#anyway arms and legs are really the main thing that bother me about my fat. but ill just keep thinking about levi and yakumo <333

[autism-corner]

i dont want to lose weight bc what if a pretty boy needs to cling to my arm or sit on my lap?? then where would they go?

[covetyou]

jester little bit more

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo x fat contortionist f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: clowns, vaginal fisting, protected PIV, inappropriate use of grease paint, drug reference, slightly subby Dieter, the hand tattoo, reader is referred to as Sparkles and has a briefly mentioned latex allergy. word count: 4.4k summary: Dieter drives you to distraction all day, so you go to give him what for, only to get more than you bargained for in return.

A/N: A gift to my beloved @sp00kymulderr - a simple mention of it a month ago (to the day!) is quite literally all it took to convince me to write a clown fist-it-fic, you are my muse, my inspiration. happy holidays bb

not clowny in an intentionally scary/horror way, but if you really hate clowns probably do not read. this is a different reader, same clown!Dieter to send in the clown.

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ooh ahh, jester little bit, ooh ahh jester little bit more...

You notice it through your whole act - the burning hot stare of Bravo the Clown as you twist and turn your body into shapes for the awed masses. You never felt more beautiful, more alive, than when you were contorting yourself like this, soft rolls bunching at your sides, rippling fabric and making your sequinned costumes glitter under bright lights with each undulation.

It's when you see him start to adjust his red clown pants that you have to calm yourself, stop yourself from unrolling from your position, stomping over to him, knocking that stupid wig off his head and slamming him into the ground. You don't want to kick up a fuss, not in front of a crowd, and you just know the bastard would like it anyway. He usually did.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you move through the motions of your set. Contorting this way and that, bending a leg here, twisting there, until you're taking a bow and hurrying backstage to give that fucking clown a piece of your mind.

But Bravo the Clown is nowhere to be found.

Probably in that filthy fucking trailer of his already. He never did like sticking around for the finale, always taking off his own performances, sometimes forgetting he even had two and leaving straight after the first was finished. So, you wait it out, standing with your arms crossed, ignoring anyone's attempts to communicate with you. By now they know the score - once Bravo the Clown had pissed you off, there was only one thing that would solve it.

You rush through the final bows of the night, plastering a sickly sweet smile onto your face before all but running back to the dressing room. No one bothers you, letting you tug off your costume in peace, the tight lycra slinking from your body and landing in a heap on the floor. Throwing on your shorts and a sweater, you stomp from the tent - your make up can wait, you're going to go talk to that asshole before he gets too high to function.

Approaching his worn trailer, you slam the flat of your palm against the old door. "Bravo! Hey! Asshole! Open up." The light is on and you can hear movement but you slam again anyway, imagining his face right beneath your palm as you smack it against the door.

The door wiggles, bowing a little where it gets caught on the latch, before flying open to reveal Bravo the Clown, who almost comes flying with it.

"What do you want, Sparkles," he grumbles from around an unlit joint. You snatch it from his mouth just as he's about to light it, and watch was he feebly reaches for it with a pathetic grabby hands and a scowl on his face.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, Bravo?" you say, pointing your finger into his chest, pushing him back into his trailer and following him in. "Do you know how distracting it is, you practically getting yourself off in public like that? I'd be just as much to blame as you if you were caught, and you are not ruining this for me."

You slam the joint down onto his vanity, the discarded grease paints rattling with the force of it.

He looks so sad and pathetic like this, though maybe it's his choice in make up. He usually opted for a classic, simple clown face, but lately he'd been mixing it up. Today he has sad eyebrows drawn above his own, making him look more like a sad puppy than a man.

"You took the outfit off," he mumbles, huffing out a sigh of disappointment.

"Yes, Bravo, I took my work outfit off, now that I have finished working. You can take yours off too y'know, you don't have to live in this shit." You gesture to his obscene get up, the red pants still strapped up and his striped shirt still buttoned to the top, collar securely in place. The only thing he was missing was his wig, which was thrown onto its shelf with the others.

He smirks at you, a ridiculous gesture beneath all the make up, and starts to unbutton his shirt.

"That is not what I meant, and you know it."

"Whaddaya mean?" he says, rubbing his hands down the front of his shirt to get to the last button.

You roll your eyes at him. You weren't in the mood for this, you tell yourself. Not for him, not for any of it. "Quit clowning around, Bravo. Just tell me you won't do it again. I can't risk this job."

"No can do, Sparkles. Y'know, your ass looks huge when you bend backward like that. Can't help what you do to me." He's adjusting his pants again, just as he was back in the big top, only this time you can see the tent in them easily through the thin fabric.

"You can help it, and you will help it," you say in a low tone, walking toward him to jab your finger into his chest once again. "Or so help me, I'll have your ass kicked out of here."

"Hey," he says raising his hands in surrender. "Can't help that I know what you look like all bent up like that under that tight costume. Bet the crowd would like it just as much as I would if you didn't wear it at all."

And there it was. You fuck a clown one time - okay fine two times...three times, it was only three times - and now he won't let you live it down, constantly chasing you whenever he couldn't get his dick wet by other means.

"I know you like to pretend you don't want a piece of Bravo the Clown, Sparkles, but we both know that ain't true. Who came to who first? I know I wasn't the one desperate to get my pussy pounded. And last time? You were wet before you even got here, you were practically humping my leg before I even got anything off you. Even now, don't think I don't know how this is going to end. You're not mad that I find you sexy, baby, you're mad that I turned you on in the middle of your set."

You're going to actually fucking kill him. It doesn't matter that he was right, it was the principle. You snarl at him, ready to snap, when he's pointing between the two of you, a question on his face.

"Are we gonna hate fuck?"

"You are unbelievable."

He's pulling his shirt off and sliding his suspenders over his shoulders already. With his discarded shirt, he swipes the sad expression from his face, exposing his golden skin. He definitely knows where this is going. "You didn't say no."

"We're not fucking, Bravo," you say, crossing your arms. If this is how he wanted to play it, you were going to play right back. "You owe me. Big time."

His eyes light up, this could be the best day ever for him for all you know. "Oh, hell yeah I do. I've been bad, let me make it up to you. Please?" He's on his knees hands clasped together, pleading, before he even finishes.

You roll your eyes at him again, biting the inside of your cheek. He knew you liked him pathetic, but this was new entirely, and you couldn't hide how much you were enjoying it, even if you were still angry. You nod down at him, giving him silent consent to do what you suspect he's been waiting to do all day.

Bravo the Clown, never one to disappoint a captive audience, dives right in. Head first. Straight for your crotch. He pulls your shorts to the side, exposing your pussy to him and starts licking at you with abandon, digging his tongue as far between your legs as he can, eager to taste you. You have to hold on to his hair, still sweaty from his wig, to stop yourself from falling over.

It had been a long time, you consider. At least a few weeks. It was the least you could do, and he did owe you. And if you ended up having sex, what did it matter, it would be because it was what you wanted and he owed you.

You spread your legs wider, and Bravo moans into your cunt, nodding along as you hear him mumble thank you straight into your pussy. That does something to you then, and you throw your head back with a moan of your own just as he sticks a finger straight into your slick hole.

Your legs can barely take it, already strained and exhausted from your set, and now desperately trying to hold yourself up as a clown eats you out on his knees. He sense it, sees how your legs start to quiver before you're even close, and within seconds he's pulling you to the messy floor of his trailer. He pushes you down onto your back, and you let your body go limp as he dives back into your pussy mouth first, tasting every inch of you. It's sweaty business, being a circus performer, but Bravo the Clown didn't seem to mind. Quite the contrary, he seemed to love it, the hotter and stickier you were the better.

Pent up aggression had already seemed to do half the job for him it seemed, and when he curls another finger into your core you're shaking again for a wholly different reason.

"Fuck, so close. Keep going."

Between your legs, Bravo the Clown groans loudly. The sound is muffled, but that doesn't stop it from rumbling straight through you as his tongue swipes rapidly over your swollen clit. You grab his hair, your belly bunching and curling on one side as you reach for him. His hair is a mess, and your fingers tugging at the strands do nothing to help, but seeing him such a mess, framed between the thickness of your thighs makes you tug his face into you harder, bucking into his face as you go.

His free hand comes up to hold you, tattoo'd forearm pinning you down whilst his fingers grip your belly, creating soft little divots in your flesh with the pressure. You grab his wrist, fisting a fluffy robe discard on the floor in your other hand, anything to anchor you down as you get closer and closer to release.

It's the third finger that does it, slipping into you so easily where he'd worked you open with two, dragging his fingers from side to side to pull your walls apart, pushing down when inside you to make you feel fuller than you were. You're coming with your head thrown back and eyes squeezed tight, fingers clawing at his hair as his tongue continues its dance over your throbbing clit. Your hips go from chasing his mouth, pushing into his tongue, to desperately trying to be free from the overstimulation.

When he pulls back, his whole face is wet - forehead with a sheen of sweat from his efforts, and his lower face glistening with saliva and the wetness of your own cunt. The remnants of white paint caught in the creases around his nose are gone, likely smeared into your own skin and the matching halo of white around his face is further smudged into his hairline, looking like a mad professor streaked with gray where you'd dragged your fingers through his hair.

If you weren't still so annoyed with him you'd be licking it all off, tasting yourself mixed with the sweat on his face, paint be damned.

"Fuck, you look so good when you come, Sparkles."

He looks drunk, or high, or a combination of the two. You laugh at how ridiculous it is. A clown drunk off your pussy, fingers still slowly working away inside of you, your flimsy shorts still yanked to the side.

"Consider yourself lucky, Bravo," is all you say as you let your body flop back onto his floor. He shuffles forward a second later. Probably adjusting his dick for the millionth time tonight, you think.

When you finally open your eyes again, he's sat on his ass, his fingers inside you feeling more like a massage than anything else. You could, should, tell him to stop, but you're too boneless and relaxed to care. He catches you looking, and not a moment later a sly smile is pulling at his cheeks.

"You're so bendy," he says, wiggling his fingers in you. "And stretchy," he splays his three fingers wide.

"Bet you're stretchy everywhere," he says, waggling his eyebrows - his actual eyebrows visible for once now that he's swiped off all the paint.

"Bravo," you say as a warning. You knew what he was getting at. You'd made the mistake of making that little confession whilst high with him one night. It intrigued you, sure, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't tried to fit your own hand in yourself just to see, of course. But you couldn't quite reach, the angle wasn't quite right, and as flexible as you were, more than four fingers by your own hand seemed too awkward to fit. When he offered you a hand that night, you'd both descended into giggles and you thought it was all forgotten. Well, obviously not.

"Please," he begs, eyes softening behind the dregs of his eye make up - blue and smudged and looking more like icy bruises than make up now. You doubt your own looked much better, your eyes already feeling gritty from screwing them closed whilst covered in glitter.

"I owe you, remember?"

"...Fine."

It's with a triumphant look that he pulls his fingers from you, dragging your shorts down your legs and leaving a wet trail of your juices in his wake. He throws them into the pile on his bench, no doubt you'll have fun looking for those later, and he bends down to kiss the swell of your lower belly, thanking you in the process, before sitting back on his haunches.

You think you're wet enough, relaxed enough, his hand already coated with your slick, to take him. Bravo the Clown thinks differently, and reaches over to his vanity for the first grease paint he can get his hands on.

"Don't you -"

But he's already doing it, smearing a thin layer of white paint over the broadest part of his hand, almost covering the small tattoo by his thumb in the process.

" - dare." You sigh and he simply shrugs as if to say what before plunging two fingers back into your slick pussy, curling them up into you and dragging along your walls, making you fall back with a moan yet again. This fucking clown.

A third finger slips inside you, quickly followed by a fourth, and you're sitting up on your elbows on the floor of his trailer, watching him as he's singularly focused on your hole stretching to accommodate his digits. The triangular tattoo on his wrist may as well be a neon open for business sign with how it's directing his, and your, eyes straight to his fingers being slowly engulfed by your pussy.

A quick look up at you and a small nod of your head is all he needs to push forward, applying pressure to his hand and slipping it further and further inside of you.

You gasp when you stretch over his knuckles, your brows knitting together. Even with your legs spread wide, there's a small burn, a stretch, as he pushes into you. But then he sinks in past the hard ridges of his knuckles and his hand gives a little more, leaving you feeling impossibly full. You made a living off of stretching and twisting your body into seemingly impossible positions. There wasn't a stretch you hadn't felt, but this was something new - the ache of a stretch you'd never felt before.

"Amazing," he mumbles, fucking his fingers into you past the knuckle then back out again. They start to slip in with ease after a few moments, and you reach down between your legs to feel him as he pushes in.

"More," you moan, knowing only half of his hand is in you. If he hadn't smeared grease over his hand to lube himself up, you'd still be able to see that tiny tattoo. You wanted it inside you.

A slow push of his hand again and his whole fist is breaching you. He submerges his hand into your heat, the slick pooling at your entrance from your earlier release and the grease on his hand making his hand suddenly slip all the way inside of your pussy. If you felt full before it was nothing compared to this.

You whimper, watching him watch you as you take his fist.

"Oh fuck."

You're going to come again already. You know there's no stopping it. Especially not when he brings his other hand up to hold you still, swiping his rough thumb back and forth over your clit as he twists his fist from side to side, getting a feel of you from the inside out. You grab at his wrist, holding it steady and rock your hips, shallowly fucking yourself on his fist.

You feel the first spasm without warning, clamping around his hand so hard you'd expel him from your body if you weren't holding him so tightly in place. Your whole body quivers, quakes, shaking like some haunted hand puppet controlled by Bravo's fist.

Seeing stars, or maybe it's the glitter caught in your eyes, you fall back as you shake, the pulsing between your thighs unrelenting as you feel yourself gush and soak his hand. Your moans and twitches die down, and your death grip on his wrist finally releases.

Now that he's free, Bravo the Clown takes this as a cue to start up again, pulling his hand out of you in one continuous movement.

"Oh - nnhg."

Your back arches off the trailer floor at the slow drag of his fist, and caves back in when he pushes back in. You let yourself curl back up to watch again, too curious by how his fist looks moving inside you to fully give in to the fullness overwhelming your body.

Punching in and out, the rim of your swollen pussy stretches across his fist, and you watch, mesmerized and crying out, as the paint smeared on his hand fades and the tattoo usually hidden by his gloves comes back into view, only to make a disappearing and reappearing act inside of you. Before now you'd licked every single one of his tattoos, and now more than ever you wanted to do it again.

"Oh, god yeah."

"That good?" he finally asks, his voice thick and heavy. Looking up at you for only a second before being drawn back to your cunt with wide eyes.

"Your body is amazing," he says enthusiastically, as if you're the first person to ever be fisted, and he dives back in again to lick around your spread pussy, sucking your clit into his mouth with a wet slurp.

"Dee!" You squeal, falling back with a thud. You want to watch, you really do, but you just can't. Not when it feels like this.

"So now you know my name," he mumbles from around your clit, trying to suck it back into his mouth a second later. Your pussy is squelching, wet and dripping all over his hand, down his wrist, onto the floor of his trailer and whatever unfortunate item of clothing it is you're laying on. It's going to be soaked and you don't care. All you care about in the moment is his fist, still moving, fucking you so full and leaving you so empty, and the flick of his tongue over your clit.

"Gonna come, gonna come, Dieter, - oh, g- fuck."

He moans, nodding into your clit, shoving his fist straight into you and rocking it back and forth inside of you, leaving you full as he flicks your clit to orgasm.

You clamp down on him, pussy tightening around his entire fist as you come, spasms shooting through your pussy until you're a writhing twitching mess, begging him to stop the movement of his tongue. He does, but can't resist kissing your clit one last time, tongue peeking out to swipe across it, grumbling laugh leaving his chest when your entire body twitches at the act before collapsing into a heap.

He's breathing as heavy as you are when you look up at him a second later.

"Please can I stick it in? Please?" his eyes do that infuriating puppy thing again. You look down at him, still panting as his fist rocks in you slowly.

"Fine," you whine, the only reluctance in your voice from him having to remove his hand to get his cock in you. "But you know the rules."

"Yeah, yeah, wrap it up," he mumbles, pulling his hand from you with an ease you would've been embarrassed by if he hadn't got you so worked up and if the subsequent orgasms hadn't turned you into a liquid human being. He reaches over with the same slick coated hand to grab at a tin under his trailer bench. Opening it, it looks to be his weed stash, or what's left of it, but he knocks aside some loose rolling papers to pull out a gold packet.

"Latex free, baby," he says, shaking the packet between two fingers. It was sweet, really, that he remembered your allergy.

Dieter is pushing his pants down his thighs a second later, pulling his cock free from their polyester prison. You almost ask if he needs a hand, if he's hard enough, but a quick glance and you know. His pants have a wet stain on the front of them, precum leaking from the tip of his cock whilst he fisted you. From the looks - length rock hard, tip swollen and angry, slit still dripping for you - he's painfully engorged, desperate to relieve the ache in his cock with your warm, wet, pussy.

Tearing the wrapper with his teeth, he rolls the condom down his cock. As much as he owed you for distracting you all evening, you couldn't deny there was something about this man when he was a desperate, needy mess for you. It was your body that did this to him - the soft rolls of your belly as you contorted yourself, the swell of your ass as you bent backward, the broadness in your hips, the strength in your arms.

He fists his cock, and you watch him nearly lose it there and then. Biting back a laugh, you reach out, pulling him over you until he's slotted between your legs. Any other day and you'd be trying something more adventurous than missionary with him, but right now you didn't trust your limbs to keep you up, or Dieter to last more than a few seconds.

He lines up with your slick hole, and pushes in with a shaky breath, stilling once he's seated inside you. You think for a second that he might be asleep, but then his hips start slowly moving.

"Why d'you always feel so good?" he asks, face close to yours you can see the paint caught in his wrinkles more easily now.

"Magic pussy."

He laughs, raspy and scratchy in your ear, tucking his face into your neck. "Sparkles and her magic pussy. That's a TV special I'd like to see. Could probably pull a rabbit out of- oof."

You hit him, and it only makes his hips pump faster, snapping his mouth shut to concentrate.

The sound of the wet slap of his skin against yours fills the trailer, his balls squelching against your dripping cunt with each thrust. He's moaning and grunting in your ear, whispering about how good you feel, how great you looked, about that fucking bodysuit and how much he loves how wide your legs can stretch. At that, you wrap them around him, pulling him in tight to you, forcing his thrusts deeper. For as much as he pissed you off, you still trusted him, had an affection for him you would never admit to, neither publicly or to yourself.

"Uh - oh, fuck, Sparkles. Lemme. Please let me..."

Feeling between your bodies, he tries to touch your clit again. You knock away his hand, threatening to ruin his orgasm if he so much as tries to touch you one more time. He whimpers in your ear, settling his hand on your breast instead, squeezing and relaxing his grip as a distraction from his own orgasm tingling through his bones. You know what a threat could do to him and from the feel of him alone you know he's holding back more than ever. If his balls were any tighter and his cock were any harder you'd think he'd burst.

So, you do something you said you would never do for any man, and you beg, just a little bit, whispering softly and sweetly into his ear as his cock fucks you full.

"Come, Dieter. Come in me. Please."

And he does, groaning deep and low, deafening you in one ear with it as he empties his balls into the condom inside of you. You grip him hard, hugging him tight to you as he shakes on top of you.

He looks totally fucked out and ridiculous when you next look to the side and see him, face smooshed into the plush robe you'd been laying on. One of your own eyelashes is stuck to his cheek, along with a streak of glitter. You can't even imagine the state of your own face, but he doesn't seem to mind it when he finally peels open his eyes.

"You wanna get food and smoke pot?"

The man was a joke. Infuriating. A total and utter clown in every sense of the word.

But you always knew what you were getting with Bravo the Clown. It's what drew you to him, it's what made you trust him. Everything he did was written as plain as day on his face, or tumbling from his mouth in a stream of consciousness. Most of all, it was nice to be soft and pliable, as much as you were strong, with someone who wouldn't use it as a weapon against you.

And you would never say a single word of it to his face, opting instead to suck a hickey into his shoulder, tasting the sweat from his skin as you draw a bruise to the surface.

"Fine, but you're buying. You still owe me."

soz to my tag list for this: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights

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[dreamerstreamer]

Slip Up

Pairing: Dream / Clay x f!reader

Summary: One literal slip up leads to another and, well—it isn’t pretty.

Warning: includes depictions of anxiety as a result of exposure

Word Count: 5.0k

A/N: requested by an anon who wanted something about a secret relationship! i hope you enjoy! on a more serious note though, don’t harass your creators and the people they care about. seriously, don’t.

With one last click, Clay let out a sigh, grabbing his headphones and setting them down on his desk. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the still clip on his monitor with a hint of a frown tugging at his lips.

After two long hours, he was officially tired of listening to George’s screams ringing through his ears. Sure, they were funny in the heat of the moment when he was recording, but having to listen to the same screams on loop while editing?

He shivered.

No thanks. He needed a break.

Grabbing his phone, he pushed open the door to his studio and headed for the stairs. I wonder where [Y/N] is, he thought to himself as he climbed the basement stairs two at a time. It’s been a while since I last caught a glimpse of her.

Surfacing on the first floor, he stuck his head into the living room, glancing around for a brief moment only to deduce that you weren’t there. With a huff, he spun on his heel. If she’s not there, he thought, his strides confident and full of purpose, then she’s definitely in—

He stepped into the kitchen, his gaze landing on your figure half-tucked behind the open fridge door almost instantaneously. He smiled. Bingo.

Slowly, he crept forward, slipping around the kitchen island to silently walk up to you. Before you even noticed he was there, he leaned down next to your ear and whispered.

“Boo.”

Letting out a sharp yell, you whirled, your wide eyes practically drowning in the amusement filling Clay’s emerald gaze as he let out a long wheezing laugh. “Clay!” you gasped, holding a hand over your heart. “You scared me, oh my god.”

His wheezing only grew louder in volume as he slapped his knee, still cackling at your distraught expression. Puffing your cheeks in a pout, you turned your back to him, staring back into the fridge. “Meanie.”

Struggling to regain his breath, Clay leaned in to wrap his arms around your waist in a hug from behind. You could feel his chest shaking against your back with laughter, beginning to slowly die down with each passing second. A moment later, he dipped his head down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Sorry,” he hummed. “I just thought it’d be funny to make you jump.” His eyes glinted with mischief. “I was right. It was.”

“Not for me,” you grumbled, and he let out the tiniest of wheezes next to your ear. 

“Alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, kissing your neck. “How are you doing? I haven’t seen you all morning.”

You relaxed into his warm touch, melting into the feeling of his soft lips on your skin. Sending him a tired smile, you closed the fridge door and focused your attention onto him. “I’m alright, but I’m feeling kind of tired,” you admitted. “You get kind of sick of working on an assignment after the third, you know?”

He snuggled closer to you, smiling into your neck. “Well, I mean, I wouldn’t know, but I understand your point.”

You rolled your eyes at him, leaning back into his figure. “Right, I forgot that you didn’t go to college, Mr. Streamer.”

Clay laughed at your words. “You’re just that much smarter than me, then.” He poked at your cheek affectionately. as he cooed, “Look at you, my super smart college student girlfriend.”

You turned in his arms to face him, frowning at him. “Clay, you say that like you aren’t considered to be one of the best, if not the best Minecraft player in the world. Give yourself some more credit.”

He brushed a stray hair away from your face, his gaze fond as he held you a little closer. “Okay, but only because you told me to.”

You snorted, sinking deeper into his arms. “If your followers could see you now, I’m sure they’d be spamming ‘simp’ in chat.”

He chuckled. “They already do that whenever I hang out with George—I can’t even imagine to what extent it would increase if they knew about you.”

You offered him a smile, but it felt forced. The question had been swirling in the back of your mind for a little while now, and it was just sitting on the tip of your tongue, now. You had to ask now, or it would devour you alive.

“Hey, um, Clay,” you said, your tone shifting as you fidgeted slightly in his embrace. “Do you—do you think we’ll ever tell people and your fans about, well—” You gestured to the space between the two of you. “—about us?”

He paused for a moment, then let out a soft breath. “I want to,” he said. “Oh man, you don’t know just how badly I want to share you with the whole world and show them you’re mine.” You felt your cheeks grow warm, your lips instinctively curling up at his words.

“But I don’t think they’re ready for that just yet,” he added in a wistful tone. He pulled back, sending you a crooked smile. “How about we cross that bridge when we get there? I know that when we do get around to it, they’re gonna love you as much as I do, I promise.”

You bobbed your head, feeling the anxiety in your gut disintegrate. “Okay. Thanks, Clay.”

He reached up to ruffle your hair, cooing at the small whine you let out. “Anything for you.”

Knocking his hand off your head, you grinned at him. “On another note, what have you been up to? Instead of sleeping in late, of course, you lucky butt.”

He swayed back and forth, bringing you along with him. “I spent a lot of time editing some videos that are still in the works. I’m gonna be streaming for a few hours in a bit, though. If you need anything, you know where you can find me.” He grabbed your hand in his, fiddling with your fingers with a slight squeeze. “Are you still gonna be working on your assignment later, or will I be allowed to bother you?”

Your mouth twitched at his pouty tone, and you squeezed his hand back. “I actually might go out to the grocery store. Patches’s cat food is on sale, so I might stock up on that, and I kind of wanted some snacks for studying. Was there anything you wanted while I was gone?”

He hummed, thinking for a moment. “Not really, to be honest.” Slipping his hand into yours, he began leading you to the front of the house. “Here, let me see you off.”

You felt your heart swell with love as he handed you your bag from where it hung on the coat rack while you laced up your shoes. Clay was always so attentive to you and your needs, never failing to make sure you had everything you needed at the drop of a hat. You were really too lucky to have him.

“Do you have your mask?” he asked when you stood up.

With a nod, you fished it out from your pocket, waving it in your hands. “Mhm.”

He smiled. “Awesome.” Opening his arms, he pulled you in for one last hug, inhaling the scent of your flowery shampoo before swinging the door open and watching you step outside, car keys in hand.

“I’ll be back soon!” you cried, waving to him from the driveway.

He waved back, leaning against the doorframe. “See you!” he called back. “Take care out there.”

“I will!”

His viridian gaze trailed after you and your car as you sped off down the road, knowing all too well exactly which radio station you had inevitably turned on. Well, no matter. He supposed it was time to stream, now. Locking the door behind him, Clay strode down to the basement, sliding into his desk chair with his hand on his mouse. Slipping his headphones over his head, he rolled his shoulders and opened up Twitch. 

Taking one last deep breath, he grinned and pressed the ‘start streaming’ button. 

“Hey, guys!”

You grunted as you pushed the front door open, sliding your shoes off as you heaved the last sack of cat food onto the ground with a loud thud. 

And that’s all three. Finally.

Pushing the door closed using your foot, you placed your hands on your hood in determination.

Now, to get them downstairs.

You grimaced, glaring down at the offending bags. This was going to sooo much fun.

Some things never ceased to amaze you. Like how smart Clay was, even as dorky as he could be. Like how fast he blown up. Like how much you loved him.

And like how much cat food Patches managed to eat without getting fat.

Seriously, you thought to yourself with a grumble, how does she still look the same even though she goes through a whole bag of cat food in like... two weeks? It’s just not fair.

“I wish I had your metabolism,” you muttered, shooting a glare at the feline in question.  “You suck.”

Patches was perched on the stair railings a few feet away from you, grooming her paws. The moment you spoke her name, she lifted her head to look at you, her ears flicking. You stared at each other for a few seconds before she let out a soft meow, jumping down to rub against your leg.

“Oh, who am I kidding?” you murmured to yourself, your heart swelling in your chest at the feeling of her nuzzling her small head against your calf. “I could never hate you. You’re too cute.”

You turned your attention back to the three sacks of cat food you now had in your possession. Patches’s domain mostly consisted of the basement, where you kept her toys and costumes. Consequently, that’s where the cat food was also stored, albeit out of sight so that Patches wouldn’t get any ideas. Like her owner, she had a penchant for mischief, but you loved them both anyways.

The main problem here was getting the cat food down the stairs. 

I’m a strong independent woman, you thought to yourself with a small smile. Also, Clay is streaming, so I can’t ask him for help even if I wanted to. Bending over, you hoisted the first sack into your arms. That’s okay, though. A few stairs can’t stop me.

Taking a deep breath, you trudged toward the basement, carefully taking the stairs one step at a time down. The last thing you wanted was to trip while carrying the cat food of all things.

Unfortunately, it seemed that you jinxed yourself.

Everything went fine for the first two bags, each sack having safely made their way onto their proper spot on their designated cabinet shelf. Each time you tread down the stairs, you would take a quick peek over at Clay’s recording studio, smiling to see him amicably chatting with his viewers while completing another speedrun. With a smile on your face, you climbed the stairs once more to come face to face with your final obstacle.

You grinned despite your arms aching from having done so much heavy lifting. Last bag. Let’s go.

Rolling up your sleeves, you began the same process you had been running with for the past two trips: pick up the bag and head down the stairs, making sure to step carefully. 

What you hadn’t accounted for, though, was Patches’s presence.

You were just about halfway down the stairs when Patches darted in front of you. With a soft yelp, you stepped back to avoid her, letting her bounce down the stairs ahead of you. A brief breath of relief escaped your lips, but it was short lived. 

Just then, your sock’s grip on the floor gave out, and you felt gravity wrap a hand around your ankle.

Oh, crap.

A shout tore its way out of your throat as as you tumbled forward, landing on the ground with a resounding crash. Beside you, the bag of cat food smacked into the wall and landed with a loud crunch. 

That can’t be good, you vaguely thought, your mind fogged up by a cloud of pain.

Just a few rooms over, Clay froze mid-stream, his mouse coming to a halt as his entire body went stiff. Without even thinking to mute himself, he tore his headphones off his head, your name flying from his lips in a flurry of worry as he rushed out the room.

“[Y/N]! [Y/N], are you okay?”

On the ground, you winced, pain shooting up your side as you pulled yourself forward. In an instant, Clay was on the ground by your side—one hand on the small of your back helping you sit up, the other brushing your hair away from your face.

“[Y/N],” he breathed, panic seeping into his face as his eyes scanned every inch of your face for harm, “are you good?” You nodded, but it did nothing to ease the worry in his expression. “Tell—tell me.” He held three fingers in front of your face. “How many fi—”

“Three,” you replied immediately. You offered a pained smile, stifling another wince as you did so. 

He leaned in closer to your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “How badly are you hurt?”

You shifted your spine, trying to gauge the pain. The ache was dull at most, minimal at best. “Only a little.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, his breathing ragged. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You let out a small sigh, sending him a reassuring smile. You appreciated his protectiveness, you really did, but sometimes he really did go the extra mile. “Clay,” you said softly, “I’m okay, really. I promise I’m okay. I just tripped and fell.” Then you glanced behind him, letting out a deeper sigh. “The cat food, on the other hand? Not so much.”

The bag must have ripped open when it fell, its own weight having collapsed on itself and tearing a hole right through the bottom. The individual pellets of cat food where strewn all across the floor, littering the ground like pebbles. And of course, Patches was already starting to nibble away. Pesky girl.

Clay stood up, reaching a hand out toward you. “Here, I’ll help you clean up.”

You took his hand, shaking your head as he pulled you to your feet. “No, no. You should get back to your stream.” Your brows knit together. “I interrupted it, didn’t it? Your followers will be waiting for you. You should go back.”

He shook his head, his expression resolute. “Contrary to popular belief, [Y/N],” he said, “you’re more important to me than just one stream. I’ll probably just end it when I’m done here, anyway.” He squeezed your hand, his gaze kind. “Let me help you. Please.”

With your heart fluttering in your chest, you squeezed it back. 

“Okay.”

Clay grabbed the two of you a dustpan as you began to clean up the mess of cat food you had made on the floor. You whined about how you just wasted a sale by tripping down the stairs while he poked fun at your frustration, passing you Patches with the request of keeping her away from the food as he swept. In practically no time, you had nearly forgotten what had transpired at all, just happy to spend some time with your wonderful boyfriend next to you.

If only you knew just how much your little fall was going to blow up in your face.

You ran your tongue over your chapped lips, your gaze focused on your laptop screen as your mouse finally hit the submit button. Letting out a sigh, you finally let the stress seep out of your body as a small smile overtook your features.

Finally handed it in. Now, you didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

With a groan, you stretched your arms out above you, cracking your back. You’d been working away for a couple of hours now, but at long last, you were free for the weekend. Humming to yourself, you picked up your phone. You had set it to ‘do not disturb’ a while back, since it hadn’t stopped vibrating at one point. You hadn’t bothered to check why at the time, but you supposed you could spare some time for yourself before dinner.

Swiping your phone open, your thumb instinctively tapped on Twitter, a blue glow enveloping your screen before fading to dark. You hummed as you opened up the trending page, curiosity pawing at your backside. You had your bets on some trend going viral, but knowing the internet, it was probably some weird, random crap.

There were a handful of political memes topping the charts, as well as a #TGIF. You stifled a laugh as you scrolled a bit lower. Twitter sure was a weird place.

That was when a tag caught your eye.

#DreamExplain

Your thumb stopped, hovering over the screen. What? Explain what, exactly?

Then there—just few lines below that.

#WhoIs[Y/N]?

Your heart came to a screeching halt in your chest.

That was your name. 

Trending. On Twitter.

Panic shot through your veins.

What the actual hell happened?

With a heavy feeling of disbelief sinking its claws into you, you tapped on your name, watching as hundreds of tweets shot past your eyes.

Who’s [Y/N] and how can I be her

dream explain?! oh mygood what was that !!!!

is [Y/N] Dream’s girlfriend or something

um ??? dream said the name [Y/N] on stream today then went afk for like 20 mins ??? then the stream just ended ???wtf ???

what’s @georgenotfound gonna do omggg nooo!!! his boyfriend!!!!!!

You felt sick to your stomach.

Oh god.

They knew who you were.

You wanted to throw up.

Stumbling to your feet, you made your way toward the kitchen where you knew you would find Clay, your phone clutched in a death grip between your fingers. 

“C-Clay?”

He turned from where he was leaning against the counter, a smile lighting up his face at the sound of your voice. “Hey!” The moment his eyes landed on your face, his smile vanished. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Have—” You swallowed, your palms beginning to sweat. “Have you checked Twitter recently?”

“Nope,” he hummed, pulling his phone out from his pocket. “What’s trending this time? Did some politician say something or—”

“I am,” you said ever so softly.

He froze, his phone going slack in his hand. “What?”

You glanced up from your feet. “I’m trending, Clay.”

A beat of silence. “What?!” he repeated, louder this time.

You felt an odd sense of weightlessness sinking onto your shoulders, and you felt yourself begin to ramble. “Crazy, right? Little old me, trending? Wild. Insane. Like, just wow.” 

With each new phrase that leapt from your lips, Clay’s brows furrowed further. You could see the wheels in his head turning at full speed. Then, they stopped, and realization set in. Then came the horror.

Oh, dear god.

“[Y/N],” he whispered, taking a step toward you, “oh my god.”

“You’re also trending, by the way,” you continued, barreling ahead as your hands began wildly gesturing. You swallowed down the panic rising up your throat at full throttle. “It’s a shame that I’m not higher than you, but I guess we can’t win them all.”

“[Y/N],” he said again, “this is serious.”

You nodded, your expression still blank. “Oh, I know. I’m—”

Something in you snapped.

You sucked in a ragged breath. “Yeah, I’m—”

And out came the waterworks.

You collapsed to the ground, the sobs escaping your throat in uneven bursts. Clay’s arms were around you before you knew it, his hand cradling your head for the second time that day.

“Clay, Clay, Clay,” you choked out, your entire being dissolving into him. “Clay, they know who I am. They heard you.”

His grip tightened on you, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear. You sobbed harder, your tears soaking into his hoodie.

There was nowhere left to hide.

You hadn’t touched your phone in days. It hardly took more than a few minutes for your Twitter feed to have absolutely blown up with messages about you. Some positive, some negative, some neutral. While you appreciated the kind ones, you only had to read a handful of the not-so-kind ones for you to turn off your phone and hide it in a drawer. It wasn’t like you were going to even use it properly, what with its cracked screen.

The more time passed, the more acutely aware of the public’s knowledge of you became.

Your name was everywhere, supposed drawings of you were everywhere, you—you were everywhere.

You felt like you were suffocating in your own skin.

Clay knew that the slip up had been rough on you, and he didn’t blame you one bit. He had asked you what you needed, if you wanted him to take a few days off to spend more time with you. You had declined, sending him a tired smile.

“I... I think I just need some time to myself to think things over.”

He didn’t push you anymore than that, instead holding you close and pressing his lips to your cheek. For the next couple days, he vanished off of social media—no tweets, no streams, no videos. Nothing. While you busied yourself with class work, he focused on editing and planning ahead for the future. You both knew you were stalling, but right now, you just needed time.

A knock came from your door, a soft voice following just after.

“[Y/N]?”

You rolled over on the bed you shared, your eyes flickering up to see Clay standing in the doorway. The book you had brought in with you laid untouched on the nightstand next to you. You haven’t been able to properly bring yourself to enjoy something without thoughts of doubt seeping into your head.

What do they think of me? Do they like me? Will they approve of our relationship? 

You were terrified out of your mind.

Clay approached the bed when he saw you move, gently sitting down next to you. “Are you doing any better?” 

He patted the space on his leg, and you twisted your body to settle your head on his lap. “Sort of,” you murmured.

A moment passed as he took in your words. “Have you eaten?”

You nodded, your head just barely moving. “Yeah. Ate some leftover pasta.”

You fell quiet once more, simply listening to the sound of his breaths next to yours. Despite having been hearing next to nothing but silence for days now, you felt better knowing he was next to you.

“Hey,” he said softly, grabbing your attention once more. You turned your head towards him, his hand stroking your hair. His emerald eyes bore into yours, focused and sad. “Tell me what’s on your mind. You seem so distant, right now.”

Your gaze trailed up to the ceiling as you opened your mouth, trying to connect the mess of thoughts in your head into coherent sentences. “It’s just all so overwhelming,” you admitted. “All they know about me is my name and that I fell down the stairs, but it already feels like it’s way too much. I didn’t even spend that much time scrolling online, and I already know that there are more than just a few people freaking out.”

You looked up at him, your sad gaze mirroring his. “I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to have everyone begging you for a face reveal.” 

The sadness in his eyes only seemed to grow deeper, and you felt something warm and watery wrap around your heart. “It’s my fault,” he whispered, pressing a hand over his eyes. “I should have muted myself. I shouldn’t have been so reckless. I just moved without thinking and—”

You pulled yourself upwards, turning to sit face to face with him. “Clay, don’t say that.” You reached out to grab him arm, pulling it away from his face. His gaze was watery, and you wished you never had to see him with that expression. “It’s not your fault, not at all. When you heard me fall, you thought of me right away, and I appreciate that.” You held his big hand in between your smaller ones, interlocking your fingers. “That just shows you care for me. Please don’t beat yourself up over what happened.” You offered him a timid smile. “I know that I’m not taking this all too well either, but we’re in this together, right?”

His lips twitched to mirror yours, but his tone was still tinged with a low sadness. “I know, it’s just... I hate seeing you like this, like you can’t live your life normally anymore because of me.”

Your hand reached up to stroke his cheek. “Hey, it’s alright,” you crooned. “Remember, they only know my first name—not even my last name—and that I tripped. They don’t know what I look like.” Your lips twitched. “Heck, they don’t even know what I sound like. I think I’ll be able to live my life just fine. It’s just a little bit... much to begin with.” You shot him a goofy smile. “I might have to use Twitter less, but you know my screen time usage is way too high anyway.”

A chuckle slipped from his lips, his eyes curving into two crescent moons. You felt your expression shift to mirror his almost naturally, but then the smile slowly crept off your face. “And, um, Clay,” you added, fidgeting slightly.

“Yeah?”

“These past two days, I gave what happened some more thought,” you began, “and I think...” You gulped. I think I want to introduce myself.”

His eyes widened, and suddenly his hands were on your face, his gaze focused intently on your face. “Are you positive?” he breathed. “You know you don’t have to do this, [Y/N].”

You nodded, feeling your resolve harden like a stone in your heart. “I know.” You offered him a bold smile. “It’s scary and kind of hard to think about, but I don’t want to leave everyone in the dark. I want to be by your side through thick and thin, no matter what.”

He paused, then pulled his hands away from your face. That sadness in his eyes had returned, and you felt your heart crack at the sight. “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he said quietly, almost remorsefully. “I know that being with me is already a huge commitment, and this is just taking another huge step...”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “Clay,” you said, staring down at your knee. “I’ve been here with you from the beginning, and I’ll be here until the end. I’m here with you for the long haul, okay?” You raised your head, shooting him a wicked grin. “You won’t be getting rid of me too easily.”

Just like that, his smile was back. “Oh, alright. Only because I love you so much, though.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair with a weary grin. “Well, if there’s anything that I’m sure is going to happen,” he said, “it’s that my fans are definitely going to call me a ‘simp’ even more than they already do.”

You flashed him a teasing smile. “Are they wrong, though?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners.

“No, they’re not.”

Swallowing, you stared long and hard at the microphone sitting in front of you.

You can do this.

“Are you ready?”

You sucked in a deep breath, feeling your hands shake in your lap.

“I—I think so.”

Clay pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, his left arm wrapping itself around your waist to pull you closer on his lap. With his right, he reached for the mouse. On his screen, he had his stream loaded up, with only a single mouse click standing between you and tens of thousands of viewers.

Feeling his eyes on you, you turned to look at him. With a small smile, he dipped his head down to press his lips to yours in a soft kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling back. Pulling back, he leaned his forehead against yours lovingly.

“You know, this is only about half as stressful as when I met your family,” you joked.

He snorted, the rumbling of his chest running along your back and into your thumping heart. “And they loved you just as much as I do. Once the rest of the world meets you,” he murmured just for you to hear, “they’re going to love you just the same. I swear it.”

You let your eyelids flutter shut, breathing in his scent of fresh linen and citrus. “I hope so.”

He shot you a cheeky wink. “Oh, I know so.”

You rolled your eyes at him, turning around to look at his monitor once more. “Cheese ball.” You didn’t have to turn to know that he was still grinning. Snuggling further back into his chest, you said, “Let’s start the stream, yeah?”

With a nod, he clicked the ‘start streaming’ button. Almost instantaneously, thousands of people joined the stream. You briefly glanced at the chat and felt yourself stiffen when you caught a brief glimpse of your name. Almost immediately, Clay’s hand was on yours, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb while you relaxed once more.

Sending you one last loving glance, he leaned towards his mic and began to speak. “Hey, guys! I know it’s been a little while since I last did a stream, and I know you guys have some questions. But first, there’s someone I want you guys to meet.”

His gaze flickered to you, and he gestured toward the mic. Taking a deep breath, you mustered up your courage and leaned forward. 

“Hi there. My name is [Y/N].”

You felt his hand squeeze yours. 

With a smile and a deep breath, you squeezed back.

“And I’m Dream’s girlfriend.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt - Meng Shi is NHS's mother, making him half brother to NMJ and JGY.

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3)

- Chapter 1 - 

Meng Yao sat out on the balcony of the brothel, bored out of his mind, as he waited for the party in the fancy inn down the way to finish.

He knew it was an important one from the way his mother had nearly clawed another girl’s eyes out for the opportunity to go. It wouldn’t have been worth it otherwise: she was older, her looks a little faded, her body a little weaker than the others, and a party like that was not nearly as effective a means of making money as the steady work at the brothel.

But Meng Yao didn’t know why it was so important – only that his mother had looked especially excited as she’d gotten ready.

Maybe she thought she might find a patron there.

Wistful thinking, if she did – she hadn’t had a patron in over a year, and the last one hadn’t been worth much; they hadn’t even gotten a better room at the brothel out of it, much less being set up in a discreet apartment of their own the way Meng Shi had told him had happened in the past.

At least Meng Yao hadn’t been recruited to act as a server at the party. The bosses at the brothel and the inn asked for him to do odd tasks like that more and more since they knew they could get him to do it for free, and he had no choice, even though he hated seeing his mother smile and flutter her eyes at the men she serviced. This party, though, was too high-end, apparently, to risk having a child like him mess up – they’d gotten actual servers, paid ones, and never mind the cost.

Maybe there would be rich men there, generous ones. Maybe his mother would be able to get a good tip. Maybe the bosses would be well-paid enough to let her keep it. Maybe they could get some meat to eat…

“Hey, you! You – you up there! Can you help me?”

He looked down.

There was another boy there at the base of the balcony outside of Meng Shi's window, where Meng Yao liked to sit: a boy few years older than him, taller, in finely made clothing that would normally make Meng Yao itch all over in futile envy, but the other boy’s eyes were white around the edges in a way that was immediately, painfully familiar.

“Someone’s chasing you?” Meng Yao asked, and the boy’s eyes widened even further, surprised, but he nodded in confirmation. “There’s a trellis around the left side – can you climb up? I'll hide you.”

The boy found the trellis that Meng Yao used to get in and out of the second floor without anyone seeing – it creaked a little under the bigger boy’s weight, but he was just young and small enough that he managed to get up without too much of a problem, and Meng Yao pushed him through the balcony door just as a dark figure stepped out from the inn down the road, his motions a little too slow and deliberate to be anything but predatory.

The man was handsome enough, in a cruel sort of way. Meng Yao didn’t like the way he smiled as he started to survey the street with his eyes – looking for the boy Meng Yao had just hidden away, no doubt about it, and men who attended parties stocked with people like Meng Yao’s mother as party favors didn’t have good intentions when they looked at boys with a smile like that.

Meng Yao put on his stupidest and most vacant expression, leaning his head against the bars as if he’d never done anything more interesting in his life than daydream, and eventually the man walked by the brothel without paying him more than a cursory look.

As soon as he was sure the man was gone, Meng Yao turned and went back inside.

“Thanks,” the boy said. He was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest and still shaking; he didn’t even seem to have noticed that he was in the perfumed heart of a brothel lady’s personal chambers. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“He was looking for you in particular,” Meng Yao said, crouching down next to him and studying him with the practiced eye of a boy raised among whores. The boy was handsome, with straight features, good cheekbones, and a certain ruddiness that suggested health – not the sort of pretty boy that usually got sought out at such parties, but certainly more than pretty enough. Tall, too, to judge by the length of his legs, but the amount of baby fat on his face suggested Meng Yao had been right about him being not that much older than him. “Why? He was at a party full of prostitutes.”

There wasn’t any point in obfuscating.

The boy ducked his head down, cheeks flushing dark. “My father’s there,” he said, not really answering the question. “They kept toasting him over and over, until they’d gotten him really drunk, and then they set up him with one of the – with a lady. Normally he keeps an eye on me so there isn’t any trouble, but this time...”

Meng Yao frowned. “That man’s been after you before?” A shaky nod. “You’re sure? Has he ever tried –”

The boy flinched.

“And your father still took you to where he could find you?” Meng Yao shook his head: fathers really weren’t worth anything, were they? His own had abandoned him, abandoned his mother without even purchasing her freedom, and this boy’s didn’t seem especially good either, if he was out getting drunk and leaving his son where known harm could come to him.

“He didn’t have a choice,” the boy mumbled. “Either about going to the party, or about bringing me. Anyway it’s not even – I don’t think it’s about me. He doesn’t have any reputation for liking boys generally. But he hates my father, and I’m my father’s only son, his heir. Wen Ruohan only wants to ruin me to hurt my father.”

Having seen the avid, avaricious look on the man’s face as he’d walked down the street, searching, Meng Yao wasn’t so sure about that, but he thought it might not help to say so. “Well, you lost him.”

“Thanks,” the boy said. “I’m in your debt. But I’d better get going, before he starts knocking on doors and asking questions.”

“In this district? No one will answer.”

“They will if he offers them gold,” the boy said, rubbing his face. He looked tired, and scared.

If this Wen Ruohan was willing to go knocking at every brothel in town and offer them gold to search for the boy, it definitely wasn’t just about his father, but Meng Yao was a practical sort of person. “I can help hide you,” he decided. “Will you give me gold for it, too, later?”

The bosses wouldn’t share any of Wen Ruohan’s gold with him, but this boy – or rather, his father – might, if Meng Yao played his cards right. Of course, he might get nothing at all, but nothing was more than likely what he’d get on the other side, too, and if he did nothing then there’d be another ruined boy on the streets, probably disowned when his dishonor was discovered, with no way to live other than to sell himself to one of the brothels that catered to things like that.

He wasn’t yet quite bitter enough to want others to be torn down to make his own misery seem less.

Might as well try to help.

The boy nodded, eyes wide, and Meng Yao tugged him over to the closet where his mother kept her clothing. “He’s looking for a boy,” he explained when the boy didn’t seem to understand. “This brothel doesn’t keep boys – I’m not a worker here, my mother is – and so it would be strange for there to be a boy here, you understand? But not strange at all for there to be another whore. Not even a young one.”

He probably could have just hidden the boy in the closet and called it done, but Meng Yao took a certain pleasure in stripping down the fine sturdy fabrics the boy was wearing and replacing them with his mothers’ cheap silks – they’d been more expensive, once, but she’d had to sell those – and in painting the boy’s face and eyes until he looked like any of the other girls that worked the house.

More pretty than some, even. His looks were really quite striking, even covered in cheap makeup, but with a fan and a veil to guard his face, no one looked twice at him where he was sitting in the corner of the main room, not even when the man hunting him, Wen Ruohan, leisurely followed the bosses around as they tore through the brothel, opening closets and looking under beds, searching for a stowaway.

Meng Yao’s pettiness turned out to have been a good idea, and if the boy asked, he’d definitely done it on purpose.

(A few of the men tried to buy ‘her’, always out looking for new meat, but Meng Yao was an old hand at turning down or redirecting customers that wanted things, and the one that kept persisting, a mean old drunkard that they’d had problems with before, got scared away by the boy’s own vicious glare.)

“Thanks,” the boy said again once the man he'd called Wen Ruohan had left. “Again.”

“You’ll pay me later,” Meng Yao reminded him, and the boy nodded. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“My name is Nie Mingjue. What's your name?”

“Meng Yao. Come upstairs – I have a little place in the attic where I sleep, and if you squeeze you might just fit.”

Nie Mingjue did, albeit barely, and if Meng Yao shoved himself into the boy’s arms, insisting that there wasn’t any other alternative, he thought that the bit of warmth he got was the least he deserved for enduring the stresses of the evening. His suspicions that Nie Mingjue was a great hugger whose hands never wandered were borne out by truth, and they stayed warm and safe the entire night through.

The next morning, Meng Yao reluctantly gave Nie Mingjue back his clothing – he would’ve liked to have sold a few pieces if he thought he could get away with it, but Nie Mingjue was meticulous in dressing properly – and watched him get dressed, thumbing idly through one of the cultivation manuals his mother had bought him. She hadn’t come home the night before, which meant she’d had a customer at the party; hopefully that meant they would be eating this month, even if Nie Mingjue forgot about paying what he owed. Assuming she didn’t waste the money on even more stupid books…

“What’s that?” Nie Mingjue asked, nodding at it.

Meng Yao showed it to him. “It’s supposed to teach you the basics of cultivating.”

He didn’t think it did, though. Nothing happened no matter how many times he practiced the motions, and it wouldn’t be the first time something his mother had bought at too high a price with her hard-earned money turned out to be a fake.

“Cultivation?” Nie Mingjue asked, and took the manual. “This is wrong.”

Meng Yao sighed. Of course it was.

“This won’t teach you anything,” Nie Mingjue continued, flipping through the pages with a frown. “Some of this is actually backwards - it’s not just useless, it’s worse than useless.”

Meng Yao blinked. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m a cultivator, of course,” Nie Mingjue said as if it was nothing. “Do you really want to learn?”

“It’s my mother’s dream for me,” Meng Yao said, his hands curling into fists with excitement. Nie Mingjue could be lying, of course, but he’d figured out pretty quickly in their conversation the night before that Nie Mingjue was very bad even at dissembling, and he didn’t look like he was lying now. “If you get me a real manual, there’s no need to pay any gold.”

“I’ll do both,” Nie Mingjue said, very seriously. “I don’t have a beginner’s manual with me, but I’ll get one from home and bring it to you next time we come here. Will that work?”

Meng Yao nodded furiously. Even if he got nothing, he started with nothing, he reminded himself harshly, but he couldn’t quite stop himself from hoping. Just once, just this once…

“And as for the gold, I can get that right now,” Nie Mingjue said. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Meng Yao spent the next quarter shichen telling himself to forget about seeing Nie Mingjue ever again, that the other boy had already forgotten him, that it was all pointless and he should be thinking instead about how to convince his mother to save some of what she earned from the night’s work rather than spending it at once.

But Nie Mingjue did come back, running as fast as he could.

“Meng Yao! Meng Yao!” he shouted, waving, and Meng Yao looked down at him from the balcony just the way he had the night before. “We’re going to leave right away, so I have to go back, but I got you whatever I could grab! Catch!”

Meng Yao caught the little bag Nie Mingjue threw him, stunned, and watched as the other boy ran back the way he came, a pair of fiercely scowling men in dark robes catching him by the arms and starting to scold him even as they dragged him away.

The pouch in Meng Yao’s hands was very light, feeling almost as if there was nothing inside, and very small, barely two fingers in width.

He figured that meant that there wouldn’t be much in there – a child’s pocket-money – but when he opened it up, he unexpectedly could fit his whole hand inside.

“Qiankun pouch!” he gasped, realizing what it must be, and grabbed a handful of the coins inside to pull out. They weren’t all gold – mostly not, in fact, but all those copper pennies and pieces of silver were still more than Meng Shi had managed to save up in six months’ time, and the two or three little chunks of gold hidden underneath would be an excellent start to a fund meant to buy her freedom.

Meng Yao hid the money in four different spots right away, putting the bag itself in the safest spot of all, and went to show the bosses a portion of what he’d gotten, claiming he’d gotten an unexpected tip. They took the small scrap of silver, leaving him with only a few copper pennies, and they went and found one of the more obviously hidden stashes to confiscate as well, just as he’d expected. But after that, they thought he’d been emptied out, while the gold and the rest of the money were still safe.

“Yesterday was a good day,” he told his mother with a smile when she returned, but she didn’t smile back even though her clothing was still intact and he didn’t see any new bruises, meaning it had to have been a decent enough night. “Wasn’t it for you?”

“No,” she said, her voice dull and deeply disappointed. “Not really.”

[four-rabbit]

My best friend died in the 90′

Ok, so, this is part of an ghost AU that I have and probably will be talking about in the future, where Virgil is a ghost and them and Remus are best friends, (this is not the main plot but anyway, like I said, I'll talk about it in later)

However, while this doesn't happen, please have this oneshot about Remus and Virgil meeting each other

Summary: Remus never had any friends, but that changed when he decided to go to the cemetery in the middle of the night, just to meet Virgil, a kid that besides being just as weird as Remus, happens to be dead.

(For a little bit of context: in this fanfic Remus comes from a family where eveyone can speak to ghosts, on his mom side, at least, but unlike Roman, Remus was never able to talk to a ghost before meeting Virgil)

Characters: Remus Sanders, Virgil sanders, mentions to Roman Sanders

Warnings: swearing (specifically a kid swearing), discussions of death, mentions of a fight and bullying.

Obs: in this au Virgil uses exclusively they/them pronouns and Remus uses he/it. This is not a genderbend version of Remus.

I've always been the weird child so it seemed appropriate that my first friend had been dead for more than a decade.

It's a funny story: I had gotten to another fight, I even lost a tooth that day and probably would have lost two if I hadn't run away the moment the fucking coward that called himself a bully invited his friends for help. I may be fast but I can only bite so many people at once.

I didn't want to go home because Roman would be worried and my parents would be angry, which was the usual, but getting bullied was also the usual, didn't mean that I couldn't get tired of it, that's why I decided to go to the cemetery I mean, why not? 

I knew I was far from my house because it took me less than ten minutes to reach it. My parents moved to as far as possible from there the moment Roman was born, the guy can't stand even getting closer to it, which I founded stupid at the time. I would give anything to have the stupid paranormal sensitivity that he was so afraid of instead of being the disappointment of the family.

Turns out he was right for being afraid. 

After a quick look I confirmed that there was no other living soul at the cemetery besides me, so I smiled and sat on the closest gravestone. Mom always said that we should respect the dead and their resting place or else they would teach us a lesson or whatever but I was fine with that because I had decided a long ago that If a ghost showed themself to me it would be the coolest freaking thing ever. I kicked the gravestone weakly, as if knocking on a door. That thought made me giggle as I imagined a ghost appearing in pajamas, angry at me for disturbing them that late at night. I kicked again, this time a little harder. 

"Stop that" someone mumbled besides me. I immediately got to my feet, thinking that the gravedigger had seen me but fortunately I didn't see an angry adult, but a kid. They were using a black hoodie and had equally dark hair falling on their face. They were pale as a dead body, fat and tall, basically the opposite of me, an unhealthily skinny latino little shit. I snorted.

"What are you gonna do about it?" I kicked the gravestone once more. They seemed startled, backing up a little. 

"You- you can see me?"

"Why wouldn't- OH MY GOD YOU'RE A GHOST?!" I screamed not even caring if someone could hear me. Virgil cared. 

"Sshh! I-" they seemed disconcerted but gave up with a sigh "Yes, I'm" 

"Oh! Holy shit! Is that your gravestone?! Is that why you appeared when I kicked it?!" I jumped in excitement, getting close to them to take a closer look at my most recent discovery. 

"No, I just don't think you should kick it. It's disrespectful" 

"Yeah, whatever! Oh my god I can't believe I'm seeing a ghost! Suck it, mom, I knew I could do it too!" I exclaimed to nothing in particular as if she could hear me. "What's your name?"

"No- look, I'm sorry, I didn't think you could see me, I just- I should go" they said in the classic "I want to get rid of you" that everyone used after talking to me for more than five minutes. I started to get desperate, this was my first time seeing a ghost, I wouldn't let them leave that easily.

"No, don't go! I promise that I'm cool! Sorry for kicking your friend's gravestone, I don't know, please stay!" I begged and I guess my irresistible cuteness touched their heart because they turned to look at me again.

"He's not my friend," Virgil explained. "Just an old ghost that doesn't like to be bothered." they looked down shyly and I thought that was cute. "My name is Virgil. What's yours?" 

"My name-" I always hated to tell people my deadname, I just didn't know why at the time "You can call me the Duke because my name is shit I really hate it y'know, it really sucks ass" They probably raised an eyebrow, it was hard to tell with all that hair failing on their face, but didn't say anything besides:

"Why not the duchess?"

"Because I don't want to" replied, crossing my arms as if challenging them to disagree. Virgil looked me up and down, processing my appearance. I was using dirty green legs, a black dress that my mom insisted that I wore for school and an old all star. Their eyes stopped at my face, with my bloody nose and the missing tooth. "What happened to your face?"

"Oh yeah I got into a fight! But it's cool, I'm not afraid of those assholes" now they seemed worried.

"Why did you get into a fight?"

"Just the usual, he stole my lunch, pushed me out of my bike, called me some bad words and I bit him. Y'know everyone thinks blood is so gross but I kinda like the taste." I looked at them, trying to see their reactions. I couldn't see their eyes but I'm sure they widened as Virgil got closer, saying in the same worried tone that Roman used:

"You should be careful! Have you told your parents?! Do you have any friends to walk with you? Or you could tell a teacher! No, forget it, teachers never help, at least not when I was alive. Is there anyone you can trust to protect you?"

"Wow, chill, I can take care of myself"

"I'm serious, Duke!" I rolled my eyes. I hated when people treated me as some fragile girl that couldn't take care of herself. Turned out I just hated that people treated me like a girl. 

"Why do you care? I just met you" 

"Because-" Virgil changed their mind mid phrase. Can't blame them, I wouldn't share my backstory and the reason I died that easily either if I was a ghost. "You seem nice, I don't want you to get hurt" I don't think anyone had ever called me nice by that time. Weird, gross, disturbing, problem child, ungracious I had always heard, but nice was new, even Roman just called me "cool" or "brave" at best. So, of course, I got defensive. 

"Hm. Want me to tell you what he, Peter by the way, is the name of the asshole, yeah, he's a big asshole, what Peter and his friends called me?!" Again, Virgil barely reacted to my swearing and I was starting to get frustrated, it was always an easy way to get some fun reactions, especially from adults.

"Not really…" as they would learn in the years that followed, that kind of phrase rarely stopped me from speaking. 

"He called me a bitch! That's when I bit him, actually, he was like, listen here you little bitch and he pointed his finger at my face and I bit it and I almost ripped it off I swear!" I looked at them, waiting for their reaction, already imagining what it would be. I was young but I had lived enough to mainly aim for negative responses just because they were better than no response at all. Virgil stayed in silence for longer than I wanted which was like the most boring response. 

"How old are you, Duke?"

"I'm going to be nine in three months! How old are you?"

"I died when I was ten." 

"Cool! I was never friends with an older kid!" I was never friends with anyone besides Roman, but anyway. "I mean, you're my friend, right?" They didn't answer immediately, but then Virgil opened a smile and probably decided they were going to protect that little chaotic gremlin.

"Yeah, I guess I’m.”

[yeojaa]

ANGELS & AIRWAVES (w. jjk)

He's never met you but you know how he sounds when he wakes up from a nap and his greatest fears.  You know the way he sings after a shower and that he could be mistaken for a dying seal when he's laughing too hard.  The best part?  You don't judge him for any of it - including the fact he's a filthy Widow main.  He might just love you.

alt summary.  Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

pairing.  jeon jungkook

genre + rating.  fluffy crack.  general, for now.

warning / tags.  long-distance relationship, crushes, canon compliant (ish),  eventual happy ending, gaming, gamer!jungkook, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, overwatch.  tags are hard.  :( 

reading.   n/a.  a three part one-shot.

word count.  ~2750

part ii.

JUNGKOOK’S ROOM Sunday, 15 March, 2020.  2:01 AM.   

He falls for you in between the tireless teasing, the laughter that sinks into his ears and replays like a highlight reel.  It happens when he leasts expects it, when he's got his face pressed into the velvet of Yeontan's fur and you're cooing over voice chat, whispering sweet nothings to the manic panic pup.  It comes in the moments he's not expecting it to, when he's frustrated and unbearable and you're as sunny as always, spilling yellow paint across the doors he tries to keep shut.  

Bit by bit, day by day, he finds himself thinking of you more. 

First, it's wondering what you're doing while he's half-asleep and on his way to the studio.  Do you look as tired as you sound?  What colour is your hair and how does it stick up when you've just rolled out of bed?  When you yawn, do you stretch like a cat?  He thinks you do, if the sounds you make are any indication.

Then it's asking himself whether you might like the same things he does, from horror movies to carnival rides.  Would you hold his hand as you made the drop, stomachs leaping into your throats?  Would you scream?  Would it sound anything like that terrified pterodactyl noise you make when you're spawn camped by a Roadhog?  He doesn't consider the fact that he doesn't even know if you're in the same city and you'll likely never meet - bound to the servers of Overwatch only.  

He thinks about all the things he'd like to do with you.  Video game nights filled with butter-tipped fingers and spilled popcorn.  Walks with your family dog - Natto - you'd told him about, all fluffy white fur and dark teddy bear eyes.  Sunrises on the rooftop of his building, because you had the worst insomnia he'd ever seen and what better way to spend your endless waking hours than with him.  

Jeon Jungkook knows he'll probably never get any of these things, but he lets himself daydream anyway. 

Like now, for instance, as the two of you sit in another queue at 2 AM.  You just woke up and you've got that tell-tale rattle in your lungs, words sluggish and lacking any real intent.  He imagines you look the way you sound - tired and a little out of it, with barely opened eyes and sleep-loosened limbs.  

"How'd you sleep?"  He asks softly, crossing his legs beneath him and raising his arms high above his head in the same instance.  The bones of his body realign, ridges of his spine clicking into place when he knots his fingers together and pulls taut.  

"You know - the usual,"  you muse, apathetic.  It's always the same.  

He doesn't question it any further.  He had once or twice, when you'd first started talking and he'd noticed the way you were always up at inhuman times.  One grumbling response had told him enough - your schedule was what it was and no amount of remedying could fix it.  

There's a beat of silence before he hears rustling and then the loud, inescapable sound of an electric toothbrush.  You don't bother to mute your microphone, not that he minds.  He simply sits quietly, scrolling through his phone as you go about your "morning" routine.  

"How was your day?"  You're settled back at your computer, he thinks.  The acoustics sound far less like that of a bathroom.  

"I had the day off, actually."  He'd used it to edit some footage and record a cover.  He hasn't posted it to Twitter yet - there were certain times he was supposed to, to maximize visibility - but he's excited for when he does.  It's a song that's been stuck in his head for weeks, all thanks to you.

"Woah - you didn't work today?"  There's genuine surprise in your question, rounded syllables that pop off your tongue in an explosion of shock.

“Right?”  He laughs a little, short and sweet.

Despite his carefully crafted facade, there were certain plot points that just stuck, intrinsically weaved into his day-to-day whether he liked it or not.

His jam packed schedule, for instance. 

To you, it’s the result of stretching himself too thin between teaching at his friend’s dance studio (where he also apparently moonlights as a personal trainer) and working as a videographer for his media-involved friends.  Not that you know any of them.  No, no.  All the work he does is for the little guys - none of those big companies like BigHit or JYP.  Jungkook’s just your average Joe behind the camera.

“What did you do all day then?”  You’re still in awe, little flecks of wonder threaded throughout like glittering gold yarn.  

“Hung out.  Did some editing.  I’m kind of behind.”  That was an understatement.  He’s working on footage from six months ago, trying to get it out before they head on tour and he won’t have the kind of time he has now.  

“Probably spending too much time gaming.”  

“Yeah, probably.”  Not that he minds, or that he’d change it.  He savours the time you spend together, even if it has kind of messed up his sleep schedule.  

“Sorry not sorry,”  you quip, seemingly reading his mind.  

“You should be,”  he retorts with laughter that builds in his stomach and echoes out of his chest.  “I don’t think I’ve had a good night's sleep in weeks.”

If you hadn’t had this conversation a handful of times before, he thinks you might be offended.  Instead, he can practically hear you roll your eyes - imagines your optic nerve nearly severs with the intensity of it - and grins.

“Don’t kid yourself - you know I’m the best thing about your nights!”

You’re not wrong.  “You’ve been lied to.”

“I’m suing!”

“I’ll have my lawyer contact your lawyer.”

“Wait, what?” 

The two of you have done what you always do - talked yourself into a tizzy that has you both laughing, sound crackling across the airwaves.  It’s nonsensical and silly but it feels good.  Your bond shines with it, glitters prettily between you.

Thank god for Overwatch.

You return the conversation to a semblance of normalcy first.  “Did you listen to that song I sent?”

“Yeah.”  The briefest pause.  “It was terrible.  Hated it.”

“Oh, shut up!” 

“I’m kidding.  It was really good.”  Jungkook doesn’t tell you that he’s had it on repeat for the past few days, saved to the private playlist that’s filled with the rest of your song recommendations.  

“I know!”  You’re preening as if he’d just complimented you, clearly pleased by the praise.  He supposes it’s a pretty good endorsement regardless. 

“Got any more for me?” 

“I should just make you a playlist.”

He ignores the way his heart skips a very real beat, mimics the erratic rhythm of his fingers on his keyboard.  Because he’d absolutely love that.

“You should.”

“Really?”  You sound uncertain but maybe - just maybe - a little hopeful.  He might also just be imagining things, as he so often does with you. 

“Yeah.  Why not?”  It comes nonchalantly despite the rushing in his ears, the wave that threatens to drown him.  He can feel emotion in his chest - winged and distracting.  A kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering away. 

You’re quiet for another second.  It feels like an eon.  “Okay, yeah.  I’ll start one and we can just add to it together.”

BIG HIT ENTERTAINMENT’S GYM Thursday, 26 March, 2020.  6:30 PM.   

“You sound like a meathead,”  you say, off-hand and disinterested.  

He loathes the grunt that squeaks past his teeth as he gently returns the dumbbells to the floor. Cue a generous chug of water and a near death experience when the liquid goes down the wrong pipe. 

Loud coughing crackles through his airpods before he’s addressing you.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re grunting like a caveman.”

If your first comment hadn’t offended him, this one does.  Jungkook scoffs, tonguing the interior of his cheek as his brow furrows.  Weights are returned to his hands, rotated above each shoulder as he resumes another set of presses. 

“Do you even workout anything other than your fingers?”  He’s making a conscious effort not to make a sound, breath exhaled sharply through his nose.  It’s harder than he cares to admit but he’s also not about to give you an excuse to tease him further.  You already had way too much material.

“Don’t shame me!”  You really don’t sound that indignant.

“So, I’m right?  You’re a big couch potato who’s just jealous of my hot body?”

Now you’re incredulous.  It’s one of his favourite sounds because it comes draped in laughter, dancing around his head in the form of cartoon hearts. 

“Did you just say ‘hot body’, Jay?”

“Maybe I did.  What of it?”  He sniffs - he’s picked it up from you over the months - and your amusement doubles, giggles crashing into each other in their haste.  

“You are so, so weird.”  There’s a tenderness in your voice that he’d like to live in.  It wraps him up like a hug, tugging at his feeble little heartstrings. 

“Weird and hot.”

“You can’t just say that!”

“Why not?”  If anything, you’re the one person he can say it to.  With you, it’s the funniest joke he’s ever made.  It’s playful and silly, with no rhyme or reason.  He doesn’t have to worry about it being misconstrued or held against him. 

“You just can’t!  Only other people can say it.”  You sigh dramatically, from your chest.  “Do I have to teach you everything?”

“Everything but being healthy, probably.” 

“Har har har.”  

He can tell by how the words roll off your tongue, muffled and lacking clarity, that you’re eating.  He wonders if you’ve made pancakes - you’d been complaining about craving them just two days ago.  There are no tell-tale crunching or slurping, so he knows it isn’t your usual double whammy combo of ramyeon and Choco Boys.  

“I’ll have you know I used to run.”  Something about the way you say it makes him believe you, even though he wants to mock you a little more.  

“In gym class doesn’t count.”

“I used to run with Natto, you ass!”  Okay - so that actually sounded legitimate.

“Why don’t you still then?”

“There was an incident once.”  You’re sipping on something - likely coffee with oat milk and two pumps of hazelnut syrup.  It doesn’t matter that it’s dinner time and most people would be winding down for the evening.  “Because of my insomnia, I’d run at odd hours.  One day, some weirdo stopped me while I was running along the river.  He didn’t hurt me or anything—”  A part of him thinks you’re downplaying it but he says nothing, only waiting for you to continue.  “—but he followed me home.  I made the mistake of telling my parents and they freaked out so…” 

“So no more running by yourself.” 

“Yeah, exactly.”

“I’d run with you.”  It doesn’t mean much, but it’s the thought that counts.  

“Thanks, Jay.”  

Not for the first time, he wishes he could hear his name - his real name.  Just once.

“JUNGKOOOOOOOOOOK.”  It eats up every ounce of space of the gym, filling the room with the resounding boom of it.  How it manages to be so loud, he’s not sure.  He wishes it weren’t.  There’s no way you haven’t heard it.  

Especially not when it comes again, deafening even to his occupied ears. 

“JUNGKOOOOK-AH!”  Namjoon now, right as the double doors fly open.

Jimin’s barreling toward the alarmed maknae as he shouts.  “WE’RE DOING A VLIVE!”

Jungkook feels like his insides are melting  - his internal temperature spiking with embarrassment and worry and something that chants oh no! over and over in his head.  The tops of his ears are burning, as is the column of his throat.  A quick glance in the mirror confirms his suspicion that he is, indeed, bright tomato red.

“Jay?”  You repeat once, twice, when he doesn’t immediately answer.  “Everything okay?”

He moves with a speed he doesn’t expect, weights unceremoniously dropped on either side of him before he’s tearing his AirPods out.  “I’ve got to go. Sorry!”

He doesn’t end the Discord call a moment too soon, Jimin upon him in the next instant.  The smaller dancer is draping himself across Jungkook’s shoulders, the widest shit-eating grin on his pretty face.

“Want to join us for a VLive?”  

“No.  I’m busy.”  

“Busy with your girlfriend?”  Jimin’s wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.  He only stops when Jungkook shifts aggressively, tearing himself out from underneath the other.  

“Not my girlfriend!”  

“But you wish she was!”  

He can’t deny that, so he doesn’t bother, instead seizing his discarded weights with an embarrassed scowl permanently etched into the planes of his face.  He’s reracking them - because god, he’s not an animal - when he notices Jimin making his departure, that teasing smile replaced with something soft and edging on concern.

“What’re you going to do when we’re on tour?”

Jungkook blanches then.  You’d become such an undeniable part of his everyday life that he hadn’t even considered what it’d mean when he was busier than now, unable to spend late nights gaming with you. 

But Jimn’s already gone, leaving him and his thoughts alone.

JUNGKOOK’S ROOM Friday, 27 March, 2020.  12:05 AM. 

It’s close to midnight by the team he logs on.  Realistically, he should go to sleep.  He’s clean and worn out and his bed is calling to him like a siren at sea.  But you’re sitting alone in the channel, streaming Overwatch for no one to see, and he can’t just leave it at that.

He needs to say goodnight, like he always does. 

“Coming for my title as Headshot God?”   The quip’s off his tongue before you have a chance to acknowledge him, your laughter the first thing he hears once he’s connected.

“I’ve been waiting in this queue for seven minutes.  Seven!”  

It’s really not that bad.  The rare times you’d both queue for DPS were nearly double that.  

“Patience is key,”  he teases, slumping into his chair as he watches you click through your Hero Gallery.  You’re cruising seemingly aimlessly, roving through the different skins for your mains (Mercy, Ana, Genji, Ashe).  The silence between you is comfortable, interspersed only by the occasional munching he can only assume comes from the carrots you seem to inhale.

For all the junk you ate, you were somehow also weirdly into vegetables.  

“Patience sucks,”  you retort, matter-of-fact. 

“You know what else sucks?”  

It’s a rhetorical question and he knows you know, but because you’re you, you start listing things off just to get under his skin.  “Spiders?  Undercooked samgyupsal?  Not having coffee?  Your jokes?”

If he weren’t laughing so hard, he might’ve given you shit for making fun of his comedic genius.  He really doesn’t understand how you think he’s the unfunny one when all you do is crack puns.  

“I was actually going to say me,”  he finally manages in between those high pitched cackles of his.  

“Wait, why?”  You’re used to him having witty comebacks.

Edge of enamel worries his bottom lip and Jungkook can taste cherry Chapstick and what would be bashfulness, if it had a flavour.  “For earlier.”

You scoff, your own tinkling laughter tearing him out from inside his own head.

“It’s okay, goofball.”

He appreciates how laidback you are, never holding anything against him.  Not even when he hangs up on you or accidentally spams you with memes when you’re trying (and failing) to sleep.  “No.  I’m sorry.”  He says it earnestly, with all the meaning he can muster.  

MATCH FOUND flickers across his and your screen and you’re loading into hero selection.  He knows you’ll be too distracted once the game starts, so he’s grateful when you laugh again, sweet as summer.  

“Nothing to be sorry about.  Just tell me everything’s okay and we’re even.”  

Inhale, exhale.  Try not to tell her you have the biggest, stupidest crush on her,  he tells himself. 

“Everything’s okay.”  And he means it when he says it, though they aren’t the words he wishes he could say.  

“Good.”  

You’ve chosen Genji,  He smiles to himself when you join voice chat and the rest follow, greetings filtering in from your team members.  

“Good luck.”  You don’t need it.  He still likes to say it.

“You have an early day tomorrow, right?”  Leave it to you to remember his schedule even when he doesn’t.  

“Yeah, pretty early.”  

“Then go to bed!  I’ll still be awake when you’re up.”  

He lingers on that fact - holds it tightly in his hands so it can’t slip away.  You’d be there in the morning, just like you always were.  Knowing that stirs those same butterflies in his chest, words stolen by the overzealous beating of their wings.

You read his silence like they’re your own thoughts,  “I’m always here for you, Jay.”  

“Goodnight.”

"Sleep sweet."

notes.  this chapter is set four-ish months following the first, in case that’s not clear.  :) 

tag list.  @teawithbucky​ 

[sweetwritertanya]

Happy Valentine’s Day (Jungkook)

Summary: You thought this Valentine’s Day would be the last one with your boyfriend Jungkook, who had been distant the past month. However, as it turns out, it’s quite the opposite.

Warnings: SMUT! With a surprising amount of angst at the beginning that I didn’t really plan, I wanted to keep things fluffy and smutty, but somehow it turned out like this. Anyway, be aware of: erotic body touching, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (yet again, is anyone surprised), against wall sex.

Word Count: 3934

Since the beginning of the year, your worst fear had been coming true. Somehow you always suspected this would happen, that was how little confidence you had in this relationship. In yourself, really. The fact that you got to date Jungkook at all was just some cosmic mistake, surely.

He was just too good to be true. Not only was he the most handsome man you had the opportunity to lay your eyes on, with big brown eyes, a perfect button nose, kissable lips, strong jawline and a fit body to envy, but he was exceptionally caring and loving at the same time. All wrapped up in a shy but eager package of a man.

What he saw in you, you had no idea. You were beyond curvy, you had fat rolls down your sides, squishy arms, a soft jawline, large stomach and wiggling thighs. Not everyone always cared for a body like yours, something you knew since a long time. And you were certain that you were just not what Jungkook was looking for in a girlfriend. Until he asked you out.

For almost a year now, it felt like you had been living a dream. With fun dates, shaky hands holding yours in his, blushing cheeks and shy kisses. Tickles and laughing under the sheets. You honestly started to believe he actually loved you. And you had long fallen deep for him.

But since the first days of January, Jungkook had gone distant. He would spend most of his free time away from you, mostly on the gym. Whenever you asked him to come by your apartment and stay over like he usually did, he would find some excuse to not show up or leave early. Like he didn’t want to be there anymore.

So, when Valentine’s Day arrived, you didn’t even bother to ask him about it. In your mind, you were counting the days until he came by to break up with you. It made your stomach turn awfully and heart ache to even think about it.

You were watching some soppy romantic comedy on the TV, feeling worse about yourself as the beautiful main lead got the man of her dreams and her happy ending, when there was a knock on your door. You frowned, not expecting any one and checking on your phone that no one called to tell you they were coming.

“Who is it?” you asked from behind the close door.

“It’s me, Y/N” you recognized Jungkook’s voice.

You heart dropped. He wouldn’t be so cold hearted to break up on Valentine’s Day, right? You shook your head and brushed away such a thought from your mind. He was too much of a sweet person for that.

“Kook, what are you…” You lost your train of thought when you opened the door and saw him.

It felt like so long since you last saw him. He was wearing a black suit, with straight pants down to his shiny black shoes and a fitted blazer over the black turtle neck he had underneath. The silver buttons stood out against the dark outfit and matched his rings and piercings on his ears. Hair straightened and voluminous around his sculptured face.

He was holding a single red rose on his hands, enclosed in a clear wrapping paper with small baby-breaths around it. Coughing shyly, he held it with both hands towards you, a small smile on his pink lips.

“Happy Valentine’s day, baby” he wished.

A bit taken back, truly not expecting anything from him, you took it silently from his hands, unsure of what to do. Jungkook placed his hands on his pockets, fidgeting a bit in his place, apparently a bit nervous.

“Hum, can… Can I come in for a second?” he shyly asks, taking you out of your trance.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

You allow him in and close the door behind him, going to the kitchen next and finding a glass to fill with water and place the rose inside.

“So, I wanna take you somewhere with me today” he shared, leaning against the kitchen table.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me, I would have gotten ready beforehand!” you reproach, being clothed in some old leggings and a stained hoodie.

“We have all the time in the world if you want to go and change. Can I wait for you in here?”

“Of course. Okay, give me a few minutes. Is it somewhere very fancy?” you ask, already going towards your bedroom door.

“No, not at all. Dress however you like” he told you, crossing his arms and sitting on a chair at the kitchen table.

Somehow you doubted that, when he was so well dressed himself. Sighing, you got in your bedroom and thanked your past self for taking a shower earlier in the day, meaning you only had to style your hair a bit, since it was properly washed.

You stared at your wardrobe for a few minutes before deciding that, if this was your only Valentine’s Day with Jungkook, you wanted to look your best and make it memorable. So you picked out a royal blue dress you had never worn, with a deep sweetheart neckline and cold shoulder short sleeves, a thin sparkling belt at the smallest part of your waist and a skirt that fell to your knees in a straight line, your wide hips making it curvier. A bit of makeup, curled hair and a long coat on top, you got out of your bedroom with your nude heels already on.

Jungkook looked up from his phone to regard you when he heard the door open and choked. You looked absolutely exquisite, your voluptuous form filling out your dress amazingly, curvaceous legs on display for him to see and resist the temptation to brush his hands up the soft skin. When you bent down to pick your purse, his eyes were drawn to the deep cleavage and he marveled at the roundness of your breasts, hands itching.

“Ready. Should we go?” You innocently ask, completely unaware of the effect you had on the boy. He cleared his throat, looking away from your eyes in embarrassment, and got up from the chair he was still seating on.

“Y-Yeah, it’s a short drive” he informed, meeting you at the door of your apartment.

While in the car, Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how silent you were while he drove. Although you had your quiet moments, you were usually more conversational than this and it had him worried.

“Is… Is everything alright, Y/N?” he hesitantly asked.

You pressed your lips together nervously, playing with your fingers on your lap as you tried to decide if it was a good idea to get into it while on the car. You honestly just wanted to ignore everything that made you sad about his recent behavior, but you knew you could never have a good time by pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.

“I didn’t… I didn’t think you would show up today, that’s all” you confessed, eyes kept on your hands. “You haven’t been very present lately.”

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek, not quite ready to tell you why yet.

“Yeah, sorry about that. But I’ve been very busy. And I’ve been working out a lot at the gym.” It was the truth, although not the complete truth he wished he could tell you right then and there. But he had to be patient and await the right moment.

You breathed in shakily, feeling extremely uncomfortable with tears pooling on your eyes.

“Are… Are you going to break up with me, Jungkook?”

The wheels of the car screeched and the car behind yours beeped as Jungkook almost let the car break down. His heart was hammering against his chest and panic was getting in the way of his breathing. Thankfully he was almost at his destination.

“W-What? Why d-do you think that?!” He questions in stammers, brown eyes as large as saucers, trying to focus on the road.

“Sorry! Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up, I’m sorry” you immediately apologize, beating yourself up for voicing your concerns like this.

Jungkook pulls up and parks the car at the edge of the road, taking his seatbelt and turning to you with a fearful expression. You couldn’t quite look him in the eyes.

“I don’t wanna break up! Far from it!” he stated with determination and a bit of panic behind his words.

“Then… then why have you been so distant? For the last month, you have barely come to see me, I thought you grew tired of me and wanted to break up” you finally voice your fears, looking at him with glassy eyes, tears threatening to fall.

“That…! I was…! Damn it” he stumbled with his own words, banging his fist on the car wheel when he couldn’t get the right words out. “Just come with me and I’ll explain everything.”

He got out of the car in a hurry, running to your side of the vehicle and helping you stand up. You noticed how the hand he intertwined with yours seemed to be shaking a bit. He pulled you to the other side of the road and you frowned in confusion when he guided you through the front yard of a two story house, stopping at the main door.

Turning towards you and taking a deep breath, he pulled something from his pocket and looked at you. For the first time, you noticed how red his eyes seemed to be as well, making your heart clench in pain at the thought of hurting him.

“The main reason I was so busy was because of this.” He showed you a key he had in his hand and, with it, opened the door for the house you were in. “I bought a house.”

You gasped.

“You got a house?” You were astonished. He never talked about wanting to move.

“Yeah, I’ve been looking at a bunch of houses with the help of my hyungs” he shared, leaving the door open and turning back to you. “That’s why I’ve been so busy after work. And it is true I’ve been to the gym a lot. Mainly, because I really wanted to do this.”

Suddenly, Jungkook leaned down and, with an arm on your back and the other at the back of your knees, lifted you up in his arms bridal style, much to your disbelief.

“Wha-! Jungkook, I’m heavy, put me down!” you yelled at him. He had never picked you up like this before, just maybe momentarily every once in a while.

He ignored you and, with you in his arms, carried you inside the house and closed the door with his foot. You would have paid more attention to the house itself if you weren’t still amazed at how easily he was holding you up.

“I’ve been working out so I could do this. I wanted to carry you like this throughout the whole house” he explained, twirling you both around and making you giggle as you cleaned the water at the corner of your eyes.

“You’ve been going to the gym so you can pick me up?” you repeat, still in disbelief.

“I could already pick you up. You’re not as heavy as you seem to think, Y/N. But I wanted to build up my strength so I don’t get tired as easily” he corrected, smiling shyly with tainted cheeks.

“Kook, you idiot… I thought you didn’t care for me anymore! I thought you were about to leave me!” you complained, tears coming back.

Jungkook put you down just so he could cradle your face close to his and clean your tears away, speaking softly with you as he did so.

“Far from it, so far from it, baby. I… Damn it, this is not how intended to ask this but… Y/N, will you move in with me? Live with me here, Y/N.”

Your bottom jaw falls in disbelief at his words, completely taken back and unable to understand what he just asked you. The tears he had cleaned up were suddenly replaced by a whole bunch of others, much to his concern.

“Y-Y/N? Wait, I’m sorry, if… if you don’t want to, it’s okay. I-It was a dumb idea, I’m s-” he was panicking at your tears.

“Yes” you interrupted him, a smile spreading on your lips as you looked up into his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll move in with you, Kook. I love you.”

Chuckling out of pure relief and happiness, all the sadness of the last month completely fading away at his explanation, you stand on your tippy toes and join your lips together with his. You felt him sigh in relief under your lips and a smile forming as the mouths move together in sync with each other, your arms surrounding his neck and his arms around your plushy waist. Jungkook tentatively skimmed his tongue across your lower lip and you opened your mouth to allow him access.

The kiss deepened and tongues slipped against each other, skin growing warmer and air becoming thicker around you two. Your mouths only separated when you gasped in surprise as Jungkook descended his arms from your waist to bellow your ample ass cheeks and pulled you up, your heavy legs automatically wrapping around his waist in the process.

“Jungkook! What are you doing?” you asked as he started moving with you straddling his waist, his mouth clinging to your neck.

“Taking you to the bedroom” he simply said against your skin.

You blushed at the same time you smiled, heart beating fondly against your ribcage.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself, I can walk there” you stated.

“This is what I’ve been working for, let me have this” he asked of you, licking your earlobe to make you stop talking, knowing how sensitive it was.

“Ahh… You’re so stubborn.”

“No, I’m determined. I really enjoy having you in my arms like this, baby.”

Claiming your mouth so you wouldn’t talk back, Jungkook took you up the stairs, stopping every other step to push you to the wall and kiss you heavily, impatience starting to bubble up from the way your hands had already found themselves beneath his blazer and turtle neck, scratching at the skin of his muscular back and teasing the skin under the hem of his trousers.

Thankfully, the house was already fully furnished and there was a bed made for Jungkook to lay you in, moving away from your luscious body in order to get rid of his clothes. Your coat had already been left downstairs, all you had on was your dress.

You sat up in bed to watch your boyfriend strip, breath getting caught in your throat at every inch of him. He was so beautiful, his muscles even more defined after so much time at the gym, skin so radiant and smooth. You had no idea what you did to deserve him.

Coming back to kneel on the bed beside you clad in only his boxers, Jungkook held the back of your neck with one hand as he kisses your lips deeply again, the other hand finding the zipper of the dress and pulling it down. He had you on your back as he undressed your top, kisses following the skin his hands uncovered. His mouth pecked at your round shoulders, down your neck, to the dip between your breasts left in a black bra, down your pudgy stomach.

He started pulling at the skirt of the dress and you lifted your hips so he could take the dress all the way off, leaving you in your underwear.

You watched as Jungkook took you in head to toe, trembling a bit before returning your gaze.

“You look so good, Y/N. Can I have you like this every day? Can I wake up with you beside me all my mornings and kiss your pretty skin like this?” he asked with lust blown eyes and red cheeks, hovering above you in his forearms, hands brushing the skin of your face.

You held his face in between your hands, eyes looking between both of his, amazed at the love behind them.

“Yeah, Kookie. For as long as you want” you promised him.

He groaned and united your lips again for a searing kiss, goosebumps awakening up your spine and a wet discomfort becoming unbearable in between your legs, as his hands found your breasts and started to fondle with them over your bra. He left your mouth to start leaving wet kisses down your skin again, pulling the cup of your bra just slightly down and taking the nipple that stood out into his warm lips.

You squirmed as his tongue played with the little nub, your nails scratching at his strong shoulders as the electric shocks of pleasure it instigated. His tongue swirled around it and then his teeth pulled at the nipple, a wail escaping you at that.

Understanding how hot and bothered you were, Jungkook’s head traveled down your body until he was kissing your fleshy thighs, strong hands opening your legs so he could stand in between them.

“Ah, Jungkook… Please” you begged shamefully.

Hearing your request, he took off your drenched panties from your body, his face now mere inches from your hot center, dripping with want and need for him. Your body jolted and you saw sparkles at the first movement of his tongue, up and down your folds, tasting your sweetness like a starved men. You writhed and moaned under his demanding mouth, sucking and lapping at every right spot that had your muscles trembling with the need to let go.

At the sounds you were making, Jungkook felt himself growing painfully hard under his boxers and it made him want to move things along. He sucked on your clit harshly, licking it right after and repeating the process until you were completely drenched in your juices, about to reach your end. But he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Ahh, ahhh… N-No, don’t stop!” It would have made you blush the whine in your voice as he lifted his head from between your legs, if you weren’t already completely flushed head to toe.

“I’m sorry, baby, I can’t take it! Can’t wait anymore” he huffed in a painful voice, and you saw how he had pulled his boxers down and was stroking himself, his beautiful cock so incredibly flush and burning red, crown covered in his own overflowing juices already. Your insides clenched hard and you whined again.

“I want you so bad, Y/N!” Jungkook whimpered, his hand growing faster as he looked pleading at you.

“I want you too, Jungkook. Hurry, please, please!” you rushed him, opening your arms so he would take you.

However, instead of getting on top of you like you assumed he would, Jungkook pulled you by your extended arms and grabbed your wide hips, one hand on your back and another on your butt cheek as he stood up with you in his arms and pushed your back against the wall, hissing at the friction of his erection against your burning slit.

“Damn it…” he cursed under his breath. “A-Against the wall, like this. Can we do it like this?”

You would have complained, you would have worried about how heavy you were, about tiring him too much or risking you falling from his arms or he falling after carrying you for so long, but your brain was so completely clouded with need and he felt so damn good against your aching entrance that you would have agreed to absolutely anything at that point just to have him inside.

“Yeah! Yeah, Kook, yes, please-”

With wavering breaths, Jungkook lifts your hips just enough to position himself against your entrance and when you slide back down, back rubbing a bit against the wall, he is completely bottomed out inside of you. You moan so loud, arms tightening around his shoulder and neck, legs crossing at his lower back, feeling him so incredibly deep.

A cross between a grunt and a whimper escapes Jungkook lips too, his cock completely surrounded by your throbbing, hot and wet silk walls, pleasure running thorough his veins at the feeling. It feels so good he doesn’t even process the weight of you in his arms, all he feels is your body pressed against his and he automatically is thrusting up into your hole, you being completely at the mercy of his movements.

He starts yanking his hips, slowly at first, building up a pace that had you biting your lips. A deep tense pull of nerves starts forming on your lower belly and you yearn for more. Jungkook’s shaft is rubbing your walls just right, this new angle enticing new sensations you never felt, your back against the wall cooling your skin down only for his movements to heat it back up. But then he starts picking up speed, pounding into you so fast that the friction against the wall starts hurting a bit, but it only expands the feeling of pleasure somehow.

Jungkook feels incredible as he holds you like this, he feels so strong and manly. Through half-closed eyes he sees your face constricted in pleasure, he feels the reverberations of each of his thrusts on your flesh, jiggling so delectably on his hands. It almost undoes him.

The sound of skin slapping skin and the sounds of your wetness mixes in with your moans and his grunts, heavy breaths from both of you. Jungkook grabs your ass cheeks and moves you away from the wall, holding you close as his pelvis keeps slamming fast against yours and it’s stimulating your clit at the same time he rubs the spot inside, making you cry out as your stomach falls and your inner walls spasm uncontrollably around him, coating him with your juices as you cum violently.

“Ahh, Y/N! Y/N, Y/N!”

Jungkook cums in just a handful more of thrusts into your still throbbing tunnel, blood roaring against his ears and mind going blank as spikes of electricity rush through him, shaft twitching inside of you as he releases white strings against your walls.

Spent, Jungkook falls back and thankfully he lands with you on top at the bed, sweating and flushed but satisfied in every level. You are trying to control your heart and regain your breath on top of him, never in your life having considered it possible to have sex in such a position due to your weight.

“Jungkook?” you call, head on his chest hearing his heart beating loudly under his skin.

“Yeah?” he breathily responds.

“When you were going to the gym, you were envisioning doing this to me, weren’t you?”

He stays silent for a moment and then turns you over, so you are suddenly on your back. You whimper at the sudden loss of him against you, but have no time to focus on that when he is right in front of your face, large eyes staring at you with red cheeks and swollen lips.

“Shut up.”

He kisses you and you giggle into the kiss, knowing you were right and he just didn’t want to admit it. He pecks at your lips, then at the corners, then at your flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead.

“Let me go see if our shower is working.”

Your heart does a complete flip at the word ‘our’ and you know then and there that he was going to be your forever and always, the love of your life.

[moipale]

Scientist’s Curiosity

This fic was written for Ectober Week 2020 Day 2: Bones/Pulse and can be found on AO3 and FFN as well as here!

You can find me on this blog or on my main @faedemon

Maddie is alone when she catches it.

Jack is out of town visiting a convention, and she still hasn’t managed to rope either of the kids into coming out on these little patrols, so it’s just her and the whistle of the empty street that bears witness to Phantom’s fall.

It hasn’t even been weakened by another ghost—it’s been a peaceful night, quiet, and what allows Maddie to bag the ghost boy is nothing more than luck. Luck, and a lapse in judgement on Phantom’s part.

Maybe it’s a good thing Jack isn’t with her—his lumbering, bless him, surely would have given them away by now. But Maddie is quiet, and she creeps into range with a stealth she didn’t realize she could still maintain, well into her forties. The weapon she’d decided to carry for this particular venture is perfect: an electric net-thrower, and Phantom, sitting casually on the edge of a rooftop, its legs dangling off the side, is well within shooting distance.

She readies the gun, looking up at its silhouette. If it were human, she wouldn’t be able to see its facial features this late at night, but the ghostly glow that emanates from its form lights it up like a beacon, and as she steadies her aim, her eyes scour its face, studying it.

Phantom’s facial features are soft. Its body holds that look of someone who’s just about to lose the last of their baby fat, but hasn’t reached that point quite yet. It looks young. Childlike.

It’s really too bad that Maddie knows enough to check Amity’s death records, because no one matching Phantom’s rough age, description, or the name ‘Danny’ has died in Amity Park since its founding.

Ghosts truly are evil creatures, to play the part of a child.

She pulls the trigger, her aim true, and the net flies toward Phantom faster than it can react to. It wraps around the ghost, glomming onto its limbs as the bolas bond themselves to its ectoplasm—a nice touch Jack had thought of, she should really thank him when he gets back—and effectively immobilizes it.

Phantom starts struggling immediately, its eyes going wide as it tries desperately to wriggle out of the net. Maddie has to fight back a titter of amusement when it wiggles its way off the roof, falling the two stories down to the pavement. It can’t fly, either—good to know the power nullification agent in the net works as intended.

She approaches, and Phantom catches sight of her quickly enough. The look in its eyes goes through a peculiar flash of emotions—fear, a pause of confusion where it relaxes slightly, and then fear again, almost like it had forgotten for a moment who she was and what its capture meant.

No matter. Maddie will be able to study all its “emotional” responses up close soon enough.

She’d gone out tonight without the van, which is a shame—she hadn’t been expecting to collect a sample tonight, so she’d wandered a fair distance away from home. It’ll be hell to carry Phantom all the way back. She’s not willing to risk leaving it there to go grab the van, though, so lugging the ghost back it is. At least ectoplasm is fairly light—most of the weight she’s carrying comes from the net.

“Hey,” the ghost says as she hoists it onto her shoulder. “Mo—Maddie, listen, you don’t want to do this. Please put me down.” It pleads, quite pathetically, as she adjusts her grip and starts walking. It’s late at night, so she’s not particularly worried about anyone seeing this little spectacle, but even if they did, she isn’t expecting anyone to stop her. It’s not like she’s carrying around a person.

“Maddie—” it says again, but she interrupts it.

“Ask again and I’ll turn my taser on you and I won’t turn it off,” she warns in a sharp voice.

There’s a beat of silence before it mutters, “Oh, yeah, tase the guy who died from electrocution, that’s nice,” and then falls silent.

Well, that little tidbit has given her an idea for a whole new line of experimentation. The thought puts a little pep in her step, and she starts to walk a bit faster. Phantom seems to sense this, and it starts to wriggle again, trying to worm its way out of her grip. She holds onto it more tightly and continues on.

Fentonworks comes into view about fifteen minutes later, and she darts up the front steps, more giddy than she’s been in a long while. There’s a keypad next to the lock, and she punches in the numbers that will disable the anti-ecto array inside—it wouldn’t do to have her specimen polka-dotted with holes before she can even get it onto the examination table. Once she hears the whine of the machinery powering off, she lets herself in, beelining for the lab.

Normally, if she manages to capture a specimen while Jack’s not around, she’d call him to let him know what she’d picked up and then hold off on examination until he returned. This, though—this is big, and Phantom is a known escape artist. She can’t wait and risk losing it, not even for a phone call.

She deposits Phantom on one of the clearer tables before making quick work of all the junk on the floor, shoving it to the sides or, in the case of more fragile pieces, putting them away where they won’t be touched. After she’s confident the lab is clear enough for her to move around without danger of tripping, she takes the table Phantom is steadily trying to wiggle off of and drags it to the center of the room, directly beneath one of the overhead lights and well within range of any of the tools she may feel necessary to pull out. The fluorescent light above Phantom has the added bonus of partially blinding him, and making her look like little more than an indistinct silhouette.

As convenient as built-in restraints would be, ghosts’ forms are too variable for her and Jack to have ever installed any that would be universally effective, so she goes back to the old tried-and-true: paralytics.

Maddie preps a sterile needle—sterilized more for her benefit than Phantom’s, in case of an accident—and fills it with a concoction she and Jack had developed fairly recently: a paralyzing agent made from a mix of chemicals that would be frankly concerning—if it were meant for humans.

Phantom’s eyes are locked onto the needle as she turns around and approaches the table. It looks almost surprised, and Maddie wonders if it’s only now that the true reality of the situation is dawning on it. If ghosts can even have that kind of emotional realization, anyway. She hasn’t quite determined where the threshold is.

“Hey, what are—what are you doing?” It had stopped talking on the walk back to Fentonworks, but now it starts up again, babbling protests and pleas. “Please, don’t—I have a responsibility, I have to—” Maddie stops listening after a moment, not bothering to even respond.

Phantom begins to wiggle more fiercely, to which Maddie sighs quietly, reaching out to physically hold him down with one arm. It takes a moment, but she manages to slide the needle in just below the elbow, pushing down the plunger without any real regard for how fast she’s injecting. It’s not like it even matters where she inserts the needle—the entirety of Phantom’s body should just be ectoplasm inside; its not like there are any particular veins she’s trying to hit. Its body does give a good illusion of blood vessels from the outside, though. Except, of course, for the fact that they’re green.

After a few seconds, Phantom’s movements slow, and within a minute its fully immobilized, save its eyes, which dart back and forth rapidly. Its thrashing had left it sprawled in an unlikely position, and Maddie has half a mind to leave it like that for the humiliation before her thoughts catch up with her and she realizes how unscientific the impulse is. Pursing her lips, she arranges Phantom’s body to her convenience: on its back, legs and arms extended, both sets of limbs pulled slightly out from the body. She also closes its mouth, which had been hanging open dumbly, but not before spying how humanlike the inside of it looks. She makes a note to examine it more thoroughly later, after she’s gotten the samples she needs.

Seeing Phantom laid out like this, immobile, entirely at her mercy, is far more vindicating than it probably should be. The ghost boy has been the source of so much of the Fentons’ ire, and now she finally, finally has it where she wants it. A lesser scientist would probably take advantage of this situation, but Maddie is a professional. No matter how eager she may be to get her hands on it, she will keep her composure.

Maddie and Jack have had two goals since they first laid eyes on Phantom: to study and understand its obsession and its physiology.

Phantom’s obsession has been a thing of curiosity for them since the beginning. Something in Phantom compels it not only to avoid attacking humans, but also actively try to prevent other ghosts from attacking humans. Maddie has hesitantly labeled the obsession as ‘protection,’ but the notion is a vague one—what, exactly, is it protecting? An individual? A group? Or not a person at all, but the town? Why Amity Park, of all places?

And aside from that, Phantom’s unusual physiology is obvious even when observing it from afar. It’s not like the other ghosts—its ectoplasm is denser and less malleable, it seems to activate powers consciously rather than subconsciously, and its appearance mimics a human’s almost concerningly well. In regards to the latter, Maddie would assume Phantom is a recently-formed ghost, and the human body is not too far of a memory for its form to retrieve and recreate, if not for the research she’s done. Phantom, whatever it is, has appeared as far back as ancient Rome, and has made multiple appearances in the 1600s and in the 20th century.

She meets its eyes again, though she’s sure it can’t tell through the red sheen of her goggles. It watches her, terrified, the slightest hint of resignation creeping in.

She’s always wondered where the line is between mimicking emotions and feeling them. If you can force your heart to race and tears to fall, even if you made it happen, is the adrenaline spike any different? The choked throat?

She’s always wondered why, even when caught or observed alone, the ghosts never stop emoting. Muscle memory? Habit? Truth?

She and Jack had agreed long before now on what samples would be taken, should either of them manage to capture Phantom: five ectoplasm samples at intervals leading toward the core from the extremities, a sample of the core material while active and one while inactive, a piece of the hazmat suit, hair (and nails, should it have them), and anything else of note.

She gets to work immediately, taking up a pair of scissors from one of the nearby tables. This, too, she sterilizes, and then wastes no time in cutting her way down Phantom’s suit, first down the torso and next down each of the limbs, so that the suit falls away from the body, exposing its form beneath. She snips off a sizable chunk of the garment’s chest and stores it in a specimen bag, setting it aside for later examination.

It’s as she moves to begin carving out chunks of ectoplasm that she notices something she really should have noticed far earlier. As the scalpel she’d picked up moves closer to Phantom’s skin, its panicked breathing picks up.

Its breathing.

Maddie slowly turns her head to look down at Phantom, watching its chest rise and fall rapidly, enough so that it would be considered hyperventilation in a person. It watches her back, eyes flicking between her face and her hands, unable to do anything but lie there.

Does it have lungs? she wonders, detached, her scientist’s curiosity getting the best of her as she reaches with one hand to lay her palm flat on the ghost’s chest. If it has lungs, what else does it have?

There’s no reason I can’t dissect it, she reasons, already unable to redirect her thoughts, curiosity burning within her. Just to find out. It’ll only take a little longer than what I’d initially planned.

She was going to remove chunks of Phantom starting at the calf and working her way toward the center of its chest, where the core should be, and the terror it had shown at that prospect was quite acute. It has nothing, however, on the terror that mounts in Phantom’s eyes as her scalpel redirects, moving toward the center of its chest.

Maddie reels herself back in as she does so, stopping herself from making any unplanned incisions. Instead, she carefully puts the scalpel down before moving over to the desk in the corner to retrieve a permanent marker. She uses it to draw careful lines down Phantom’s chest: two branching down from its shoulders, then meeting in the middle and heading straight down the chest. The ‘Y’ of an autopsy.

Phantom is dead, after all.

Before she picks up the scalpel again, out of pure curiosity, she rests her hand flat on its chest once more. She can feel the low hum of its core, as expected—you can feel it in all ghosts, provided you get close enough—but she can also feel something else. Something familiar.

Beneath her palm, through the rubber of her hazmat suit, Maddie swears she can feel the tha-thump of a heartbeat.

Phantom has a pulse.

She looks it in the eye once again, almost trying to memorize the flickers she sees in its gaze. Terror, hysteria, desperation. She feels so strangely detached from them. Maybe a long time ago it might have stirred something in her, some sympathetic belief that perhaps ghosts do have the capacity for feeling, for thinking beyond following the program of their obsession—

but not now. Not this Maddie, who feels a heartbeat beneath her hand in a creature long dead and feels curiosity grip her with a fervor she can’t shake.

She takes up the scalpel and begins to cut.

[yikeswtfmate]

I Dare You

previous part // It’s All Fun and Games Series Masterlist // next part

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Summary: The gang goes to the beach. Y/N is offered a dare.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: swearing

A/N: am i starting another series without realising it? Because this is definitely in the same AU as Bet? and those are without a doubt the same Bucky and reader  

The sun is rising on the horizon, the air is billowing through cracked windows, and a black car zooms past a blue one, horn pressed down as if announcing the arrival of an army. Natasha can’t be seen but she’s shouting in annoyance, while Sam laughs maniacally and throws his middle fingers up as Steve looks on confused. Peggy giggles on the passenger seat, softly enough not to wake Wanda who’s drooling in her sleep on Vis’ shoulder. Back in the black car, Bucky bats Y/N’s hands away, trying to avoid a goddamn accident because she wouldn’t get off the steering wheel.

“I did not let you ride shotgun so you could press the horn whenever we overtake Steve!” Bucky yells, waving his hand around the space between their seats.

“He drives like an old grandpa. I’ll hit menopause before we get to the beach if he won’t pick up speed.”

“She’s right.” Sam nods gravely, as if imparting a wise secret.

“I’ll drop you both off on the side of the highway if you won’t stop.” Bucky warns, casting a glance in the rear view mirror.

He catches Nat’s eye, who promptly smacks Sam and then Y/N over their heads. With a satisfied grin, she goes back to her book, while the two grumble quietly, too scared of her to overtly complain like the big babies that they are. Last time they dared say anything, she hid their chargers for two days, leaving them to fend for themselves, as all the others were warned not to help beforehand. It all ended in dead batteries, fat crocodile tears from Sam and fake swoons over the couch from Y/N (Bucky did lend Y/N his charger at one point, and although Nat suspected something was amiss when they huddled closer on the armchair, she didn’t say anything).

Bucky watches Y/N finally settling down, grabbing her knees to her chest, contorting her body in the passenger seat until she looks like a spring roll. He hands her over the aux cord, a concession after he yanked it out when she started playing the Baby Shark song half an hour ago. Sam then fidgets in his own seat behind her, snickering at the probably obnoxious playlist she’s put together. He points to various songs, before he lets out a guffaw when Y/N taps on the screen, puts it down and turns to Bucky. He casts them a short glance, enough to see that they’re both watching him with giddy expressions.

“Yo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want!” Y/N shouts in time with the opening line, but Bucky’s disbelieving groan is interrupted by Sam’s own yell.

“So tell me what you want, what you really, really want!”

“I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want!”

Bucky wants nothing more than to bash his head on his steering wheel repeatedly, already regretting his life choices. He should’ve known giving them the aux cord was a mistake, yet he was a fool, trusting Y/N too much, as usual.

“So tell me what you want, what you really, really want!”

His only hope is Nat, praying she’ll put a stop to it, seeing that she just put down her book. She takes in a deep breath, and Bucky is ready to thank all that’s mighty for her help, when she joins in the what now sounds like screeches.

“I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really, really, really wanna zig-a-zig ah!”

He can see Steve in the wing mirror, peacefully driving in what looks like complete silence, or maybe even a nice, smooth song that Peggy’s picked. He can only dream of that level of tranquillity, wondering once more why exactly he agreed on driving the biggest idiots on this face of the planet. He would’ve been able to recall a conversation along the lines of “couples are paired with couples and losers are paired with single losers,” if his brain weren’t knocking around his skull at the moment.

All three of them continue to belch the lyrics, and Bucky wonders if this song has always been five years long. Y/N pokes his cheek, and he puts his hand above her knee, softly squeezing his fingers into her bare flesh, trying to silently beg her to stop. She presses her cheek on his bicep and she hugs his arm, squeezing it tightly to her chest. He’s aware that she continues to sing between fits of laughter, but he’s a bit distracted now that his arm is clutched between her breasts.

“Baby, I can’t drive if you keep my arm in a death grip.” He murmurs, kissing her forehead, eyes still on the road.

Y/N lets go of his arm, when suddenly Steve overtakes them with a prolonged honk. Bucky honks back, and he flips him the bird at the same time Y/N does.

“That fucker, who does he think he is?” Y/N yells.

“Did he wake up from the dead?” Nat snickers, while Sam grumbles something about speed limits and snails.

Wanda’s head pops up, and she seems to be turning in the backseat, intent on fully facing them. She sticks something on the window, something that looks like one of Steve’s drawing notebooks, and all four of them are trying to decipher what is written in big black letters. Nat and Sam huddle between the front seats, Y/N’s face is nearly pressed to the window, and Bucky accelerates a bit until they’re almost bumper to bumper.

You lost your direction there for a sec Bucko

“Couldn’t she have just sent that in the group chat?” Sam groans with a roll of his eyes.

He leans back in his seat, taking out his phone in order to send just that, which results in a wave of messages that only he bothers to reply to. Nat pauses a second more, her gaze following Bucky’s arm that’s still resting on Y/N’s knee, but doesn’t do more than snort before joining in the chatter on the online group.

“Are we there yet?” Y/N asks Bucky, five minutes later.

“We’ve still got two more hours.” Bucky glances at her quickly, enough to pick up on her level of boredom. “There’s a pack of Oreos in the glove compartment.”

She squeals, instantly transforming into a gremlin in search of treasure – or Smaug, Bucky thinks, what with the menacing look she gets when it comes to the prospect of food. He can clearly see the debate turning the wheels in her head: should she share with Nat and Sam or just rationalise her greediness by thinking that they’re too busy with their phones and not wanting to bother them?

She plucks out one cookie from the wrapper, doing her best not to make any noise. Her hands lower in front of her, hiding the packet until it’s tucked neatly between her legs, and with a quick glance behind her for reassurance that those two didn’t hear or notice anything, she proceeds to pop the entire Oreo into her mouth as quickly as possible. Bucky snorts and shakes his head, but next thing he knows, she’s pushing a cookie into his own mouth, still trying to act inconspicuous.

“Why do you have so much junk in there anyway?” She asks a few minutes later, after they’re done with the cookies, jutting her chin out towards the glove compartment.

“Seeing as they’re all yours, I should be the one asking you why you won’t clean my car.”

Y/N pouts, but his reprimand does nothing to stop her from swiftly throwing the empty Oreo wrapper next to the others. Bucky scowls and squeezes her knee again in warning.

“Stop throwing shit in there!”

“It’s already filled with garbage anyway!” She defends, slapping at his hand that wouldn’t give.

“You’re cleaning it when we get there.”

“No, I’m not. It’s your car.”

“Just play one of your stupid games and she’ll do whatever you want.” Nat supplies from the back, not lifting her head from her phone.

“That’s not how it works.” Y/N glowers. “Plus, I don’t always do whatever he wants.”

“Yeah, you do.” Sam chimes in. “He just has to dare you.”

“Oh, look. Wanda and Steve both agreed as well.” Nat laughs.

Y/N crosses her arms, an affronted pout on her face. She looks at Bucky for reinforcement, but he’s just snickering under his breath, eyes still on the road. She slaps his arm, until he has to grab her hands again and place them in her lap – another warning.

“It doesn’t have to be one of ours dares, anyway. We usually accept your dares as well.”

“Fine, then.” Nat immediately jumps on the opportunity with a smirk, placing her phone on the middle seat. “There’s only five bedrooms, right? I dare you two to share a room.”

Sam snickers, furiously typing away on his phone, most definitely relating what is happening word for word on the group chat. The incoming pings signal Wanda’s excitement, while Peggy is doing her best at trying to keep up with what Steve is instructing her to write for him. Bucky and Y/N share a confused short look, before she turns back to Nat, who’s expecting an answer with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean, we were already going to.” Y/N shrugs, unaffected. “Sam snores and you tend to throw punches in your sleep. One time you pushed me off the bed.”

Sam drops his phone and while he’s scrambling to get it from under Y/N’s seat, Nat can only grumble a ‘what’ in response.

“We’ve slept together before, I don’t see why you’d be so surprised.” Bucky offers and Sam drops his phone again.

***

Taglist:

@imma-new-soul​ | @feelmyroarrrr​

[tomsrebeleyebrow]

No Judgement | peter parker x chubby!fem!reader

@juliebean247​ asked: Hii! I’m pretty new to tumblr but I’ve read most of your work and I’m in love with it all!! I dunno if you do peter x reader (if you don’t that’s ok, just ignore lmao) but maybe where we have chubby!reader who jokingly puts herself down all the time and peter just kinda snaps at her for doing it because he can’t stand the comments she makes- because he’s crushing on her...? Again- you don’t have to do this one or you can change it up!

requests are now closed

Summary: You are you, and damn you love it. Everyone knows it too, and they love you. Joking about yourself is common. But as soon as you feel down, you can’t stop but put yourself down. Sometimes harshly. And Peter can’t take it anymore.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Chubby!Fem!Reader

Warnings: angsty (mention of fat shaming, insecurities), a tiny bit of language (nothing too bad) but fluff at then end 

Word Count: 1945

A/N: first time (really) writing about our Spidey boy! 🎉🕷 also I kinda take my time with writing so sorry it took me a bit 😅 but I only feel accomplished when Like what I write sooooo bare with me please? 🙄🙊 anyway! thank you for your request sweetheart, I hope you will all like this little angsty fluffy as much as I do~ 💞 AND LOVE YOURSELF BECAUSE YOU’RE ALL BEAUTIFUL!!! 💖💜💖💜

masterlist

To hell with all beauty standards and perfection stereotypes!

You love your body as it is, from the smallest imperfection on your face to your curves and extra skin. And needless to say you are proud to show it. But sometimes other people’s look can be harsh on you, full of judgements as they don’t even know you but any opportunity is an open door to criticism.

So you got use to it like you didn’t care, and even made fun of it. More like made fun of yourself, actually.

“Man, her legs put together are the size of one thigh of mine!” you chuckle as you eat in the cafeteria next to MJ, Peter and Ned. All the table look at who you are talking about.

MJ playfully elbows you in the waist as she drinks her glass of water. “Shush (Y/N), everyone compares Bethany as a walking chopstick anyway.”

“I knoooow” you reply with a playful tone, munching on your pasta.

“You also look like chopsticks MJ, like from head to toes. Damn girl, you could just fly away with the wind!” you giggle while trying to steal in MJ’s plate. “And I will just stick to the ground like a pole!”

Even if you are laughing at yourself, you are actually the only one. You don’t catch MJ rolling her eyes with an exasperated sigh, Ned being kind of confused and Peter... well, clearly being annoyed.

“Alriiiiiight you little brat, stop talking crap ‘cause you still have to explain the last lesson to me before next class starts” grumbles MJ as she stands, her now empty tray in hand before taking it away.

“Yup girl, coming!” you announce, wiping your mouth with a paper napkin.

Peter follows each of your moves. All done eating you too stand, put your bag on your back and take your tray ready to follow MJ, who is already waiting for you near the exit of the cafeteria.

“Alright guys, see you in chemistry!” you happily sing while showing your biggest smile to the boys before leaving the table to join MJ.

The constant chattering of the students in the background hides the silent at the table. Ned finishes his yogurt before talking to Peter, but he stops himself when he notices his friend’s face. Tensed. Annoyed. And sad maybe? Ned has actually an idea of what is bothering his friend so much but knowing Peter’s personality, it would be a waste of time. Better to skirt the issue.

“(Y/N) is acting a bit weird recently, don’t you think?”

Peter only hums, more focus on mixing what is left of his yogurt than anything else right now. Head low and furrowed eyebrows, he keeps staring at actually nothing, just being lost in his thought and thinking. 

Thinking a lot, yes. About you. About how much you put yourself down way too much recently.

He can’t laugh at your cheeky comments anymore. He just can’t.

* * * *

Chemistry is your last class of the day, thanks the lords. You are finally reunited with all your three best friends so, hopefully the hours will pass by faster.

MJ writes (more like scribbles) lazily the answers for the report your duo has to give back at the end of the lesson, while you are the one having fun mixing whatever there is in the test tubes. Then you take an empty one and look through it.

“MJ, look” you whisper to your friend, trying to catch her attention. At first she doesn’t even care to turn her head towards you, until you insist by calling-whispering her name until she finally deigns to glance at you. Not really understanding what you want to show her, MJ brings her lab stool closer to you and frowns as she looks through your test tube. You brings the tube closer to both your faces.

“Look, Lara’s ass is as big as mine now” you kind of try to whisper, as well as not laughing out loud to not get reprimanded by the teacher.

In fact the glass tube deforms everything you look at when watching through it. And in that case, it is changing the shapes of your comrade’s bottom. MJ seems unimpressed and with her well-known bitch resting face, the girl simply goes back to her writings but not without sending you “are you serious?” glances.

Little did you know Peter could hear all your conversation, even three desks behind. The displeased look on his face is immediately showing and he almost breaks the pen he is using to write on the due paper. The slight crack of the plastic draws Ned’s attention.

“Dude, that’s my favourite pen!”

“Sorry, mate” grumbles Peter, putting the pen down and he sighs, leaning his elbows on the lab desk. He exhales loudly while ruffling at his hair. 

“You should talk to (Y/N), don’t you think so?” declares Ned as he takes two test tubes in his hands to deal with their contents. “You know, just to tell her how you feel and stuff like that.”

“I don’t know, man” retorts Peter with a low voice, his head now hidden in his arms. “I just- I can’t just say “hey (Y/N), stop running yourself down all the time because you are gorgeous in every way and I had a crush on you since high school and-”

“Peter stop, you’re mumbling like a freak” exclaims Ned, hoping to end his friend’s suffering. “Seriously, I noticed the face you do when she jokes about herself. I mean, maybe she’s not feeling great so you talking to her might sort things out somehow?”

Peter processes Ned’s words as his eyes follows you when you go ask something to the teacher. There is something about the kindness that emanates from your pretty eyes, the pink outline of your lips, the unique way your hair curves perfectly around your round face, but mostly your hourglass figure. Sometimes the boy finds hard to keep his eyes up. But you look so beautiful to him. That is mainly the reason why Peter can’t accept hearing you badmouthing about your appearance anymore.  

* * * *

The ringing bell announces the end of today’s lessons. Students are now filling every corridors, some going to their locker and other already leaving the building.

“I need to take some books in my locker, you coming with me MJ?” you ask your friend.

“Sorry, my mum’s picking me up ‘cause we’re going to my grandma this evening so I have to hurry” explains MJ, not too excited about the thought of it.

“I need to go to my locker too” Peter jumps into the conversation. He directly stares at you, a determined look on his face.

“Oh, uhm- alright then!” you cheer blushing a bit, still taken aback by Peter’s serious tone.

You wave goodbye at MJ and Ned as you start walking to your locker, Peter following close to you and receiving two discrete thumbs up from Ned. 

The main school corridor is now more empty, the steps of the last students resonating and almost fading little by little. You and Peter stop in front of your lockers, them being next to each other and just do your own things by taking and putting down what you need or not. Peter is more like fiddling with stuff, pretending to do something while his goal was obviously talking to you.

When he ears you zipper your backpack shut and close your locker, he violently - but not intentionally - slams his close a bit too harsh, making the loud metallic slap resonate in the empty corridor. You jump at that too and Peter just wants to facepalm himself at his own stupidity. 

“Err (Y/N), can- can we talk?” the boy mutters, now shy because of his sudden loose of confidence.

“Sure Pete, about what?”

Peter gulps as you stare at him, waiting for what he has to say. He is nervous now. How will you react? Good or bad? Will you ignore him after that talk because he offended you or misunderstood the situation? Will you-

“Peter? You’re alright?”

Your soft and worried voice suddenly takes him out of his mixed up thoughts.

“You’re gorgeous (Y/N).”

That is indeed straight to the point. Totally. First you blink a few times, not sure if you heard it right but seeing Peter’s serious face says it all. Your whole face is now blushing at his sudden compliment.

“P-PETER WHY DO YOU-”

“(Y/N), you are the most beautiful girl I know. Like in every way possible. You’re kind, smart, funny, a bit nerdy, outgoing, sometimes eccentric too but it’s part of your personality. But you’re also gorgeous in the way you dress because it shows your beautiful shapes off. You have nothing to be ashamed of in comparison to any other girl. You’re unique and I love everything about you, starting with your cheeks because they’re so round and full, but also your waist because its highlights your defined hips and I could go on and on for hours. It’s everything a boring, shy, awful and introvert guy like me loves. So please, stop putting yourself down all the time. You don’t deserve it and never you will. I don’t like that and I just want you to know that I loved you since high school and that I-”

You cut Peter off in his mumbling by putting both your hands on his mouth. When he finally stops - also remembering to breath again -, he finally notices how much your face and ears are red. You avoid looking at him, still not fully processing all the compliments and obvious declaration of love. Your heartbeats could almost break through your ribcage and your mind is a mess.

Seeing you conflicting with yourself, Peter takes your hands off his mouth and gently keep them in his. His look tries to search for yours.

“(Y/N), I’m serious about what I said. You know I’m awful with words but... Trust me when I say I love everything about you, a lot, so please love yourself as much as I do.”

After calming down a bit, you dare to look at Peter again, his eyes soft and reassuring. You are still at a loose of words because nobody said any of the beautiful things Peter just did to you. Nobody. And it warms your heart knowing that someone loves you how you are. You love it even more because you know it is Peter.

Peter squeezes your hands and with a impulse out of nowhere, he lightly pecks the corner of your mouth. He then moves his face back, smiling warmly at you.

“When you’re with me, there is no judgement (Y/N).”

“J-Jeez, Peter...” you stutter, you face still red of shyness.

“I’m walking you back home, come on” Peter mans himself up, noticing the school is completely empty with not a sound around. Detaching his hands from you, he picks your backpack up to give it to you. You take it with wobbling  hands, muttering a shy “thanks” before putting it on your back. Now ready to go, Peter extends one hand for you to take and this time, you don't have to be told twice. 

Hand in hands, fingers intertwine, you both walk through the long corridor, only you two remaining here. Peter’s warm hand reassures you in a strange way. But you like it. 

And you can’t stop the content smile growing on your face as you sneak a look at the boy who just proved you are worth it. Inside out. From head to toes.

And boy do you love this feeling.

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[ghost-kitty]

Ok, this was VERY difficult, but here I go: Nsfw. Phone sex. Lawlu. AU 💕😍

Anything for you my love <3 I hope you like it!!! uwu

Something feels wrong, Law thinks as he wets his finger to turn the page of his novel – a cheesy romance story that he’s only reading because Shachi recommended it to him. The bastard. ‘You will absolutely love it,’ he said, ‘the main character is a doctor,’ he said. Yeah, only that he forgot to mention how fucking bad and cheesy it is. But he keeps reading it anyway because the medical inaccuracies are kind of cracking him up. Only internally of course. Maybe a slightly louder exhale through the nose here and there.

It’s entertaining if he’s being honest and yet he very much intends to give Shachi an earful later.

He’s cozy, sitting on his comfortable couch in his pajama pants and his favorite fluffy blanket with polar bears on it wrapped around him. A cup of freshly made coffee nearby to round it all up. A perfect way to spend his day off, really. But…

There’s something missing.

But what could it be? He has everything he needs to spend the entire day in perfect peace and quiet...

Ah. That’s it.

He loves to have some silence and time to himself to relax. It’s just that since Luffy moved in with him, he hardly ever gets it nowadays. And now that he finally has some time to himself without a shouting nuisance around it feels kind of… weird.

He really was looking forward to this week, with Luffy gone to visit his grandfather with his two brothers. But now that his energetic ball of sunshine isn’t around to get on his nerves he actually really misses it. Oh what can he say; Law just really loves his boyfriend despite him always nagging about Luffy’s loud nature.

As if on cue his phone starts buzzing. Law smiles softly when he reads Luffy’s name on the screen. The smile disappears soon though to make place for his jaw to drop to the floor.

He can’t believe what he’s seeing. He expected to see his adorable boyfriend to smile his bright grin at him when he saw that there is a picture attached. What he didn’t expect though was to open the file to not see a smile on his boyfriend’s face, but a small ‘o’ formed by his rosy lips instead. His big eyes are glazed and filled with lust, soft skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat and good lord – Law gulps – three fingers deep inside his asshole.

“Torao~  I miss u” reads the message but Law can’t even really piece the letters together to understand the sentence. His brain is reeling as he takes in the sight of his beautiful boyfriend, naked and probably breathing heavily. Fuck! His pajamas are already tenting, his cock now wide awake and interested.

The next message comes soon.

“Torao I’m so lonely… I miss your cock so much!”

Before Law even can make any sense of the situation his phone buzzes again. Another picture.

Law almost drops his phone to the floor as he opens the message, hands trembling from excitement.

Subconsciously he has started to palm himself through his pants and he licks his lips as he stares at the image.

Luffy has his legs spread wide open, the arm holding the camera probably hooked underneath his knee to get the right angle. Oh and what a heavenly angle it is!

His cute little cock is pressed flush against his abs, balls looking full and heavy and fuck… his hole is stretched wide open and gaping. The picture is slightly blurry probably due to Luffy’s hand shaking. He can see it in his mind perfectly, how Luffy is panting and trembling as he pleasures himself, soft moans escaping his lush lips.

Shit! He could cum right then and there just from remembering how hot and tight his hole is, how it clenches around his cock while he mercilessly pounds him into the mattress until he can only whine Law’s name in ecstasy.

He takes a few labored breaths, trying to calm down a bit before he finally answers.

“Fuck baby, are you that needy? Missing my cock that much already?”

His phone vibrates again, only this time it’s a call. Law answers it immediately and god is he glad that he did. Luffy should always greet him with such a sinful moan. “Law,” he mewls, his voice weak and hoarse. “I- ah… I miss your cock so much… please… Need to hear your v-voice!”

That’s it! Law can’t wait any longer. He pulls his throbbing cock out of his pants and starts to stroke himself in the same rhythm as Luffy’s ragged little huffs coming through the speaker. “Fuck baby,” he growls, “you’re such a naughty boy. Aren’t you worried about your family hearing your filthy little moans?”

“N-no… they are out of the h-hah house…”

Law speeds up his pace, jerking off ferociously. “Oh yeah? How comes, that they left you behind?”

“Law-!”

“Tell me!” he demands, getting a needy whine as a reward.

“I… I told them that I’m n-not feeling well…”

Law smirks. “Oh? You lied so you can send me all these lewd pictures to get me all hot and bothered? What a good boy you are.”

The teen lets out a loud moan, almost sending Law over the edge with how sensual it sounds. “What are you doing?” he then asks, stilling his hand for a moment to prevent himself from coming too soon. This is way too much fun to end it already.

“Fi-fingering my ass… god Law… I want your cock! Please, please I need it so bad!”

He decides to have mercy with his boyfriend. After all he has been a very good slut, begging so sweetly. Fumbling with his phone he finally manages to take a picture of his rock hard cock, tattooed hand gripping the girthy shaft, tip red and swollen and shiny with pre-cum.

The line is silent for a while after he sent the picture, the loud pants coming from Luffy the only sound to break the silence.

“La-ah!” Luffy suddenly moans - no screams - loud and unashamed. He knows that tone, the shaky voice. Luffy is close.

“Hey,” Law warns, “don’t cum just yet!”

“Love your cock… oh god Law I love your cock so much!”

He can see it before his eyes, how Luffy’s face is flushed in a nice pink color, his chin messy with drool and eyes rolling back into his skull. He’s seen it so many times but this time… this time Law got him there just from sending him a picture of his dick. It twitches in his hand at the thought, swelling even more alongside his ego.

“Of course you love my cock, baby. You’re a good little slut after all. Are you thinking about how good it feels to get fucked open by my fat cock, huh? How your tight little pussy has to stretch so much to take all of it?”

Luffy whimpers weakly, his ability to speak long gone.

Law grips his cock tighter, relishing in the feeling and the mental image of Luffy riding him into kingdom cum. “Fuck baby… I wish I could be there with you. I would fuck you so good. Would fuck your cute little hole open until you don’t even remember your own name.”

“Hah… Law…”

The noises coming from Luffy are so sinfully hot, Law almost loses control completely. He’s painfully close by now, dick almost hurting from holding back. He keeps stroking his length though, the pleasure way too intense. “Tell me what you want to do, baby,” he demands, knowing full well that it’s torture for Luffy to be ordered to speak. A smirk tugs at his lips when he hears the teen’s desperate moan.

“Want to…,” he croaks, “want you to fuck my mouth… hah…”

“Of course. Good little slut, you love to choke on my dick, don’t you?”

“Yes love it, love it! Please Law… I’m so… ah… close!”

“I would fuck your little throat so good baby. You’d like that, yeah? Love it when I shove my cock deep down your throat until it bruises.”

“Ye- ahhh!”

“Or do you want to get on all fours for me, hm? Lifting your perfect little ass up in the air for me to take.”

Luffy is blabbering unintelligibly; the only thing Law can make out is his name occasionally leaving his boyfriend’s lips between the other slurred nonsense.  

His own cock aches in his hand, begging for release as he strokes himself closer and closer to his orgasm.

“I would fuck you so hard; you would come from just my dick up your ass baby.”

“Please,” he begs softly, “Please Law… wanna cum…”

His voice sounds weak as he repeatedly begs Law to let him have his release. It’s easy to imagine the debauched look on his face. It’s one of Law’s favorite looks on him. Suits him so well... Even more so when his flustered cheeks are painted white with Law’s semen.

“Fuck baby, you’re such a good little whore for me. So perfect. Want to fill you up… want to shoot my whole load inside you and watch it dribble out of your gaping hole… Fuck! Baby cum for me!”

Finally getting Law’s permission is all it takes for Luffy to come undone. He whimpers loudly, chants his lover’s name again and again during his orgasm; the sound so sweet, it’s enough to push Law over the edge too. He comes in hot spurts all over his hand and dirtying his pants. Not that he cares about that in his state of total bliss.

They bask in their afterglow for a while; neither of them saying a word, too occupied with trying to get their breathing back under control anyway.

“Torao.” Luffy breaks the silence first, his voice hoarse. “I love you.”

Law smiles softly. “I love you too baby.”

“I miss you…”

God what he wouldn’t give to kiss his little sunshine now…

“It’s only a few days, baby. You’ll be back in no time. And until then you can enjoy the time together with you family.”

“…can we have lots of sex when I’m back?”

Law chuckles. As if he could ever say no to hot sex with the man he loves so much. “Yes of course,” he agrees easily.

“And lots of cuddles too?”

“Yes. Lots of cuddles too. Are you tired baby?”

“Yes, ‘m sleepy now,” he mumbles. So adorable.

“Okay baby, go to sleep. But don’t forget to clean up first.” He smiles at Luffy’s muttered ‘yeah’ and then adds: “And Luffy?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for the nice surprise.”

He can feel Luffy’s smile through the phone and his heart starts to flutter uncontrollably. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Bye Torao…”

They end the call and Law sighs as he suddenly gets aware of the mess he made. He quickly cleans himself up and throws his ruined pajamas in the laundry.

After cleaning up and changing into a new pair of comfy pants he makes himself comfortable on the couch again, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

“This really is a perfect day off,” he thinks. “Now back to this shitty book.”

[eeveedel]

chubby actor louis (pt 1)

Hi all, as you might be able to tell from the non-title, this is just a little fic I whipped together based on an au we’ve been discussing on my blog this week! I do want to eventually do more parts, but I want to see how people react to this part first. 

please note this fic deal with weight gain kink/fetish. it is heavy on food and weight talk. if any of that content bothers or triggers you, this will not be the story for you. 

this is criminally under-edited, so I apologize lol. but uhhhh enjoy! 

--

“Remind me what this is for, exactly.”

Harry was standing in the living room, swinging his car keys around one finger, and watching Louis as he laid on the couch, belly on the cushions, feet in the air, and enough In N Out to feed three people spread out on their coffee table.

“I told you last week,” Louis sighed, “This is for work.”

He was currently holding a double cheese burger, the thing already half-eaten, and there was pink sauce at the corner of his mouth.

Harry had seen Louis prep for plenty of TV and movie roles in the decade they had known each other, but none of his prep work had ever looked like this.

“How, again?” Harry asked as he watched Louis take another generous bite of his food. The other man chewed and swallowed, and then spoke, although his eyes were still on the food rather than Harry.

“I’m playing some Edwardian noble or something, and like, I have to look rich for that era, and everyone rich was kind of fat,” Louis said, “So. I have to gain twenty pounds.”

Harry stopped swinging his keys, instead catching and holding them in his palm.

“Twenty pounds,” Harry repeated.

“Well. Twenty to thirty. We’re aiming low to start. But I start prep today, so, yeah. Burgers!” Louis said. He took another bite of his burger, groaning, “God, that’s good. I forgot how good these are.”

He uncrossed and re-crossed his ankles behind him, kicking his feet a bit as he ate more of his burger. He looked up at Harry, sauce still on his mouth and his mouth full, like a chipmunk.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re cute,” Harrys supplied, offering him a small smile, “It’s nice to see you enjoying yourself.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Louis smiled, “I kind of forget how good food can be when it’s not all quinoa, you know? I think this’ll be fun.”

He kept munching on his burger, and Harry glanced over at the pile of food on the table. Something in his stomach stirred – not hunger, not envy for the food, but something else he couldn’t pinpoint.

“Well, just pace yourself,” he offered. It was weak advice, and Louis laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Harry just nodded, still fixated on his boyfriend eating.

Louis was small, he had always been small, and he was in amazing shape. Even now, laid flat on the couch, Harry could see the definition of his muscles in his arms, legs, and along the exposed edges of his stomach where his shirt had rucked up. Harry couldn’t even picture what he would look like with twenty extra pounds. It seemed more fathomable for Louis to sprout a pair of wings than to gain that much weight.

“Do you want take out for dinner?” he asked, “I was going to cook but maybe that’ll be easier, so you can get whatever you want.”

“Ooh, yes, please,” Louis said, “Can we get Chinese? I want dumplings. And crab meat ragoon. And lo mein. Oh, and eggrolls. So many fucking eggrolls.”

“Are you still going to have room?” Harry asked, “You ordered three burgers and three helpings of cheese fries.”

“And I have a milkshake in the freezer!” Louis said cheerfully, “And honestly, I didn’t realize how fucking hungry I was until I ate this stuff. I think I’ve been starving for the last decade, holy shit.”

“Well,” Harry said, “It’s good you’re happy.”

Louis just hummed and nodded. He had polished off his burger, and he eagerly reached for the next one, unwrapping the silver foil on the burger like he was a child and this was his most anticipated Christmas present.

“I’m going to do some work upstairs,” Harry said, “Just let me know when you want dinner, okay?”

“Kay,” Louis mumbled around the burger in his mouth, “Love you!”

Harry nodded and then came over, giving Louis a quick kiss on the head before he left the room, heading for the main staircase.

He still had a weird feeling in his stomach, but that he could figure out later.

--

Harry noticed Louis’s – and by extension, his -- daily routine changing a bit quicker than he had anticipated.

For the last several years, they had each woken up at the same time to work out together and later have breakfast – shared veggie juices and granola, usually – the backyard together. It had been one of their things. He remember once a couple years ago some gossip rag had profiled them as one of Hollywood’s fit power couples. He had found that funny, because he always knew that Louis didn’t love working out. He just liked routine, and he liked that they had something to do together.  

But now that Louis was on his new assignment, Harry woke up and worked out alone while Louis slept in. Then, usually, by the time Harry had worked out, made breakfast, cleaned up the dishes, and sat down to answer his emails, Louis would roll out of bed and sit down next to him to eat a giant bowl of one of the many sugary cereals that had appeared in their cabinet.

“Morning, babe,” Harry would always say, “Did you sleep okay?”

“So fucking well,” Louis would agree through a mouthful of food. After he was done eating he would give Harry a kiss and then go to the living room to watch TV or read his lines. Harry would find them sprawled there for hours in just his sweatpants, sometimes napping, or having a snack, or just lazily watching the TV. Louis was a “go, go, go” type of person, Harry knew that. He liked having tasks, and he never gave himself a break.

“I’m glad you’re getting time to relax,” Harry said one afternoon while watching Louis unwrap the two fried chicken sandwiches he had ordered for lunch.

“Thanks, baby,” Louis had given him a smile and then focused on his food.

Maybe, Harry realized that week, Louis was fully relaxing. This was just another one of his goals. He was dedicating himself to a part, as well, and this part involved him pushing his body in different ways.

A week into Louis’s role preparation, Harry found him on the couch, as usual. There was some sort of HBO documentary playing, and he was eating orange chicken straight out of the carton, using chopstick skills Harry didn’t know he had.

He was also fiddling on his phone as he ate, his eyes still occasionally flickering to the TV.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“Just placing another order,” Louis said, and then promptly deposited more chicken into his mouth.

“Another order?” Harry asked, lifting his brows in spite of himself.

“Yeah, this documentary is about McDonald’s, like, the business side of it or whatever – did you hear about this Monopoly thing that happened in the nineties, it’s fucked – but anyways, it put me in the mood for a burger.”

“You want a burger?” Harry parroted.

“And fries, obviously. Oh, maybe a milkshake. Do you want an iced coffee or something?”

“How are you still hungry?” Harry asked. In addition to the orange chicken carton in Louis’s lap, there was also a a bag of eggrolls on the table, and Harry had seen a big container of wonton soup in the fridge.

“Well, I’ll just have a few more bites of this chicken and then when the food comes I’ll be hungry again,” Louis said, still flicking through his phone. “Oh, man, haven’t had an apple pie from there in years. If I order two will you have one? There’s a sale.”

Harry didn’t answer at first, instead he just looked at Louis. He was dressed in his sweatpants, as usual, and no shirt. He had been going at this for a week now, not exercising and barely getting up from the couch and stuffing his face with whatever fatty or sugary thing he wanted. He liked nearly the same, unless Harry really paid attention. And he was paying attention now. Louis was still small, he had been so trim before that he was probably a little bit underweight. His stomach was still flat but it looked soft now, compared to his usual ripped definition. His face also looked a bit bloated, but that might just have been have the sodium. But Harry kept feeling like his eyes were playing tricks on him, that there was new weight and curves on Louis’s body that hadn’t been there days before.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Lou?” Harry asked cautiously, “With how much you’re having?”

“It’s temporary,” Louis huffed, “Come on, I told you this. Now leave me alone, I’m working.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed, “You’ll let me know, though, if you need something?”

“Sure,” Louis said, “Now. You want coffee? Apple pie? What? I’m ordering now.”

“I’m okay, baby,” Harry allowed, “But have whatever you want. You deserve it.”

Louis shot him a bright smile – were his cheeks rounder than usual? – and then went back to his phone.

An hour later Harry found Louis sleeping on the couch, a hand over his belly and the coffee table scattering with burger wrappers, fries and pie containers, and milkshake cups.

Harry quietly cleaned it up and went into the next room, trying to collect his thoughts that were far more racing for his liking.

--

“Harry,” Louis proudly declared the next week, “Guess what.”

They were sitting at the dinner table, Harry with a kale and pine nut salad and Louis with a silver container of take out pasta that the menu said could feed three people.

“What, babe?” Harry asked.

“I’m 152!” Louis exclaimed, “I gained seven pounds! So I’m, like, a third of the way done.”

Harry tried very hard not to let his face give away too much, as there was now heat growing in his belly. It had decided to arrive every time Louis talked about his weight or food now, and had become a confusing if not entirely unwelcome presence in Harry’s life.

“That’s great, baby,” Harry said, “It’s been, what, about two weeks?”

“Yeah, a pound every two days,” Louis grinned, “Isn’t  that good? I’m making such good progress.”

“You are,” Harry agreed. He was keeping his voice neutral, like a long-lost relative was telling him about their son’s sudden interest in baseball. Louis seemed to pick up on this, and pouted a little.

“Are you still worried about this?” Louis sighed, “That this isn’t good for me or whatever?”

“I’m not worried,” Harry said. And he wasn’t. Quite the opposite, really. And he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that yet.

“Because I talked to the doctor and everything, he says it’s fine,” Louis said. He heaped more pasta – cheesy penne dripping in fatty looking red sauce and chunks of beef – onto his fork and waved it around. “Well, he said it was fine if I took it slow and ate balanced meals, like still having lots of vegetables and lean protein and stuff.”

He stuffed the pasta into his mouth, and then looked into the tin of noodles.

“Hm,” he said, “Maybe I should work on that a little more. Like, the balanced stuff.”

“I can make you some stuff,” Harry offered, “Like that salmon you like. Or ratatouille. I can just give you a bigger portion.”

“Oh, that would be good,” Louis nodded, “Might take you up on that.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice light again, “I mean, you’ve been having a lot of take out, and I’d love to cook something for you.”

Louis laughed, shaking his head.

“You’d have to make two versions,” Louis said, “Make mine with butter and salt and stuff.”

Harry swallowed, his throat a bit dry. He had maybe been thinking about that a bit too much. Easy dinners where he could swap out veggies and whole grains for himself and put more processed calories into Louis’s.

For Louis’s job, of course, just for that.

“I could up with something,” Harry said.

Louis offered him a smile and then reached out a hand, prodding at where Harry’s own hand was folded next to his plate.

“Thanks, babe,” Louis said, “And hey, I appreciate you being supportive of all this. I know it’s a little weird.”

“No problem,” Harry said softly.

Louis’s hand left his own, and the other man tucked back into his meal.

Harry was staring again, calculating, observing. Louis was wearing a shirt now, and his loose, around-the-house jeans, so he couldn’t see all of his body. But his face was dusted with softness, and there was a small, barely noticeable curve behind the fabric of his shirt that had never been there before.

As Louis tucked into more and more of pasta, his face became a bit pinched, though he kept eating. And then, slowly, Louis reached down, pushed up the hem of his shirt, and unbuttoned his jeans.

His face lightened as he did, an appreciative little breathe leaving his lips, and then he kept going with his feast, his other hand still cradling his bloated stomach as he ate.

Harry had to figure out an excuse to leave the table before that warm feeling in his stomach traveled any further south, and he would have a lot of explaining to do.

--

The weeks wore on, and Harry grew to admit to himself that he very much liked Louis’s assignment.

One night, when Louis was in bed with a tub of ice cream and a Netflix drama, Harry had been doing work in the living room, looking up some fabric prices for a new project at the studio, and his focus had shifted. He started doing some googling, and that lead to some reading, a few embarrassing quizzes, and one or two pornos, and by the time Harry had climbed into bed with a dozing, sticky-mouthed Louis, he had come to accept that he had a full on fetish for his boyfriend getting fatter.

He didn’t really want to admit it. After all, even though Louis seemed to be having fun, as far as Harry knew this was still just a job for him. He didn’t Louis to think he was weird; they had been together for so long, it would really suck for Louis to kick him out over a recently discovered fat kink. They had plenty of other bedroom thrills he could occupy himself that didn’t have to be…this.

So Harry stayed quiet, and just observed.

But that was getting harder, because Louis was getting rapidly and noticeably bigger.

He had gained ten pounds now, and it showed. He had a healthy curve to his belly and some fat on his cheeks. His collarbones looked less sharp, his hips were curvier, and his ass looked impressively delicious, a nice, happy hill that sat thick in his sweatpants. He was closer to an average weight for his height, but in contrast to the Louis Harry had known for years, who had a set of abs and toned arms and got asked about his exercise regime on the red carpet, it was a sudden shift.

Louis hadn’t asked Harry to cook for him yet, so Harry carried on with his meal plans of roasted vegetables and roasted fish and grains for himself while Louis kept indulging in whatever he wanted. They had a system that worked, even if it involved Harry trying to push down his real feelings.

Until, of course, Louis made it harder.

“Babe?” Louis called one afternoon. He was in the master bedroom, and Harry was stitching together a muslin design in his office. His usual sewing playlist was on and he was in his zone, so he was annoyed for a moment, but then melted back until his usual, unrelenting fondness for his boy.

“Yeah?” he returned.

“I need your help!” Louis called.

“Alright, one second,” Harry replied. He stood up, taking off his glasses, and went down the hall to their room. He didn’t know what he expected, exactly, but when he walked in, he was greeted by Louis, shirtless, and struggling to button his skinny jeans.

Harry stood in the doorway for a second, just watching, until Louis lifted his head and offering a sheepish smile.

“These are kind of tight,” Louis said, “I shouldn’t have bought them this close cut, anyways.”

“Oh?” Harry choked out. He couldn’t stop looking at how the crease of Louis’s belly pushed out against the flaps he was forcing together.

“Yeah,” Louis sighed, “Come help me.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Harry said. He was babbling a little, he knew that, but he still came around to Louis.

“Hold onto the back of my jeans and pull,” Louis instructed. Harry did so, grabbing the loops of Louis’s jeans. He gave them a tug, which got them a little higher over Louis’s hips. The other man struggled with the button. Louis was huffing a bit, trying to get his new belly, as small as it was, into his old jeans that had been tight even on his old body.

Harry tried to tug again, and Louis groaned and yanked at the tabs again. He seemed close to getting them to close, but when he moved to pull the button into the loops, the tabs flew apart. Louis huffed, relaxing his body, his stomach puffing out.

“One more time?” he asked Harry, his voice high.

“Okay,” Harry managed. He felt hot all over, watching Louis wriggle and struggle with his jeans, and he didn’t know how much longer he could last.

He grabbed the jeans in a different spot, at the hem rather than by the loops, and pulled a bit harder. He heard Louis take in a loud breath and then move fast, quickly buttoning up the jeans. He exhaled and then went to do up the zipper, fully getting the jeans on. But his breath out sounded labored, like his jeans were still holding him hostage.

“Thanks, baby,” Louis said, and turned around to give Harry a kiss.

“You’re welcome,” Harry said, “Call me if you need anything else.”

He touched Louis’s side, his skin soft and warm, and then quickly left the room, back to his study where he could calm down with Sufjan Stevens and his sewing machine.

When Louis came back a few hours later, Harry noticed he was wearing a different pair jeans than the ones he had shoved on earlier. But he decided not to ask him about it.

--

By the time Louis was fifteen pounds heavier than when he had started, Harry was starting to lose it a little.

Every night he laid next to his boyfriend, and they were still having sex and showering together and enjoying their usual fun, but it was becoming harder for Harry to keep his eyes and hands off Louis’s jiggling belly and thighs, or to not spend his afternoon kissing Louis’s rounding cheeks.

His boyfriend was more stunning than ever, and Harry was too much of a coward to tell him that.

On one particular afternoon, Harry was staying home doing some spring cleaning while Louis was out at a meeting with the director and some of the main cast members for the movie he was prepping for. Usually Louis found these meetings boring but enjoyable enough, so Harry expectedly him to be an alright mood when he came back.

Instead, Louis slammed the front door closed, his teeth set straight as he walked in.

“God, fuck,” Louis cursed loudly.

Harry was cleaning in the kitchen, and he froze, rag in one hand and spray bottle in the other.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Harry asked.

“The fucking director said he’s not happy with my look,” Louis said, throwing up his hands to make air quotes at the last words, “I told him I’m not done gaining weight yet but he said that twenty pounds isn’t going to work anymore. He wants at least thirty. So I have to gain another fifteen pounds in the next few months.”

He brought his hands down, settling them on his noticeably plusher hips. He really was looking so good these days. And this news was music to Harry’s kinky ears, but it was clearly upsetting to Louis.

“Well that shouldn’t be too hard, right?” Harry said, “You gained fifteen pounds in just over a month. Surely you can do the last half, too.”

“I’m hitting a plateau,” Louis groaned, “I gained only a pound this week and I’ve been eating just like a normally have.”

He settled his hands as he said this, manhandling the softness, and groaned.

“God, I didn’t think getting fat would be this hard,” he sighed.

Harry blinked, something clicking together smoothly in his brain at hearing Louis say that little three letter word.

“You know, honey,” Harry said slowly, “I think I could help.”

“No, I can do it myself,” Louis said quickly, “It’s my body and my job, I can – “

“Louis,” Harry cut in. Louis seemed surprised at the interruption, and Harry realized that his voice had been a bit strong. “I’m – I should tell you something.”

“What?”

Harry nervous scrubbed at a patch of the countertop that was already gleaming.

“So, um, I was doing some research…”

“Oh, god, Harry,” Louis huffed, “What did you do now?”

Harry was quiet, and tapped his fingers over top of the rag on the counter.  

“Okay, so, I think I have a fetish. A fetish for you gaining weight.”

Louis just looked at him, and Harry rushed on.

“Like, I didn’t realize, but I’ve been really – turned on seeing you do all this in the last month. And I think you look so fucking good, and I – I’d like to be a part of it, I think.”

He took a long breath when he was done, and Louis was still just staring at him.

Eventually, the other man spoke.

“Well,” Louis said slowly, “That’s. Convenient.”

He laughed, then, not malicious, but light and happy, and it made the tension in Harry’s body unspool.

“I mean, listen, I don’t know if I’m into this,” Louis said, gesturing to his stomach, “I’m doing this for a job and I’ve only really thought about it that way. But…if you’re into it, maybe…maybe you can help the process go a bit smoother.”

“I’d like that,” Harry said, “Seriously, I can cook for you, and weight and measure you and make sure you’re on track with what the director wants, and maybe we could…experiment a bit. And if you don’t like it then we never do this again after you finish your job.”

He paused for a minute, and looked at Louis hopefully.

“What do you think?” Harry said, and he hated how breathless he sounded.

Louis was quiet for a minute, and Harry’s anxious brain spun a thousand and one scenarios in that silence – that Louis was going to slap him in the face, pack a bag, quit this movie and lose the weight just to personally spite Harry.

But instead, Louis came around to the other side of the counter and gave Harry a long kiss. Harry kissed back, a bit confused but happy for the touch.

When Louis pulled back, he was grinning, and his eyes were glinting.

“So,” Louis said, “What are you making me for dinner?”

[you-know-like-the-bird]

And One More Time

A/N: Hello again everybody! It’s me, back with another snippet of a idea I might never end up writing but hey, we can all hope, yeah? Anyways, this one is actually pretty old, and I had it a long time back, but I only ended up writing it now. You know how it is.

Now, here's what I've done. I've written a sort of prologue, which you are more than welcome to read. if you don't want to go through that, I've written a very bare-bones summary in the paragraph below, albeit very spare of details. I don't have this idea fleshed out on any device (only paper), so I'm unable to post that, but I guess my main showing here is the prologue. So it'd make me really happy if you read it! 

Summary: The basis of this idea is that after things go to shit, with what Japan in the throes of a whole ass revolution led by the one and only Deku, Shinsou Hitoshi and Uraraka Ochako travel back in time to keep the revolution from happening in the first place. You can bet your asses they adopt eleven year old Izuku Midoriya when they realize that he's a child still, and that they will do everything in their power to keep Izuku from becoming a revolutionary figurehead.

-

Prologue:

The girl stumbles out of the front door of her house, almost tripping over the steps that lead down to the flat pavement. Not that she notices, that or much of anything else with the fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she hesitates for a split second before booking it, choosing one direction and running like her life depends on it. It's a good thing her parents aren't home, they might have been worried with how badly she seemed to be falling apart, even as she tears across the city like a mad woman on a mission. 

 - 

 Hitoshi takes his first gasping breath like a dying man starved for air. He shoots upright into a sitting position, taking in huge greedy gulps of oxygen, because if there's one thing he never wants to do again, it's being put under the effects of a quirk that feel like you're being drowned.  

 His fingers clench around soft cotton, which is actually the first thing about his surroundings that get his attention. He stares at the cotton blanket under him, the faded cat pattern is so familiar that it hurts. Hysterically, he remembers his bad habit of leaving his ink pens open on this very blanket, leaving small splotches of black and blue all over the soft purple cotton. The curtains drawn across the window block out the morning sun's attempt at peeking into the room, but its light enough that when Hitoshi looks up, what he sees hits him with a wave of nostalgia so strong it's like getting hit by a run-away train. Posters of obscure Underground and Rescue heroes line the space above a study desk set up in the corner of the room, with misplaced pens and papers sprawled across the surface. A school bag leans against one of the legs of the table, half open and where a tiny Ferocious charm leers at him from its keychain. A school blazer hangs on the back of the chair tucked halfway under the table, and a school shirt seems to have fallen to the floor, forgotten. A bookshelf boasting a full house, all the way from school books to his favorite collection of comics to the few novels he's bothered to buy, one shelf holding three picture frames with photographs of his family from when they went to the beach.  

 It's a bedroom. Shit, it's his bedroom, back when he used to live with his parents, back when he was just 14, back when- 

 Back when the world hadn't gone to shit. 

 There's a tidal wave of emotion that Hitoshi lets wash over him, because he deserves that much right? After- everything really, the least he deserves is one quiet moment to sit here, on his childhood bed, and cry, right? 

 Because- fuck, they were screwed, weren't they? No idea how they would get back, no idea where to start, what to do, where to go- 

 He had no idea what he was doing. And, because he was the one between the two of them who had known the little girl longer, neither did Ochako. That's something to- he feels guilty that she has to be here and deal with this mess too, but at least he's not alone, right? At least he has some sort of support going forward, a friend by his side to help him figure this out. They might both be equally clueless when it comes to a situation like this, but at least they’re together, right? 

 Because- time travel. Shit. 

You didn't really see that outside the movies, did you? 

 What were- what were you even supposed to do, in a situation like this? What was even the correct course of action? Any rules to follow, things you did and did not do? Don't find your past self- that problem was solved since they were their past selves. Or at least- he was.  

 Fuck- fuck, he needed to find Ochako. He needed to find- 

 The address. 

 One sensible idea. If this thing of letting a little girl use her quirk to send them back in time was a terrible idea, then the least they could do was keep their wits about them. And well- there hadn't been a lot of time to discuss their options, right? Not when it was go go go, we can't stop for too long they’re coming- 

 No time. 

 But the one thing- one thing they did do. The address. A simple meeting spot. A 'if you make it, meet me in the middle Hitoshi. Promise me that you will.'.

 He did promise her. And, he hasn't seen her in so long, not since- it wouldn't do good to break his promise, huh? 

 - 

 Hitoshi manages to scrape himself together enough to get dressed and ready. His eyes are still a little red, that happens when you cry for too long, duh, but he's fine. The only person who'll be able to tell he was crying is his mother and well- 

 He'll just have to avoid her, for now. The discomfort of this idea makes itself known like a black hole in his chest, because really- the world was ending only moments ago and he hasn't seen his mother in so long. When was the last time she hugged him? Told him how proud she was of him, that he'd finally made his dream, that he'd become a hero? How long ago had he visited home just to be teased about only coming back to see the cats, asking when his father would come home, asking about how she's getting along with Mrs.Wakita from two houses down that she loathes? 

 The truth of the matter is, if Hitoshi runs into his mother now, he will breakdown. Forget pulling together a plan of action to save the world, he won't be going anywhere until he's made sure that he doesn't ever forget the tilt of his mother's smile. 

 But- more important things happening, right now. There's someone- Ochako, who's depending on him, who'll be wondering if he made it or not. She'll need his support, just like he needs hers, and he has to meet her in the middle, because otherwise- 

 Well. 

 So, Hitoshi is quiet, when he slips downstairs as silent as the night. He doesn't quite know what day it is, doesn't want to distract himself by pulling out his phone and check either, but it must be the weekend if he was in bed until what looks to be the later part of morning. So, either his mother is in the kitchen, prepping for lunch or just doing household chores, or she's in her room, reading or doing some office work. Hitoshi wonders if he'll be lucky enough that she's in her room, but immediately dispels the thought when he hears the clinking of glasses and the sweet smell that wafts from the kitchen. The smell of... cookies. 

 She's making his favorite. 

 Standing just beside the doorway, out of sight, he wonders if some part of her knows that he's having a bad day, a sort of mother's intuition that seems unexplainable to the workings of the universe. He wonders if she's gotten specks of cookie dough in her hair, like she somehow always manages after she makes the dough, and wonders if she'd let him have a few chocolate chips to snack on. He wonders if she's wearing that apron his dad got her as a gag gift, the one that's a hideous yellow but she wears it none the less. He wonders that if she sees him, she'll smile, and try to pull him into helping her bake. 

 Hitoshi wishes he could stop then, for just a moment, and see his mother again. See her smile again, have her hugging him again but- 

 Not yet. Not yet. He wouldn't be able to go on if he stopped now. He wouldn't be able to leave if he went into the kitchen right now, and broke down in her arms. Because then the urge to just be Shinsou Hitoshi, Shinsou Hikari's little boy would be something he wouldn't have the strength to build himself up from again.  

 So, he slips past the kitchen and out the front, silently shutting the door behind him as he goes. 

 - 

 The address is unsurprisingly one where a quaint little cafe stands. Unsurprising, because it looks like the kind of quiet place where you can talk without being disturbed. No distinguishing features from any other cafe that exists out there, not overly crowded or overly loud. People come and go as Hitoshi scopes the place out for a few minutes from the other side of the street, under the guise of looking through the books at the bookstore that mirrors the cafe. Ochako probably chose the cafe because it's pretty close to U.A, and since they both went to the school, close to their houses. Or at least, the house she rented. Ah, that makes him wonder, will he even meet her here right now? It might take her a while to get here, and he's not exactly living alone that he can bum around for too long without his parents getting worried. Hitoshi expects that he'll get a call from his mother in the next hour, actually, no doubt wondering why he left without even saying goodbye. He'll handle that later, and all those feeling that try to come crashing through like a tidal wave when he thinks of his mother but for now- 

 He's on a mission. 

 He goes inside the cafe a few minutes later. Pleasant music hangs in the air, the kind that fits seamlessly into the background, unhampering to conversation. Just as Hitoshi could tell from the outside, it isn't very crowded in here, a group of two and three sitting on opposite sides of the place and one lone teenager sits hunched over his laptop in the corner with the kind of dead eyed stare that speaks of late-night assignments and too-many-for-your-good shots of coffees. 

 Hitoshi cruises through the menu by standing a little way away from the counter, not quite ready to order. When he settles for something, he steps up to the kind smiling cashier and asks for his own drink and something he's pretty sure he's seen Ochako drink before. It'd been.... a long time since they hung out, but he likes to think he knows his friends well enough to know what they'll like. The cashier cheerily informs him that his order will be brought to his table, so Hitoshi backs off in search of a quiet spot to sit. He finds one in the other corner of the cafe, by a painting of a cheeky looking cat licking at her paw. She's a pleasantly painted orange tabby, and Hitoshi wonders after his own two little ladies. They're probably in the kitchen bothering mom right about now, because the kitchen apparently equals snacks for them, the little rascals.  

 There's the couple of two just a table down from him, speaking in hushed, breathy whispers. They seem happy, like they've got no care in the world, just the two of them in this small cafe. Like the world can be defined in just the spaces we're comfortable in, and they're making this one theirs. They remind Hitoshi of his own boyfriend, and how he never got to marry Kaminari like he'd dreamed he would on nights when the moon was the only light he needed to feel that soft tingle of hope. That their futures wouldn't be washed away in society's insistence on playing heroes and villains, two sides of the same goddamn war. It took a lot from him, Hitoshi will never be too proud to concede, this whole business of becoming a hero took a lot from him. It took his family, it took his friends, it took his boyfriend, it took him. 

 But Hitoshi knows that no matter what he tells himself, he will never stand by and watch someone suffer. He will never be anything but a hero. 

 Just like the girl with her hair in a brown bob, who's got a fierce sort of sadness in her eyes and a wild desperation as she scans the cafe. Under who's gaze Hitoshi freezes, because she's here, and Ochako's face finally crumples into a cocktail of relief and mourning, because they've just lost everything but gotten another chance to fix things. He's already surging out of his own seat as she stumbles to him in turn, and catches her in a hug over the top of his table, desperately gripping her shoulders as he takes in the sooty smell of her hair. 

 "Hitoshi. Hitoshi, you're alive, you're-" 

 "Right here- right here, I'm right here, we're right here 'Chako." He turns to press his face firmly into her hair, trying to ignore the tears that slowly slide out of his eyes, "We made it. We made it. It worked- we're- okay, we're okay." 

 She lets out her first sob then, full of grief and a twisting pain, and he squeezes his eyes shut against her hair at how broken she sounds- at how broken he feels. Ragged edges that draw blood with every movement, pieces missing for all the people they've lost. They're in the past, that much is true- and their friends and family will never live through the future they've just abandoned if they can say anything about it. Hitoshi doesn't know how that makes him feel, because no one will remember them, but no one remember the terror of Deku's revolution either. 

 - 

Bonus:

"What are we going to do?" 

 For someone in her pajamas and her hair swept slightly to side like she'd been licked by a cow, Ochako still exerts that unmistakable aura of authority. It's in her body language, from the straight set of her shoulder, to the way she pins you under that authoritative, 'I won't be taking any of your shit' gaze. Hitoshi's missed it, misses the way she wears that same look when she's squaring off against Bakugou, misses the way that it's how she runs her very own team of support heroes with her at the lead. But definitely, it's all made up for the way he just saw her march up to the counter and order them both something to eat, which Hitoshi had been too preoccupied to do, and how the cashiers had cowered under a single determined glance and said nothing about her being in her pajamas. 

 She's cutting into her pastry right now as she speaks, headstrong and always the kind of girl who would rather take the fight to the trouble rather than the other way around. 

 "We'll have to be careful, of course. Finding and renewing old contacts, making new ones, allies, foes... the one who started it all...." 

 Hitoshi doesn't like saying his name. Deku. He knows the history behind that name, of course. Bakugou told them all, it was the least he was able to do after he'd been blamed for that whole mess in the media, of a time when Deku and Kacchan existed as two little kids who were once childhood friends. How Kacchan got a 'heroic' quirk (and how angry that had made Hitoshi, to find out that Bakugou wasn't just an asshole with no substance to back it up, but had a history of bullying that got aired on live television in front of millions), and Deku didn't get one at all. How Kacchan didn't like that and... 

 Well. 

 Deku was- strong, manipulative, charismatic. He had a strength in the way he said his words, so convinced of his own beliefs that he could make you a believer too if you gave him enough time. He was sympathetic, kind, understanding of the hardships of society because he had gone through the worst of it and still come out standing. 

 He was quirkless. 

 That hadn't diminished his worth. In fact, it had only made his actions more potent, the boy behind the July massacres, the man behind All Might's death. 

 Quirkless. 

 Something the world couldn't believe. He was probably lying. He probably has a mental quirk, an invisible quirk, there's no way he's- 

 Quirkless. 

 But he was. Is. Japan's greatest revolution, Deku's revolution, bought along by a quirkless little boy who dreamt of a world greater than him. 

 Hitoshi thinks of himself in that name. Little Shinsou Hitoshi who had a 'villain's' quirk and wouldn't have hesitated for even a second if Deku had offered him a place by his side if he had still been the bitter middle-schooler he once was. When society had made it very clear what they thought of him and his quirk, he would've rather been by Deku's side, where a promise of a better, more understanding society, one that doesn't discriminate and doesn't tell him he dreams too big. He wouldn't have hesitated for even a second. 

 "I don't know how we'll find Deku." Ochako says over her strawberry smoothie, swirling the straw thoughtlessly until the foam starts to thin, "We don't know his civilian name or anything about his childhood other than- oh." 

 Indeed, oh, looks like they figured out one thing, "Bakugou." 

 "Yeah," Ochako agrees, smiling lightly at the small win, "Well, okay, that's one. But there's still- a lot, huh? That could go wrong." 

 Hitoshi nods, "Deku was the leader. He probably didn't rally that many people under his cause all on his own. We'll need to find the other influentials, other people who were involved." 

 "Hmmmm. We have old contacts, at leats. People who we know we can trust, stuff like that. The problem will be getting them to trust us." 

 "Yeah," Hitoshi pouts a little sullenly over his chocolate cake, "Being a- what, an eleven-year-old doesn't inspire the most confidence." 

 "Mmmm yeah." Having said that, Hitoshi marvels at how much softer Ochako looks this young, chubbier and squishier with all the baby fat she eventually burned off in hero training. He probably looks the same to be honest, a lanky but little eleven-year-old with a glare he thought was mean and a chip in his shoulder. Although, he probably looks as threatening as baby deer right now. 

 "We'll just figure that one out later! First, let's focus on tracking down Deku, okay?" 

 Hitoshi gives her a stilted nod, not all too enthused about the idea, to be honest, but knowing they have no other choice. They need to know what they're up against, know what Deku was like when he was as little as eleven years old. They need to know, so they can mitigate the damage, stop this disaster from happening before it shapes into the full-blown revolution it had become last time.  

 They need to do this, for everyone they lost. 

[s-horne]

14. National Buttermilk Biscuit Day

“What the hell is buttermilk?”

“Excuse me?”

“Buttermilk,” Tony said again, not at all bothered by the fact he’d suddenly accosted a stranger. “What is it? I have butter and I have milk, but what is buttermilk? Does it actually exist?”

Tony looked up from his shopping list to blink at the stranger in front of him expectantly. He was so caught up in his quest that he could barely even spare a brain cell to appreciate the beauty of the man he’d stumbled up to.

“Yes,” the man finally said, blinking in surprise. “Yes, I’m pretty sure it’s a real thing.”

“Really?” Tony squinted at the man and then back down to his list. “Where do I find it?”

The man gave a startled laugh before he dropped a block of cheese into his shopping cart. “It’ll be with the milk, I guess. Down here.”

Tony followed dutifully, one eye on where he was going and the other on the dodgy wheel of his cart. Trust him to pick the one that kept veering off to the left whilst making the most awful clunking sounds.

Tony nearly crashed into the man he was trailing behind when he stopped suddenly.

“Here we are. How much do you need?”

“Ah.” Tony looked up at the shelf in front of him in there and his jaw dropped. Apparently there was such a thing as buttermilk and there were an awful lot of varieties to choose from. Low fat, full fat, 2%; the list was endless. “Enough to make 72 biscuits.”

“72?” The man’s blue eyes nearly bugged out of his head and Tony groaned.

“I know, I know. My godson is having a big bake sale at his school and I said I’d help him make them to take the pressure off his aunt. The only problem is, I know shit about baking.”

“Well. I have no idea how much you’ll need for 72 biscuits. Do you have a recipe?”

“One would think,” Tony said sheepishly, “but I don’t really like following instructions. I’m more of a ‘wing it’ kind of guy.”

“I would love to see how you expect to bake 72 biscuits going in blind.”

“I’ll just apply some math to it. Turn the whole thing into a learning experience for Pete. The kid loves science; it will be great.”

“If you say so,” the man laughed. “But I don’t think kids like applying physics and equations to sugar.”

Tony rolled his eyes as he leant over to start grabbing one of each available variety of buttermilk. “Trust me, that kid is unlike any other.”

“He must be.”

“Okay, is that one of each?” Tony’s eyes flickered from his cart to the fridge in front of him, trying to count the labels he could see. “God, why do people even use this crap? I’d never heard of it. Was sort of convinced Rhodes had sent me off on a wild goose chase. I really hope these are going to be edible after all this.”

There was a loud laugh as the man lifted yet another bottle off the shelf and held it out to Tony. “God, me too. I’d hate for you to disappoint all of those children.”

“Just you wait,” Tony said with a cocky smile, saluting with the last bottle, “they’ll be the hit of Midtown Elementary.”

There was a pause and Tony looked up from his cart to see his acquaintance looking taken aback.

“Huh,” he said, a stunned smile playing around his lips, “maybe I’ll get to try them after all and see for myself. Steve Rogers, Midtown Principal.”

Tony took the hand being held out to him with a surprised laugh, letting his handshake linger for a beat too long. “How about that? Well, Mr. Rogers, I do hope you enjoy.”

 //

 “Hey, Peter-pan,” Tony called as he heard the front door open and the tell-tale patter of loud steps running down the hallway towards him. “How did the sale go?”

“We won!”

Tony laughed when he felt a small body collide with his legs and he reached for the tea-towel on the counter to dry his hands. “I don’t think you can win a sale, kiddo. I’m pretty sure you’re all working on the same fundraising team.”

Peter gave a light shrug, tugging at Tony’s legs until he bent down and swept the child up into his arms for a tight hug.

“Mine were the bestest ones; even Norman’s daddy said so. And Principal Rogers had four.”

“Really?” Tony said in exaggerated-awe, ignoring the skip in his heartbeat and instead focusing on the four sticky fingers that Peter was shoving in his face, dangerously close to his eye. “High praise indeed, Pete. Well done.”

“Yes, thank you, Tony.” Tony looked up when he heard May’s voice, already shaking his head to brush her thanks away. “I really appreciate it.”

“And I told you not to worry about it, sweetheart. It was my pleasure.”

“Hm, I know.”

Carefully placing Peter back on the floor so that he could scamper over to grab his rucksack that May was holding out, Tony tilted his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” May said lightly, shrugging out of her coat and placing it over one of the dining chairs, watching as Peter ran through to the living room and settled himself on the couch. Turning back to Tony, she lifted one shoulder. “I just happened to notice that Principal Rogers took quite a bit of credit for the buttermilk biscuits when Mrs. Cartin commented how nice they were. Now, maybe I misunderstood, but I thought you made those. You did, didn’t you, Tony? So Principal Rogers must have thought she was commenting on something else, right?”

Uh oh.

“Of course I did,” Tony said quickly. A little too quickly, maybe. “Those were definitely mine. All mine. I don’t know what he was doing. The snake.”

“That’s what I thought,” May continued, flicking her hair over her shoulder and holding Tony’s gaze, unwavering. “But then Principal Rogers and I were talking and he happened to mention that he hoped your baking trays were recoverable from the incident. What incident, Tony? And anyway, how would he know anything about your baking trays?”

Tony felt his traitorous cheeks flush a deep red and he turned back to the washing-up in a weak effort to hide it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” May crossed the room and leant against the side next to Tony, folding her arms across her chest in a far-too casual move. “So you don’t know why he bought a whole plate of cookies from Harry and Ned and asked me to hand them to you?”

Tony pressed his lips together to keep in a hideously-embarrasing squeal. “Nope,” he managed to stutter out, concentrating much too hard on a perfectly clean mug in the bowl of soapy water. “I have no idea why he’d do that.”

“Right,” May said, her voice giving away the fact that she didn’t believe him for a moment as she pushed herself up to stand again. “Well, I’m pretty sure I saw him scribbling a note that he tucked under one of the biscuits. And I promised Pete that he could have one when he’d finished his homework, so you might want to fish that out before too long. You know how quick that kid is.”

Tony waited until she had left the room before he swept the towel over his hands briefly and all but ran over to the table where he now saw an alarmingly large tray of misshapen cookies. Glancing over his shoulder to see if he would be caught, Tony ripped away the saran-wrap and pushed the sugar bombs to one side.

Sure enough, there was a folded piece of paper resting on the tray and Tony grabbed it eagerly, flicking away the layer of crumbs it had collected and rolling his eyes at the chocolate stains speckling it. Hopefully, whatever it said had managed to survive the grease. Tony willed his heart to stop beating so stupidly quickly as he unfolded it and began to read.

 Tony,

I had a lot of fun baking with you the other night. I really do hope that your trays were salvageable and that you could scrape off the burnt cookies, though I can’t find it in me to be sorry for the events that led to us forgetting them in the oven.

The half-batch that you and Peter have done is impressive and clearly, without me to distract you, you are a decent baker.

Perhaps you would like to bake something to bring round for dinner? I’ll cook the main if you bring dessert – and by ‘dessert’, I do mean actual food. (As well as yourself)

Say Friday, 8pm? Text me your answer. I’ll be waiting.

Yours,

Steve x

[emeraldwaves]

Title: With Blue Flames and Ice we Freeze For @villainmonth Day 1 - Monster Pairing:  DabiGeten Rating: T Word Count: 2,606 Read on Ao3 Summary:  

Living in Hell isn't Dabi's first choice, but after getting kicked out of Heaven, he's stuck. It's a pain in his ass, especially when his father forces him to undergo the Trials of Hell in order to prepare him to be the next King of Hell. Dabi isn't particularly interested in facing the various 'Sins', but this is his 'fate'. With Geten to guide him, Dabi suffers as they descend together into the depths of Hell.

Thank you to @amaisenshi and @ohmytheon for reading this over <3

Hell is shit.

It smells like shit. It looks like shit. The air even tastes like shit.

It's just shit.

He supposes it's nice being able to call it shit. Not being able to swear in Heaven sucked.

But the real reason Hell is shit is the demon standing in front of him. His father, the King of Hell, Todoroki Enji.

"Touya-"

"Dabi," he snaps. If he's going to be here, doing this whole 'demon thing', he might as well embrace it right?

Plus, he likes seeing the way his father's eye twitches when he corrects him like that.

"Touya," Enji snarls, his voice darker than the first time.

"What?" he answers, deciding not to argue with him any further. It's never worth it. For someone who's a prince, he doesn't have an awful lot of freedom.

'You'll love Hell,' his father had told him. 'As a prince, you'll be able to do whatever you want.'

What a big fat fucking joke that was.

There hadn't been one day down here that Enji hadn't bothered him. Dabi has lost track of how long he's been here, but he's seen Enji's face too many damn times so he's been here for far too long.

"Come with me to throne room," Enji demands.

Dabi rolls his eyes. He's comfortable in his bed, meaning he doesn't want to move, especially not for the sake of his father.

"Why?"

"Because I said so," Enji booms.

"Touchy," Dabi hums, swinging his legs over the bed, his turquoise eyes finally meeting his father's.

As per usual, flames cover the majority of his father's body. They lick at his face, covering his eyes, his forehead and upper lip. The demon probably thinks it looks intimidating and scary; something fitting for the devil, but Dabi thinks it’s dumb as shit.

Just like the rest of Hell.

He supposes it is fitting in a way.

"I don't know why you insist on acting like a child," Enji scoffs. "Perhaps I was wrong about you being ready." He mutters the last statement under his breath, as if he'll lure Dabi in and make him question what it is he said. The truth is, Dabi couldn't care less.

Enji stares at him expectantly.

"Alright, then I guess I'm not ready." He lays back down. Why not? Anything to make his father's flames flicker with rage.

"So you did hear me then."

"Yup," Dabi says, folding his hands behind his head as he stares at the cavern ceiling.

"Todoroki Touya," Enji snaps, the fire flaring up against his face and chest. "You will meet me in the throne room and you change out of this ridiculous get up. We have much to discuss. I will no longer tolerate your lazy behavior."

"Sure father," he hisses. Enji glares at him before he snaps his fingers, disappearing from the cavern.

Dabi sighs, running his hand down his face. On the list of things he doesn't want to do, talking more to his father is way at the top; above getting up, being active, living in Hell... etc.

But it's not like he can avoid the asshole forever. He’ll just snap his way back here if Dabi doesn’t show up.

Pushing himself out of bed, he stumbles towards his bathroom. He doesn't really think his get up is ridiculous, especially compared to his father... though he supposes the scars on his face are a bit... much.

But he likes to remind his father of what he did.

And maybe he likes to remind himself too. Every time he looks at his face, he hears his own screams, feels the flames of Hell searing into his angelic skin.

There's a small part of him that wonders what his father wants. It's not that he cares, but he wonders what Enji plans on bothering him with now.

He swallows, pulling in a long breath of air, letting the demonic horns curl over the top of his dark hair, a long demon tail curling around his body. He holds up his hand, letting blue flames cover the tips of his fingers. It burns, but it's a sensation he's used to. It's almost lethargic; painfully soothing. His eyes slowly drift to black, the turquoise of his irises covered in the demonic look his eyes now give off.

He looks like he belongs here.

He moves his fingers and extinguishes the flames, letting out a bored sigh. Hell wouldn't be so bad if his father would leave him alone.

"Morning, Touya!'

Another sigh slips from his lips, desperately trying to hold in his aggravation. "'Yumi," he mutters, turning to look at his twin sister. She's standing in the doorway of his cavern, looking far too happy for her own good. "It's not really morning. It can't ever be morning."

Fuyumi tilts her head, her bright white locks bouncing against her cheek. "Yeah, but... you just woke up!"

Again he wants to clarify they don't really sleep here, but he's not going to argue with his twin, especially not when she's coming to him all chipper. "Sure," he mutters, flicking his tail back and forth.

"You're looking especially demonic today," she hums.

"Boss' orders," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Dad? He asked you to look like your demon-self? Do you think I should too?" She glances down at herself. As always Fuyumi looks out of place for, well, "a demon" with her long pants and her way-too-hot-to-be-worn in Hell sweater.

He and Fuyumi always were opposites; two sides of the same coin. While he had been born with demonic energy, she had been born with pure angelic energy... which she gave up, to be with her family in Hell.

Dabi, on the other hand, wouldn't have given up Heaven for anything, especially not their horrible devil of a father. He had had no choice in the matter; Heaven spat him out so fast, he could barely remember what it looked like.

"No. He only asked to see me," Dabi snorts. "Besides you suck at controlling your demonic energy." He stands in front of her and notices the way her pale cheeks heat up.

"I-I don't! I could handle a little..." she mutters, glancing away. Since she doesn't try anything, Dabi assumes she hasn't actually gotten better at all. "Anyway," she says, clearing her throat as she follows him out of the cavern. He could use his powers to snap around Hell all he wants, but he doesn't mind taking the long elevator down to the throne room; anything to keep Enji waiting longer.

"Do you know why he called for you?"

Dabi clicks his tongue. "Does he ever tell me that sort of shit?"

"I guess not," Fuyumi sighs, looking down at the ground with such sadness in her eyes it almost makes Dabi feel bad. The problem is, Fuyumi is hell bent on getting them to be a happy demon family, and Dabi knows it's never going to happen; not with Enji as their father.

She had it so good in Heaven too; able to stay with their mother and Natsuo... but she had claimed she needed to be with her twin and so she willing gave up being an angel, something Dabi never would've done had the situation been reversed.

He supposes that's why he was born more demon than angel.

"I don't really care what this meeting is about," he says, pushing the button to the elevator waiting for it to rise up.

Fuyumi narrows her eyes. "Then why are you going?" She acts, for a moment, like Dabi has some kind of say in this matter.

"Well," he sighs, rolling his head back, his dark eyes looking more tired than before. "I don't exactly have a choice."

"Right," she whispers, and stays quiet for the rest of the elevator ride. He can tell she wants to speak to him, but he knows she's unsure of what to say. By now she knows she's not going to change Dabi's opinions on anything, especially not when it comes to their father.

When the old elevator clamors to the ground, halting at its destination, Dabi steps off, leading the way towards the main throne room. He hopes that whatever his father has to say, it'll be over quickly.

Stepping into the wide throne room, he stares at the flames which cover the large, stone chair. It stands tall, the flames making the chair look deceptively taller and Enji sits, basking in the heat.

The room is mostly empty, minus a few paths of lava which line the corner. It's hot in this room and though Dabi is supposed to be immune to the temperatures in Hell, he's feeling it... admittedly he's felt the fluctuating temperatures of Hell for the majority of his ‘life’. There's not much in this large room, but the throne is enough to prove how much power Enji has, with the swift movement of his hand he can adjust the size of the flames.

"You certainly took your time," Enji barks, pushing himself out of the chair.

"You told me to look the part. I had to get ready," Dabi shrugs, and he loves the vein twitching on Enji's brow.

"And you brought Fuyumi I see," he says, walking down the small steps to stand on the ground in front of them.

"She showed up," Dabi says.

"Good morning, Father!"

"Good morning, Fuyumi. Unfortunately, this is only important for your brother," Enji snaps, his eyes scanning Fuyumi up and down.

They all know she's not the strongest here, which means Enji prefers to pretend like she barely exists.

"It's alright-" she starts to say, but Enji cuts her off.

"The time has come Touya. I will be testing you to see if you are worthy to take over as the King of Hell once I am gone."

Dabi's eyes narrow, his glare burning towards his father. "Forget it. I'm leaving."

"This isn't an option, Touya. I've been training you for years to prepare you for these trials. You will face the appointed sins and they will be the ones to deem if you are worthy," Enji explained.

Sounds like a lot of effort.

"No thanks," Dabi snorts, folding his arms across his chest.

"Touya, this isn't something you can say no to. You are my eldest son and you possess the strongest demonic energy of all my children. It is your fate to eventually take over as the King of Hell."

"No," he snaps. "That's just what you want my fate to be."

Flames shoot out from the throne, Enji's temper flaring. "You do not have a choice. What do you not understand about that?" He steps forward, glaring down at Dabi. "You're holding on to a useless dream. You will never be an angel and you will never see that woman again. You must let it go and complete the trials to take my place."

"Dad..." Fuyumi whispers, reaching forward to take Dabi's hand. She's so kind; far too kind to be trapped in Hell for the rest of her afterlife.

He yanks his hand away from Fuyumi, flicking his demon tail back and forth. He feels the flames licking under his skin, the anger... the frustration. The thing that bothers him the most is when Enji is right.

He glances towards the throne and clenches his fists. Is this really to be his fate? Will he be trapped in Hell for eternity? A king... and a monster?

Unless...

Dabi has always loved pissing his father off. The idea of kicking him off his own throne does sound slightly appealing. As the King, he could do whatever he wanted with this ‘hell hole’ and Enji would have no say.

"Fine," he whispers. "I'll do your trials." If only to take Enji down, if only to replace him and maybe find a way to make this place slightly bearable. He lives to annoy his father.

"Glad to see you've come around," Enji says, making his way back up to the throne. Sitting down, he rests his chin on his hand. "I'll be introducing you to your guide."

Guide? Why the hell does he need a guide?

"Geten." Enji snaps his fingers.

Within an icy cloud, a woman appears. It shocks Dabi, how angelic she looks. Long white hair, flows down her back and her eyes are icy blue. She's wearing a thick parka, a bizarre clothing choice, given how hot it is in Hell. She doesn't look phased to be standing in the throne room, instead she looks bored.

"Geten, this is my son, Touya. You will be guiding him through the trials."

"Mmm." She makes a soft noise, holding her hand out. Her fingertips glisten with sparkling ice as she flicks her hand forward, creating a long path of ice right in front of Dabi. She takes a step and slides down it, moving directly in front of him, her nose inches away from his. Up close her skin seems to glisten with the ice she controls, her pale face smooth and lovely. She doesn't look anything like a demon.

She leans in towards him, her blue eyes narrowing. "This scrawny fucker? You're trying to make him the next king?"

Well, her mouth doesn't suit her appearance.

Dabi folds his arms behind his head. "Don't bother arguing with him. He's just going to tell you it's 'my fate'."

She snorts. "If you can actually make it through the trials."

Dabi shrugs. "It's not like I can die."

Enji sighs. "Touya, if you lose all your demonic energy, you will end up in Purgatory."

"Oh no," he says dryly. As if he would let that happen, and even if it did, he couldn't imagine it being any worse than Hell. It doesn't matter where he is, since he can never go back to the place he wants to be.

"Touya..." Enji growls.

"My first order as King will be to have everyone call me Dabi," he snaps. Anything to rid himself of the shitty name his father bestowed upon him.

"Aren't you pleasant?" Geten mutters, folding her arms, the ice melting around her feet. "Well let's get going. Time for you to face your doom."

"Is a guide supposed to be this pessimistic?" Dabi asks.

"We're demons. What do you expect?"

He glances her up and down, wondering if she actually is a demon. A woman who shimmers so brightly shouldn't be in the dark caverns of Hell... and why does she have strange ice powers.

"I wish you luck, Touya," Enji says, nodding as Geten begins to walk off, heading behind the throne towards the depths of Hell. Touya has never been down there, for obvious reasons. It's only meant for the King and higher-ranked demons; the Sins.

"Touya!" Fuyumi calls out before he can leave and she rushes to him, hugging him. "Please be safe."

He grunts, stumbling backwards a bit, but he knows she means well; the one person he can't push away. "Quit fuckin' worrying," he mutters, pulling back.

"I know. I just... be careful..."

He nods to her, purposefully not looking at his father as he walks by the throne, hands tucked into his pockets. He doesn't particularly want to do these trials, but if it means knocking his father down a bit, he supposes it'll be worth it.

Geten stands beyond the throne, ice dripping from her fingertips. She still looks bored, as if this is the worst burden placed on her. They share that in common.

Going deeper into Hell only reminds Dabi of what he thought all along:

Hell really is shit.

[angryteapot]

Murphy’s Law v. Bruce Banner

Characters: Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Vision, Helen Cho (mentioned), Bruce Banner

Word Count: 1740

Warnings: None, I think? Let me know if I need to add anything. 

Summary: Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong; but can Bruce Banner reverse that law and make you happy? 

A/N: Anon requested “Bruce Banner where he sees her cry for the first time and he’s like ‘no no no please don’t cry’ cause he thinks he did something wrong but it’s really because he makes her so happy? maybe involving a first kiss?” 

Prompt bolded in text, hope you like this, sweet anon! <3

You know that whole ‘whatever can go wrong, will go wrong’ thing? Yep, Murphy’s law was in full effect for you today. You woke up agitated and in pain from sleeping wrong, stubbed your toe on the leg of the bed, and very nearly fell in the shower but twinged your ankle in the process of trying not to fall.

While most of your clothes were in need of a wash, at least your favorite shirt and legging were clean. Well, they might have been clean, but you soon discovered that there were a few holes that needed mending. Wonderful.

Walking down the silent hallways to the main kitchen, you were hopeful that some coffee and perhaps a muffin would put your day back on track. You arrived to find Nat slumped over the counter with her eyes closed, Bucky cooking eggs and bacon, and Vision making a fresh pot of coffee.

Rubbing your tired eyes you greeted, “Morning guys. Where’s the rest of the team?”

Nat didn’t even bother opening her eyes before grumbling out, “Short notice PR event. We weren’t invited.”

“Good. Ain’t in a mood to deal with squabbling idiots anyways,” Bucky spoke what you were thinking, harshly flipping the sizzling bacon as he grouched.

You slumped down next to Nat at the bar counter, using her arm as a pillow. She pat your head limply as Vision set down a steaming cup of coffee in front of you.

“Mmm, thanks Vis, just what I needed.” You hummed your appreciation at him as you took your first sip. Blegh. You nearly spit out the ‘coffee’ as you choked down the sip. It was incredibly watered down, yet still managed to taste like tar. You sighed and discreetly pushed the mug a ways away from you. So much for your hopes of coffee uplifting your mood.

Nat gave you a sympathetic smile while Bucky just silently laughed from his place at the stove.

“How’s the breakfast comin’, Barnes?” You lay your cheek on the cooled countertop, wishing for a delicious breakfast for your grumbling stomach.

Bucky winced, looking slightly put out. “I dunno doll, it’s not lookin’ so great. Eggs look rubbery and bacon is mostly fat. Sorry sweetheart.”

You slid off the stool, ruffled Nat’s hair and walked around the counter to grab a muffin. “‘S okay Buck, it’s the thought that counts. Thanks for the coffee, Vis.” You side-hugged a pouting Bucky and oblivious Vision before shuffling your way back to your room, a mystery muffin in hand.

You took a bite of the muffin, gagging in angry disappointment - it was a bran muffin. You were going to punch Tony when he came back for even thinking of buying those bland monstrosities.

Tossing the muffin in the trash can as you walked into your room, you flopped on the bed, playing a few games and reading, until your alarm went off, signaling that it was time to spar with Nat. You sighed wearily and changed into your gear.

* * *

Well then… today was definitely not your day. The ankle you twinged in the shower? Yeah it was definitely bruised and swollen now. Your shoulder was slightly out of place, and you probably had a bruised rib or two.

Sparring hadn’t been any more brutal than usual, but your hadn’t been focused, and you got sloppy and made mistakes that led to injuries. Trying to look on the bright side of things, you told yourself that at least you would get to see Bruce in the med bay.

* * *

You were pouting. You knew it wasn’t dignified, but you were frustrated. Bruce hadn’t been in the med bay, and it was Dr. Cho that had scolded you for being so careless. You liked Helen, but Bruce held a special place in your heart and always made you smile.

All in all, it was just an awful day and you were in no mood to socialize. The others had come back from the PR event and declared a movie night, but you didn’t feel like joining them, instead opting to sulk in your bed for the rest of the night.

You were barely getting settled in when you heard a soft knock on your door. Close to tears of frustration, you groaned and shuffled over to answer it, opening the door to reveal… Bruce.

Bruce - with a sweet smile, holding a tray with two mugs of hot tea and a plate of, what looked like, his rarely-made scratch cookies. Bruce’s gentle, hesitant voice was like a soothing balm to your ears, “I hope I’m not bothering, I just heard you were having a bad day, and I wanted to cheer you up. Is that okay?”

Now let’s get one thing straight - you never cried. You hated crying. You tell everyone that you were dead inside that you ‘lost your tear ducts in the war.’ But with all the frustration of the day, and this sweet gesture from your favorite person? Yep - waterfalls here we come.

Bruce looked shocked, and rightfully so, because he had never seen you cry before. Not once, not even when you had fractured nearly every bone in your body, on that one mission everyone refused to talk about.

“Oh, no no no, please don’t cry sweetheart, I can’t stand to see you cry.” Bruce quickly put the tray on your desk and wrapped you in the warmest, tightest hug you’d ever received.

He said it so tenderly, so sincerely, words fierce with affection and worry. His warm hug and puppy dog eyes, paired with the sweet nickname, had you clinging to him and crying harder. He picked you up effortlessly and laid you on the bed, still in his embrace, swaddling the both of you in your softest blanket. You tried, and failed, to not focus on how strong and sweet he was.

Bruce held you tightly, and you cried into his shoulder until the tea went cold and your tears finally abated. He looked down at you with a sad smile, and you nearly cried again at how tender and worried his gaze was, and god, you were so hopelessly in love with him.

He saw the tears well up in your eyes again, pain gripping at his heart as he stroked the tears away with his thumb. He felt so helpless, seeing you hurting, and there was nothing he wanted more than to kiss your pain and frustration away.

Bruce’s mind was racing a mile a minute, weighing to pros and cons of his next decision. It would change everything. You were his best friend, one of the few who saw Hulk as part of him, not as a separate monster that needed curing. When Bruce was feeling frustrated and overworked, you were the one who breezed into his lab with a joke and a sandwich for him, looking over his notes.

You were to the one that casually pointed out his mistakes and fixed equations, the one that stayed up with him after Hulked-out missions and brought him down from his nauseous, nightmare-filled mindset in the aftermath. You never saw him as a monster, or as someone replaceable. You didn’t see the scientist with seven PHDs, you didn’t see a giant green rage monster, you saw him. Bruce steeled his nerves and decided to take the plunge, hoping he wouldn’t ruin everything.

Hugging you tighter, his hands soothingly stroking your back, his gentle voice broke the silence. “I know you’ve been having a rough day, and I don’t want to add on to it, but I can’t hold back anymore. Not with those pretty eyes staring up at me while you’re finally in my arms.”

Your breath caught in your throat, heart pounding at the implication of his words, but you kept your hope carefully caged.

Bruce took a shaky breath, steeling himself for his next words, the ones that would change everything. “I - I love you. So much more than I could ever put into words, and it hurts me to see you sad. I want to kiss all the pain away from the sad pout.”

He ran a trembling finger over your bottom lip with such reverence. “I understand if you don’t feel the same, I really do, but I just couldn’t hold it in anymore. I know it doesn’t make much sense - you and I - but I promise that I’ll never stop trying to make you happy. But if you want to forget this ever happened, we can do that too, go back to being best friends and nothing more.”

He warily looked at you, internally facepalming himself at his rambling, afraid that he just ruined his friendship with you.

Your heart was about to beat out of your chest, sadness long forgotten, joy filling you with the knowledge that he loved you too. You smiled up at him through glassy eyes and whispered, “Y’know, for being a genius, you can be pretty oblivious sometimes.”

His affronted look was soon transformed into shock as you tightened your arms around him and softly met his lips with your own.

Bruce froze for a few seconds before his brain came back online, deceptively strong arms tightening around you as he kissed back, pouring all his long-held emotions into the passionate kiss.

Was saying ‘I love you’ bold and too soon, seeing as how he’d never really been in a serious relationship? Probably. Was bruce acting wildly out of character, declaring his love and being affectionate? Most definitely, but being so close to you was making him loopy, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Were you both going to panic about the new change in your relationship later? Probably. But for now, you continued to sweetly kiss until you were both smiling too much to continue.

After stealing another quick kiss, because he could do that now, Bruce went to reheat the tea and cookies he had brought. While he was gone doing that, you took the moment to do an excited wiggle, laughing to yourself that you finally landed the stupidly sweet scientist you had been pining after for years.

A little while later, with full bellies and content smiles, you both lay swaddled in blankets and each other’s arms, slowly drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

Your day may have started off badly, but it had ended in the greatest joy you’ve experienced - being loved by Bruce Banner.