomfortable – “it made things easier for her. To think she had control over it like that.”

“So now she thinks that I don’t want to be her friend?” God, people this rich are from another planet entirely.

“No, it’s just…” He shakes his head. “She knows you’re friends. But I think you made her feel weird. You took something she thought was good and made it…not. If you get what I mean.”

Strangely, he sort of does. “I pretty much told her I didn’t appreciate her caring about me.”

“Yeah, sort of like that.” Zen coughs, awkward. “I’m not saying you should just…let her. You don’t like it, and it’s probably not good for her to keep this up. But…” He sighs. “Maybe just…be gentler about it.”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I – I got you.”

She’s there when he gets in, face flushed as she pumps her legs on the machine. He drops his towel down on the next bench, watching her ignore him.

“Thanks for waiting,” he says, a little pettier than he means to start with, but, well – fuck it. His feelings are hurt too. “You really need a spotter if you’re going to do that much weight.”

Her legs shake. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He steps by the machine, just like how he’s used to, watching the way she won’t look at him. “You always are.”

“Glad you know the score.”

“Hm.” He rubs at his neck, scrounging for words. Or confidence. he could do with either right about now. “So.”

Her legs stutter in her rep. “So?”

“If I let you dress me up,” he starts haltingly, “I still get final veto power, right?”

At the bottom of her rep, she hesitates. “Depends. Who picked out that blazer?”

“I did.”

Her mouth splits in a grin. “Then no.”

“I was nineteen. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“That’s the whole problem.” She pushes at the weighs again, gaze darting over to him before fixing on the ceiling. “You can have an opinion. I’ll listen to it. Probably.”

“That doesn’t seem like a compromise at all.” He’s missed this. There’s a grin on his face he can’t keep down. “I feel like I should get a vote, at least. I’ve dressed myself just fine since.”

“Tell that to your shorts.”

“These,” he sniffs, “were five-ninety-nine at Target. It was thrifty.”

“You get a vote but don’t get to ask the price.” She turns her head just slightly to look at him. “Final offer.”

“Fine. Deal.” She puts the weights in their starting configuration, curling upright. “That’s your set?”

“Yeah.” She wipes down the seat. “Pleasure doing business with you. Your turn.”

“So gracious.” He lays down his old towel, strangely comforted by the heat her body as left behind. “Also, Kiki…”

She’s changing the bolt to his preferred weight, but she looks up, interested. “Hm?”

“If something’s important to you, just tell me.”

Her gaze darts away, but her hand lingers, squeezing around the knob. “It was important to you too. And you weren’t…as wrong as I liked.”

“Kiki.” He waits until she’s looking at him, until he’s sure she sees him. “You are what’s important to me, okay? Just…say something.”

Her eyes shift away, but a smile lingers at the corners of her lips. “Yeah, I’ll…keep that in mind.”

[whumpingwillow]

Just a casual Spider-Man sickfic because I love love love Peter Parker. This is the first I’ve ever written, but I hope it turned out okay. Please be kind :) It’s from Tony’s POV because I just thought that would be interesting 

Fandom: Spider-Man: Homecoming / MCU  

Word count: 2209

Warnings: a bit of vomiting, but no vivid descriptions.

________________________________________________________________

From the minute Peter had walked in with Happy that afternoon, the kid had been unusually subdued. For any other person, unusually subdued might entail that person being a little more quiet and reserved than he or she otherwise would be. For Peter, it was so much more than that. Subdued was the very antithesis of his entire being.

Peter Parker was an unbelievably chatty person. He had so much to say that Tony had almost forgotten what he looked like with his mouth shut, and Happy’s voicemail hadn’t been empty since he gave the kid his number. Peter would talk to himself if there was nobody else around to listen, and he had even been known to strike up a conversation with his opponent mid-battle. Tony had seen the boy angry, excited, disappointed, close to tears… but quiet? Never.

Tony looked up from the web cartridge he was fiddling with to steal another glance at Peter. The kid was sitting across from him with his chin propped up on his fist, staring vacantly at the web fluid notes scattered on the table. Tony had invited him to the tower to discuss making some minor changes to the formula, but there had been very little discussion so far. Just some mumbled affirmations and half-hearted smiles. Now his eyes were slipping closed like he might fall asleep.

“Am I boring you or what?” Tony asked loudly. Peter was so startled his chair went rolling backwards and his elbow slipped out from under him, sending papers flying everywhere. His chin hit the edge of the table with a resounding smack.

“Mr. Stark! I’m sorry, I just zoned out for a second. I’ll pick these up.” Peter rubbed his chin for a second and then ducked under the table, scrambling around on the floor to rake up all the loose sheets.

“That literally looked like something out of a cartoon,” Tony commented, raising his eyes to the ceiling and sighing in a long suffering fashion before setting down the web cartridge and ducking under the table as well. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Peter reflexively sat up to answer, thinking Tony was still standing up on the other side of the table, and bashed his head into its underside. Tony winced.

“I-I’m okay!” Peter called out immediately, but Tony didn’t miss the way his voice cracked.

“Would you just sit back and take it easy before you actually knock yourself out?” Tony responded in exasperation. He plucked the notes Peter had already gathered out of his hands and quickly swept up the others with his arm. Peter miraculously didn’t protest. He just scooted backwards out from under the table and sat cross-legged on the floor, looking a little bit dazed.

Tony shuffled the papers into a neat stack on the tabletop and then made his away around back to Peter. He stuck his hand out, and Peter looked at it for a second before grabbing it and letting himself be pulled up off the floor. He swayed a little once he was upright. Tony noted his glassy eyes and pale complexion.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark, sorry about th—”

“Stop apologizing,” Tony interrupted, and then carried on talking through Peter’s obvious internal struggle over whether he should apologize for apologizing. “Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on? Because now you look a little like you might throw up,” he paused, gesturing vaguely at all the elaborate gadgetry surrounding them in the workshop, “on my multimillion-dollar equipment,” he finished.

Peter just shrugged. Teenagers. Tony tried to reign in his frustration.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Tony asked, holding up three.

“Three. I don’t have a concussion,” Peter insisted, shifting his eyes to the ground, clearly uncomfortable under Tony’s intense scrutiny. Tony was not inclined to take his word for it. Sure, he probably didn’t have a concussion from banging his head on the table, but Tony didn’t know what kind of wild antics the kid might have been getting up to earlier in the day or week. Something was clearly wrong with him.

Tony reached out and lifted the kid’s chin up, trying to get a good luck at his eyes to make sure his pupils weren’t unequal sizes or anything else just as alarming. Immediately he felt an uncomfortable warmth radiating from Peter’s skin that suggested something else was wrong entirely. Tony changed direction, smoothing a palm against Peter’s forehead, and his suspicions were confirmed.

“How long have you been running a fever?” Tony asked. Peter stepped away from him and sat back down in the rolling chair.

“Fever?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“Don’t sound so shocked. You must have been feeling pretty rough for a while now. I’d chew you out for not telling me, but I can’t do it when you’re standing there shivering like a homeless Chihuahua.”

Peter looked a little indignant at the comparison but didn’t seem to have the energy to object.

“Alright, tell me how you’re feeling, and be honest. I don’t have the patience for any of that ‘I’m fine’ garbage. I spent a year actively dying and told no one, so I’m no stranger to the brave face routine.”

“You spent a year actively dying?” Peter completely ignored the question.

“Do as I say, not as I do.” Tony picked Peter’s backpack up off the floor. He stuck the papers and the web cartridge inside it, zipped it back up, and slung it over his shoulder like a schoolboy. “Happy’s going to take you home, but I’ve already sent him out to run an errand. I don’t know when he’ll be back. In the meantime, I’m taking you down to medical.”

“This is unnecessary,” Peter began, but one piercing glare from Tony ended that train of thought.

“Level with me, Parker. Is it your stomach, your throat, your head? Is it some infected festering wound you’re hiding from me?”

Peter put a hand across his abdomen, swallowing thickly, and then sighed in resignation. “Stomach.”

Yikes. “You need a trash can?” Tony strode across the room and grabbed the smallest one without waiting for an answer. Better safe than sorry. He thrust it at the boy, who wrapped his arms around it without any further objections and stood up slowly.

Tony sighed inwardly, taking in the the pallor to Peter’s skin, the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, and the exhausted slump of his shoulders. He should’ve put the pieces together sooner. Had the kid looked this terrible when he got here? With a flat palm resting between Peter’s shoulder blades, he steered him towards the door.

********************

They almost made it to medical without any incidents.

Peter had looked uncomfortable during the entire snail-paced walk, but Tony couldn’t tell if it was because he felt sick or because he felt self-conscious—probably both. Tony had rambled incessantly to fill the silence, and Peter had occasionally given a feeble laugh or smile to reassure Tony that he was, in fact, still alive.

They had just stepped off the elevator into the hallway where medical was located when Peter abruptly stopped, his knuckles going white as his hands tightened around the small garbage can he’d been toting around.

“Um, M-Mr. Stark, can we stop for a second?” Peter asked shakily, even though Tony had already halted and turned around.

“We’re almost there kid. See that room? Can you make it?” Tony spoke calmly despite all the alarms blaring in his head telling him to panic. Peter opened his mouth to reply but gagged unproductively instead.

Tony was entirely out of his element. Sure, he had held Pepper’s hair back on an occasion or two, but this was different. Peter was just a kid. Tony’s own stomach turned at the thought of Peter out web-slinging in this state or even under normal circumstances. Tony nearly had heart palpitations every time the boy got knocked over in battle and took a second too long to get back up.

The experience of worrying about someone certainly wasn’t foreign to Tony, but worrying about a kid? Feeling responsible for someone as youthful and reckless and unwaveringly kind as Peter, whose heart was as big as his mouth, whose self preservation instincts were constantly being drowned out in the interest of heroism? It was incredibly overwhelming; however, speculating about the blind terror of having a teenager right in the center of violent combat actually brought the current situation into perspective. This wasn’t life threatening. This was the stomach flu. Tony could handle the stomach flu.

As if Peter wanted to test Tony’s resolve, he gagged again, and this time it was followed by a  sickening splatter in the metallic can. Tony put a hand on Peter’s back, vaguely alarmed at the heat he could feel through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, and waited patiently for him to finish.

Peter’s hands were shaking. Tony really didn’t want him to drop the trash can now.  

“Are you finished?”

“Uh, I think.” Peter replied shakily, which wasn’t particularly reassuring.

“Here, I’ll take that.” Tony pried Peter’s clammy hands off the rim of the can and took it from him. Then he guided Peter to the room on the right, holding open the heavy door with one hand and holding the bin as far away from himself as possible with the other. Peter shivered as the slightly cooler air hit him.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Adjust the thermostat a few degrees, would you?”

“Of course, Sir,” the A.I. responded.

Letting the door swing shut behind him, Tony slipped into the adjacent bathroom to deal with the mess in the trash can. Peter followed, insisting that he could clean it up.

“I can do it, Mr. Stark. I’m sorry, this is my fau—” Peter swallowed hard, getting a glimpse of the bin’s contents as Tony washed them down the sink.

“Lots of things are your fault. This isn’t,” Tony answered shortly,  finishing his task and washing his hands thoroughly. “You must feel terrible already. Stop adding unnecessary guilt to the picture.”

Peter backed out of the doorway, allowing Tony to come back through to the main room. Tony, all business, immediately started hunting through different drawers in search of some kind of medication. What was it you weren’t supposed to give to a kid? Aspirin maybe?

“Mr. Stark...?” Peter’s voice wavered a bit.

“Yeah?” he replied, not looking up from the task at hand.

“...are you mad at me?”

Tony sighed heavily and turned around. Peter was holding himself up against the bathroom doorframe, innocently, like he wasn’t trying to break Tony’s heart with his wobbly knees and his unwarranted apologies and stupid questions like the one he’d just asked.

“No, I’m not mad at you,” Tony said in a much gentler voice than usual.  “But I’m gonna need you to stop thinking you’re a major inconvenience to me, because that’s not true.” He turned back to the cabinet, resuming his search, and then spoke again in his customary tone. “Now please, sit down before you pass out and crack your skull on my recently polished floor.”

The creak of the bedsprings told him Peter had fulfilled his request.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you give me a read on Peter’s temperature?”

“Mr. Parker’s current temperature is 102.8 degrees. I advise fluids to combat dehydration. Perhaps some acetaminophen to reduce fever,” the A.I. supplied helpfully.

Tony frowned, digging a bottle of Tylenol out of the drawer and rattling a couple of pills onto his flat palm. Then he pulled a paper cup out of the cabinet and filled it with water from the sink. “This may not even do anything for you and your spider-esque body chemistry, but humor me,” he instructed, placing the cup in one of Peter’s hands and the medication in the other.

Peter swallowed the pills one after the other, with a gulp of water in between. His shaking hands sloshed a little water down the front of his shirt and then onto the table by the bed when he tried to set it down.

Tony made no comment. Instead he crossed the room to the supply closet in search of a blanket. He pulled an old blue one out from under a stack of crisp white sheets and tossed it towards the bed.

Peter’s reflexes were still sharp enough to catch it without looking.

“Why don’t you lie down for a little while? I’m going to go call Happy and see whereabouts he’s at. I’m sure you want to go home, but I think it’s probably a good idea to let your stomach settle a little before putting you in a vehicle for such a lengthy ride.”

Peter nodded and crawled under the covers. Tony asked FRIDAY to dim the lights considerably and to notify him if Peter got sick again before making his way to the door. He was pulling his phone out of his pocket to call Happy when Peter faintly called out his name.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Tony looked over his shoulder at Peter’s lanky blanketed form and smiled slightly, unable to contain the surge of affection he felt for him.

“Feel better, kid.”

[marypsue]

Beth leaves shortly after Summer heads upstairs to pack. Slams the headset down on the counter hard enough to put a crack in the viewscreen, sick of the nausea curdling in the pit of her stomach at the sight of the empty house, the birdcages dominating every corner of the main room. Sure, it's a dream life. It's also completely out of her grasp. And the darkness of the room is suffocating.

"Can we find another channel?" Jerry's complaining, as Beth makes her way behind the couch to the stairs. "Think we've all seen just about enough of ourselves for one lifetime."

She isn't planning to leave, at first. She's just planning to remove herself from the kitchen, and earshot of her family, and easy reach of the wine. Make it easier for herself to make positive life decisions, to do something constructive instead of destructive, all those platitudes she's picked up from the (useless) marriage counseling sessions. She's better than this, she's better than - she won't let a little (enormous) thing like this drag her down. Beth will rise above, she will be steady in the face of adversity and she'll set a good example for the kids and - and -

There's a thump from down the hall, Summer slamming her closet door, and Beth sags against the wall.

Summer opens her mouth to yell when Beth pushes open her door, but stops when Beth grabs the garbage bag full of clothes and says, "If you can't carry it down the stairs, then you're not going to be able to haul it all the way across the country. And you'll want it to be able to fit in the overhead bins on an airplane or a bus. Don't you have a duffel bag somewhere?"

"Wait, you're...helping me run away from home?" Summer asks, squinting suspiciously and pulling the garbage bag in close to her chest. Beth can't blame her. "You're my mom. Aren't you supposed to, like, try and talk me out of it?"

"Probably," Beth says. "Did you pack a good winter coat? It gets cold in the desert at night, and you'll probably end up spending a few of them outside."

"Oh, I get it. This is some kind of reverse psychology thing where you pretend you're helping me, but really you're just trying to scare me out of going," Summer snaps. "Well, don't bother. Just get out of my room, okay? Haven't you already made enough of a mess of your own life?"

...

It's so much easier than she'd imagined.

Well. No. If Beth is being honest with herself - and she's trying to, she's done with lying to herself - it's exactly as easy as she'd always imagined it would be. She makes sure she has her passport, all her ID and credit cards, her best clothes and her good jewellery. Something warm to wear on cold nights. The taser, from when Summer was little and they lived in that shitty apartment downtown and she'd had to take the bus back from the surgery at all hours.

And she leaves.

She walks straight past the living room and no one even turns around. Nobody notices the squeaky wheel of her suitcase as she drags it across the floor, nobody notices the creak of the hinges when the door opens. A tinny voice from the television makes a lame dick joke, and her father - the father who'd almost miraculously reappeared in her life after abandoning them without a word, after being away for so long that she'd started to think she'd never see him again, the man she's spent her entire lifetime simultaneously longing to have back and yet trying not to become - bursts out laughing.

Beth slams the door behind her on the way out.

Nobody comes running out to the driveway when she starts the car. Nobody appears in her rearview mirror as she pulls out of the driveway and peels off down the street. As far as her family's concerned, Beth might as well not even be gone.

She wonders, in the back of her mind, why she didn't do this years ago.

Beth fixes her eyes on the horizon, and pushes the gas pedal to the floor.

...

She starts small. Paris, Athens, Rome. Cities known for - yes, thank you, Jerry - their sexually aggressive men. And incredible food, and architecture, and art, and history. Their culture. (And wine.)

It’s exciting, for a while. Living like a fugitive, like a libertine. Beth maxes out her credit cards and doesn’t feel a shred of guilt. She’s the one who’s been paying the bills all these years, anyway. Might as well get a little enjoyment out of it.

She lives in hotels and hostels, takes tours of art galleries and medieval towns, visits churches older than her home country and marvels at beautiful frescos of worlds beyond the one she lives in, worlds beyond the mundane agony of earthly life. She eats all kinds of local delicacies and learns to cook some of them. She makes friends with other travellers and locals alike. She does odd jobs - some of the oddest jobs she’s ever done. She learns how to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘where is the washroom’ in seven different languages. She swims in the ocean under a shimmering blue sky, so perfect and even that it’s like the dome of an eggshell seen from inside. She pays five hundred euros for a pair of Swarovski-crystal-bedazzled high heels. 

It’s meaningful. It’s fulfilling. It’s everything she ever wanted when she was back at home in her suburban house, on her suburban street, married to someone she could generously call her high school sweetheart, with two children and a dog.

And then one day she’s standing in an art gallery with the beefy arm of a beautiful Norwegian almost ten years her junior nestled around her waist, squinting at an ornate, gilded empty frame hanging in the dead centre of a huge white wall, and something in Beth, something small and vital that’s been straining for longer than she can even know, snaps.

The Norwegian - Nils or Jens or something - is in the middle of waxing rhapsodic about the use of negative space and the artist’s incisive commentary on the emptiness of consumer culture when Beth interrupts him by throwing her wineglass as hard as she can at the wall. It strikes a little right of centre in the middle of the empty frame, shattering explosively and spraying a rather cheap red across the wall. 

Pale red droplets start to trickle down the wall, the only sound in the sudden, shocked hush the slow tap tap tap of wine dripping against the hardwood floor.

“And there’s my incisive commentary on the relative worth of modern art,” Beth says, as the Norwegian draws back, looking stunned and betrayed. The look is mirrored on just about every face around the room.

The crowd parts for Beth as she strides out, snagging two more glasses of wine from a paralysed waiter as she goes. She knocks one back before she even makes it to the door.

...

It’s not raining, outside, just drizzling, a fine foggy mist that turns Beth’s carefully-coiffed hair into a ball of frizzy curls and makes the ancient cobblestones treacherously slick. Beth kicks off her heels, clumsily but carefully peels off her stockings as she wanders down a street that drunken Romans have been staggering down since long before anyone even knew that the Earth was round. She finds that this piece of cultural heritage, which had so awed her when she’d first arrived, just doesn’t seem to matter as much anymore.

What does matter is that somewhere in this city, there is a party, and Beth is going to find it.

She follows flashing lights and the heartbeat-thump of bass to a door in a wall between a narrow stone building with elaborate ironwork and what looks like the crumbling remains of an ancient Roman watchtower. They’d told her when she’d arrived that what Rome is built on is mostly Rome. Ancient buildings and earthworks that, back home, would have been revered as priceless places of immense historical and cultural significance, here get bulldozed so they can put in an ‘aesthetically-consistent’ McDonald’s.

For some reason, this strikes Beth as both hilarious and fitting. She aims a vicious kick at the falling-down tower wall as she passes, but luckily for her bare feet, misses.

The night and the rain blur into sweat and neon and the ear-shattering throb of music, house or EDM or whatever they’re calling the music kids get high and dance to these days. One drink turns into three, turns into a line of shots and a crowd of Italians who look like extras from some television show about high schools of the rich and famous all chanting something in Italian, turns into sitting in a bathroom stall listening to a girl sobbing her heart out on the shoulder of one of the cluster of friends standing around her and blocking the paper towel dispenser. Beth’s knuckles sting from when she thinks she punched some teenager who called her a cougar, probably, the rest of it was in Italian but the winking and the nudging and the pointing and the dropped English word said more than enough.

Her head is spinning when she stumbles back out the door in the wall. She vomits on the cobbles and is reminded that the most brilliant, important, and historically significant human achievement in this whole storied city is its sewer system, and can’t stop laughing. 

“Y’know,” she slurs at the kind person holding back her hair, “I came here to see some real culture. Like havin’ a history that’s based on...bein’ in one place for millennia...means you’ve got anythin’ figured out.”

The kind person hums, rubs her back soothingly.

“I’m an idiot,” Beth says, and the street is so narrow and the light is turning a pale, pathetic grey and her vomit on the cobbles of an ancient Roman street is suddenly not funny anymore. The sky looms, infinite, overhead. “I really am an idiot. You’ve just got more practice at buildin’ gilded frames around nothin’ at all. Where are my shoes?”

“Can’t take credit for any of it, sorry,” the kind person says, in a smooth, delicious accent unlike any Beth’s heard so far on her European tour. Unlike any Beth’s ever heard at all. “Not being from around here.”

Beth forces her eyes to focus.

“You’ve got two heads,” she observes.

“I do,” the kind person agrees, leaning in closer, and Beth suddenly realises why he’s being so kind. “And that’s not all I’ve got two of.”

Beth tries to fix at least one of his heads in her wavering vision, gives up. “Jus’ tell me you’ve got a spaceship or a portal generator or something that can get me off this godforsaken rock, an’ I’m yours.”

Both heads seem to pause at this.

“Well, usually I’m the one who brings that up,” the head to Beth’s left says, “but what the hell.”

...

There’s really no such thing as day or night onboard a spaceship in high orbit, but somehow when Beth wakes up, it still feels obscenely early. She slips out of the bed as carefully as she can, hoping not to set the mattress moving again and wake the two-headed stranger. Who even has a waterbed these days, anyway?

Last night’s champagne has already gone flat, the bottle standing open and forgotten beside the bed. Beth grabs it anyway, and one of the discarded glasses, pouring herself a flute of warm champagne as she pads across the room to the walk-in closet. She’s not sure whose benefit the glass is for. She already knows she’s going to finish the bottle on her own.

The gold lamé robe she finds and wraps around herself is cold, silky and shivery against her bare, goose-pimpled skin. The bedroom is carpeted in something lusciously soft and thick, and the metallic surface of the hall outside meets Beth’s bare feet with a shock of cold. She presses on, though. Somewhere on this flying bachelor pad, there has to be something that can make her a decent cup of coffee.

That’s how she finds herself on what she’s helpless not to call the bridge, staring out the vast window that wraps halfway around the ship’s front, out into the infinite starfield falling away before her. The ship lists in its lazy orbit, and the Earth rises slowly into view, looking small and impossibly lonely against the vast backdrop of the cosmos, one small bright speck in an eternity of darkness.

Beth hears the voice right in her ear before she realises the two-headed stranger’s come up behind her. “Real hoopy view, huh?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing,” Beth admits, as the two-headed stranger pulls her close, deftly lifting the bottle of champagne from her hand. “I’m - sort of new to all of this.”

Her laugh sounds high, nervous, girlish, fake, but the stranger doesn’t seem to mind or notice.

“You sure seemed like an old pro last night,” he murmurs into her left ear, while his other head nips at her right earlobe.

“No, I - it’s complicated.”

“Hey, you wanted outta there. I got you outta there. What’s complicated about it?”

Beth looks down on her tiny speck of a planet. Down on Earth, the sun is starting to rise somewhere around Asia, lighting up the edges of the planet in a ring of golden fire. The planet flares once, brilliant, beautiful, burning, and then Beth has to look away or have her retinas seared.

What’s complicated about it?

“If I keep giving you sexual favours, will you take me as far as the Horsehead Nebula?” she asks the stranger, who has finished sucking on her earlobe and moved on to her neck.

“Sure, why not,” the stranger’s other head says, before taking a swig of flat champagne directly from the bottle.

Beth lets her eyes slip closed, relaxing into the stranger’s embrace. She’s got time to enjoy herself, indulge herself a little.

After all, she’s got until the Horsehead Nebula to figure out how she’s going to steal this spaceship.