#he is my special soggy old man

[ddarker-dreams]

under what conditions can blade's dry texting extend beyond an archaic emoji reaction

i've mostly likely answered thousands of asks since i've started this blog four years ago.................... i've had some tricky characters questions that stumped me for a few minutes, but never longer than that. this, however... was my ultimate test. i actually had to think on it for a while 😭

-

in an ironic twist, the only way you could ever get blade to double text (and beyond) is if you're the one not texting him.

blade isn't the panicking type. if his mara is under control, his composure is second to none. he doesn't jump to crazy conclusions or work himself up if you've gone a few hours without texting him. you have a life of your own you're leading, which he respects, since his line of work frequently requires him to be away for weeks at a time. it'd be hypocritical of him to demand your attention the second he has some downtime.

it does strike him as odd once six or so hours have passed. he takes the area you occupy into consideration, since having consistent time zones across an infinite universe is impossible. he doesn't have to check a convertor. he just knows what hours you'll be awake or asleep, it's built into his circadian rhythm. if it's crickets on your end during the time you should be awake, he starts wondering.

normally, you're texting him selfies and pictures of your meals throughout the day, composing sickeningly sweet lines that almost make him blush from how unabashed they are. not having these silly snapshots of your life to look forward to after his work does a number on his already dour mood. he never really thought about how integral your presence has become to him until you deviated from your normal behavior.

at around the eight hour mark, he gets this sinking feeling in his stomach. he'll text you questions asking if you're okay, if anything's wrong... his eyes remain glued to his screen. any slight vibration that could be a notification from you has him whipping his phone out at inhuman speed. it's at this point that he breaks down and asks silver wolf to do him a favor, starting with checking recent surveillance footage in your area. if she can't find anything, that means you must've stayed in your residence. next up is tracking your location through your phone.

blade's already thinking about how to speed up the process of this world's destruction so he can book it back to you, when a vibration catches his attention. it's an unknown number. when he opens it, he's greeted by a selfie of you beside mechanical parts, with the caption,

'guess who accidentally smashed their phone while trying to kill a bug loooooooooooool'

all he can do is pinch his nose and sigh. if his hair ever grays again, it'll be thanks to you.

[strawberrystepmom]

old flame, same glow

pairing: sex worker toji fushiguro x f!reader

word count: 6.1k

about: old feelings spur you on a wild journey of paying for sex with your high school crush but you find out in the process that maybe those feelings aren't as long forgotten as you thought.

contents: nsfw - mdni. no curses au, reader and toji are similar in age (i imagine reader to be late 20s/early 30s and toji to be early/mid 30s), oral sex (f receiving), lots and lots and lots of pining from reader, reader is very pathetic it's very sad but she's my most special meow meow.

notes: this is a repost of the sex worker toji au on my old blog - full and final, with pretty extensive edits to make it flow better. i was personally asked to repost and who am i to say no? be warned tho, for being a fic about sex work this is surprisingly sexless and for that i apologize but i wanted to focus more on the feelings rather than the smut.

thank you for your support and for reading and i hope you enjoy it!!!

dividers are thanks to @/saradika

“Is it because I’ll never be him?” 

The words your now ex-fiance spit at you during that fateful last fight echo in your mind as you splash cool water over your face, the strap of your purse sagging over your shoulder. A sigh escapes as the droplets run down your nose and lips. 

Him. Toji. The man became a constant issue in your relationship that never seemed to reach resolution the moment you admitted to a one-sided crush you had on him years and years ago, long before your fiance entered the picture. You hadn’t spoken to him since before his first marriage and only knew about his life through social media and occasionally running into each other at the grocery store but your ex took exception after a single cursory glance through Fushiguro’s photo sharing app feed, each picture one of him with his shirt either lifted at the bottom or so tight you can make out each and every divot of his defined core.

Exhaling out of your mouth, droplets go flying against the surface of the bathroom mirror and you fight the urge to scream or cry or maybe both looking at your soggy reflection. You’ve never felt more pathetic in your life and now the outside matches the inside.

The memory couldn’t have surfaced at a worse time and it forced you to excuse yourself from the polite man sitting across from you in a crowded restaurant, shifting through the too small gaps between tables and refusing to make eye contact with anyone else currently sitting in the restaurant as he watched you retreat. 

He was introduced to you by a coworker who spent most of the week wondering why you haven’t put yourself back out there after a year of single life, but you regret saying yes. Not because you don’t enjoy his company - he’s smart, quick witted, and handsome which are all things regularly you’d be enchanted by. 

Truthfully, you know it’s because he isn’t him either.

Digging your phone out of the pocket of your dress, you sigh and open your most recent conversation thread. The bold letters of his name stare back at you, an F in a circle above his last name. Fushiguro.

Free later?

Toji texted you earlier today, while you were still at work, and you opted to ignore him in preparation for tonight. The intention was to clear your mind of distractions or any entanglements you may have lingering, even those with almost unimaginably broad shoulders and green eyes that twinkle mischievously with every salacious wink and smirk he tosses your direction but you didn’t realize you’d fail your mission before 9 pm. 

The sun has only barely set and here you stand in the bathroom of one of the nicest restaurants on this side of the city planning to meet up with your high school crush to pay him for sex. 

Perhaps pathetic is too light of a word for how you feel but you don’t make eye contact with yourself in the mirror for long enough to think about it, gaze darting back down to the backlit screen in your palms.

Your thumbs begin to work before your mind can catch them and you stop yourself, brows furrowed as you press down to highlight the text and delete it altogether. Rubbing your free hand over your face, you sigh and glance down at the text bubble indicating he’s typing on the screen.

You know I can see you typing and deleting?

A knock on the bathroom door makes you yelp as you look over the message, dropping your phone in the still damp porcelain sink with a clatter while uttering low curses under your breath. You hear your name from the other side of the door and in your rush to grab and dry off your phone, you slip the droplet covered device back into your pocket and rush toward the door to see the waitress assigned to your table standing there.

“Uh, he asked me to come let you know that he paid the tab and you can go.”

Panic rises in your chest and your stomach turns as you gaze around her shoulder and look around the restaurant, spotting the table you were just sitting at with its unoccupied chairs.

“Fuck,” you spit before gnawing on your lower lip and the waitress watches you as one would witness a slow motion car crash - incredulously, as if this is something she has never seen before. Part of you wonders if she hasn’t ever seen a woman struggling this close to her, the youthful round of her cheeks convincing you she can’t be old enough to have a lot of life under her belt. 

You shoot her an apologetic glance and she nods curtly.

“I’m sorry you had to do this,” your voice is muffled by your own shoulder while you dig through the purse and pinch out a banknote with enough zeroes to make her happy. You think it’s a 10,000 yen note but you can’t be certain and the embarrassment of the evening is carrying your feet toward the door too quickly to verify.

The door spits you out into a balmy evening but you don’t notice, filling your lungs to the brim with fresh air that feels restorative despite the heat. Patting around your body, you ground yourself with the knowledge that your phone is in your pocket. Pulling it out, you click your tongue at the new notification alert on the left side of your screen and exit your conversation with Toji to look at it.

The number isn’t saved in your phone but the words make you hiss as you look over them, shame making your face heat in a way that a warm summer night cannot even begin to replicate.

Hope dating gets simpler for you. Have a good night.

Sighing, you dawdle for a moment wondering how to respond, shifting your weight from foot to foot. People pass you on the street and you worry they’re going to start to wonder why you’ve been standing in front of the restaurant door for so long, dejectedly staring at the glowing screen in your palms.

Taking a few steps, you begin to walk in the direction of the train station and exit out of the conversation with your date, opening Toji’s contact info and holding down on his number until you hear your phone dialing him.

“Was wondering when you’d get back to me,” he doesn’t hesitate to speak as soon as he picks up the phone and you feel a flurry of butterflies erupt in your gut the moment you hear him. This is so bad, you contemplate with the click of each of your steps. So so bad. “Where you at?”

Humiliated, you dare to feel almost a little comforted by how happy he sounds to hear from you. You’re certain that this is how he sounds with all of his clients, everyone who hires him for a good time, but you want to believe so badly it’s just for you. The lilt at the end of his sentences that you know mean he’s smirking, one corner of his mouth turned up. 

“Do you want to hear the truth or to hear a carefully made up lie?”

He chuckles on the other end of the phone and you wish you could listen to no other sound for the rest of your life.

“Tell me the truth. You’ve never been a great liar.”

A deep exhale deflates your posture and your gaze snaps to your feet as you make your way off to the farthest part of the sidewalk, your voice lowering to keep some shred of your dignity intact. It’s bad enough you’re venting your frustration to the man you pay for sex, you don’t want to think about how mortifying it would be to have a stranger overhear your woes.

“Well, I was on a date and got walked out on so now I’m heading toward the train station.”

A sympathetic hum and shuffling come from the other end of the line, Toji absentmindedly flicking the lighter he keeps in his pocket while you speak. The silence, no matter how momentary, makes you feel awkward and your brain leaps to overcompensate.

“Did you still want to meet? I don’t have a ton of cash but I do have time.”

Another chuckle. You hate that you feel like it’s directed at you rather than to be shared with you and the hot flush of embarrassment makes you reach for your sleeve with your free hand uncomfortably. It was too hot to wear this dress. It was a stupid idea to even come out but his voice keeps your rapt attention, his next words making you genuinely smile for the first time in hours.

“I can’t make you pay full price after getting walked out on. Come over, we’ll work it out.”

Thanking your lucky stars, you shut your eyes tightly and use every ounce of willpower inside of you to keep yourself from crying. Moisture pools at your lashline and you choose to ignore it, relaxing your jaw as you respond.

“You mean it?”

He hums affirmatively and you feel the butterflies in your stomach travel further south at the sound.

“Wouldn’t offer if I didn’t. See you in thirty.”

The call drops from the other end, your phone beeping to signify the ending but you can’t keep a giddy smile from creeping across your face as you press your phone against your chest and open your eyes. Looking up at the twinkling stars above, embarrassment gives way to something you haven’t felt in so long outside of these meetings with Toji that you wonder if you’re about to have a heart attack or something equally disturbing - the familiar flush of affectionate love. 

The unimpressed gaze of your coworker follows you all the way to your desk as you make your way through the rows of desktops on Monday morning. You shrink beneath the weight of it, the wool of your pencil skirt suddenly itching more than it ever has while brushing against your legs with each step. 

She must have heard about how well your date went.

The text message sent from the man still sits, unanswered, in your phone. Shame sits like a brick in your stomach and you keep your head down, even as you sit and the hydraulics of your chair squish beneath you with a “whoosh”. Bouncing back up, you refuse to make eye contact as you get settled, logging in.

“I am never setting you up again,” she spits in a hushed whisper as soon as you sit down next to her, pulling her can of coffee away from you and setting it on the opposite side of her keyboard. 

“If you weren’t ready you should have just said so.”

It’s not like you can defend yourself. You weren’t and remain unready to see anyone else yet it didn’t stop you from immediately stuffing bills in Toji’s hand, legs still shaking while he helped you button your pants and sealed your goodbye with a wink and a kiss on the forehead.

This time, though, was the first time the two of you kissed outside of sex and you’re still reeling. Head fuzzy as you recall the way his scar felt brushing against you for more than immediate sexual gratification. Soft lips, firm flesh, warmth. You swear you feel a ghost of the kiss itself as you sit, surrounded by buzzing overhead fluorescent lights.

The two of you have had sex a dozen times now, once a month your usual schedule, but this time felt different. Maybe it’s the fact that you paid less than usual, maybe it’s the tender way he placed kisses from the underside of your breast clear down to your mound, watching your every move with those glimmering peridot eyes. 

“Are you going to say anything?”

The accusatory voice of your coworker interrupts your reverie and you blink before turning in your direction with your head bowed. Words stick in your throat and you aren’t able to swallow so you mumble a simple “sorry” with nothing further. She scoffs and turns back toward her computer, typing loudly to indicate her annoyance as you click around your desktop.

“He walked out on me, to be fair,” you finally come up with after falling short on a near infinite amount of apologies in your head and she turns once again to stare at you. Her gaze burns and you shift in your seat, the same shame you felt at the restaurant weighing your limbs and keeping you pinned in place.

“He left because you were in the bathroom for 15 minutes with no explanation.”

She scoffs and shakes her head, typing away for a moment before turning toward you again, still unfinished with her thorough lecture about the wrongs you’ve committed. Your body still feels heavy, frozen with embarrassment of your own making, but you manage to sigh and fold your arms over your chest unenthusiastically.

“I was hoping you’d at least tell me you had an accident or something.”

Without thinking, you laugh the hardest you have in awhile and several heads peek above their desktops to glance at your unusual display. They probably think you’re losing your mind and if you were to be frank with yourself, you aren’t convinced that isn’t exactly what’s happening.

You are fantasizing during work about a man you pay to have sex with, pretending you’re anything more than a client with a little cash to blow and he’s a man with a lot of free time and a natural gift for cunnilingus.

Hiccuping, your laughter subsides and your unimpressed coworkers return to their tasks, the one sitting next to you still eyeing in a way that is borderline venomous at this point. You don't blame her, though. You fucked up and can't bring yourself to own up to it when your head is too wrapped up in remembering every peak of Toji's arms wrapped around you.

How the fuck did this happen?

She says nothing further, instead turning to her computer and leaving you to sit staring at the blinking cursor on the screen in front of you. You can unpack every single choice you've made since 16 right now and it still wouldn't lend any clarity as to why you are willing to fuck up every relationship around you for the sake of sleeping with a man who you mean nothing to.

Of course, you don't know that, but it's a safe enough assumption given the dynamic itself.

You swallow thickly, pride sliding down your throat like something you may choke on, and turn your chair toward your coworker.

"I handled it poorly and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry I embarrassed you."

She scoffs, dipping her head low.

"The only person who should be embarrassed here is you."

Accepting the criticism, the truth, you plaster a smile across your face and nod once. Any argument you may have tied together at another point in your life dies and you instead turn back to your work, looking at the little clock on the bottom corner of your screen.

9:15 am.

So many hours left for shame to simmer between your ribs, a molten pool of your own failure to swim around in until you drown.

The lewd pop of Toji releasing your clit from between his lips and your panting are the soundtrack playing through his otherwise quiet apartment. Darkness envelopes both of you, so insatiable by the time you made it back here there wasn’t time to turn on the overhead lights. 

I need to stop, you think in the afterglow of another orgasm delivered by the impressively skilled mouth of the man whose green eyes are fixed on your face. You take in the sight of him, chin and lips soaked from your last release that drenched him. 

“Never seen ya do that before,” Toji remarks from between your thighs. Your muscles twitch on either side of his face and you giggle weakly, tired from being thoroughly fucked and devoured. He places a kiss on your inner thigh, eyes fluttering shut briefly as he does so. 

You want to reach out and stroke his cheek, softening with every ounce of care he gives; the way his thumbs assuredly massage the outside of your thighs. It’s all so…tender. It feels like it's meant for a lover, someone you wanna fall asleep beside and rise with in the morning.

Something meant for you and someone else.

If you weren’t so tired you’d already be gone. Instead you groan softly as he rubs a final pair of circles on your skin and sits up, wiping his face across his bicep. He stands and he feels you looking at him, scoping out every nude sculpted inch of him. How is it fair that he not only fucks like a god but looks like one too?

Truly, some people get all the luck.

“Somethin’ on your mind?”

Shrugging flippantly, you let yourself melt into the comfort of his bedding, getting too used to feeling it beneath you at this point. You've increased your visits from once a month to once a week, twice if you're particularly stressed, and he certainly will never turn down a chance to make some good money.

"How many clients do you have?"

The question leaves your lips before you can really think about the implication of what you're asking but he chuckles, pulling a pair of athletic shorts and nothing else over his softening cock. You can still make out the print of it clear as day and it makes your face heat, looking away and feigning interest in the peeling skin around your unkempt cuticles.

"I'm sorry, that was intrusive," you clarify, gaze flicking up from your nail beds to where he fills two glasses of water from a pitcher on the bedside table. You dare to indulge yourself by continuing to look at him rather than away, his hair falling in his face.

For the briefest moment, you think you'd like to be the person to brush it off his forehead forever but he turns to you with a smirk and holds out a glass of water before you can go any further into the delusional fantasies your mind keeps providing to you without asking.

"Why are you asking?" He drinks after asking, finishing his glass in one gulp and setting it back down next to the pitcher. You take the glass extended in your direction, sipping to try and wash down the lump in your throat before it can fully form. "You like me or something?"

Immediately you shoot up, hauling the blanket over your naked form ready to explain away your questioning and he sits down on the edge of the bed with a smile, reaching out and grabbing your covered thigh with one of his hands.

"I was just kidding, don't get jumpy."

Fighting the urge to fidget, you stay sitting up and sip from the water cautiously again, small mouthfuls at a time to keep from feeling overwhelmed. You're so anxious despite having cum so many times you truly lost track and Toji wishes he didn't find it so amusing that after all these years you still manage to be as neurotic as he remembers.

You were a good girl back then, scared of getting caught running around with the delinquent, but you still puffed each time he'd hold the cigarette to your lips. You still tagged along when he would skip class.

He wondered what happened to you when the two of you lost touch. Figured you'd ended up married with a kid or two like him, waiting for the next day and getting through it to the best of your ability.

He was shocked when you messaged him from your social media profile, the photos displayed on your page less than interesting. You standing in front of a shrine on vacation, you smiling next to your family on your grandma's birthday, you looking lonely with a smile that never reached your eyes in photo after photo.

The rest is history, as they say, and you rush to fill the silence.

"Curiosity got the best of me, that's all."

"Five."

You look up, reaching across the bed to slide the water onto the table beside it and he keeps his gaze fixed on you.

"Four occasionals, one regular."

Eyes widening at his words, you point to yourself.

"I'm your regular?"

He hums and nods and you take a moment to process the information for what it is. A surprise, certainly, and you can't quite figure out how you feel about knowing he sees four other women even if it is just occasionally. Logic smacks you in the face as you realize you hardly have the right to feel jealous over him doing his job but you let that feeling turn in your head for a moment, wondering what he'd do if you admitted how you felt to him.

Would he stop seeing his other clients? Would he let you take their occasional spots, making sure he's making the same amount of money regardless if it's all coming from you?

"My occasionals don't live in the city so we only meet up when they're in town."

Why he feels the need to explain himself is as lost on him as it is you, your head tilted to the side in confusion. Can he tell this is what you need to hear to quell your own wandering mind or is he simply indulging you to ensure that his regular stays a regular? You hate to think the worst of him, knowing he's a good man beneath the antics he has always managed to get wrapped up in, but the ever shifting boundaries between the two of you get less and less comfortable with every session.

"How about you?" He asks while you slide your knees up and tuck them into your chest, his hand falling to the side in the process. "You paying anyone else for sex?"

Giggling, you shake your head. It's embarrassing to even be asked, your desperation as apparent as your skin itself, but you feel like if there's anyone you can joke about it with it's the man whose face is still sticky with your release.

"Nope, one is plenty. I'm not rich, you know."

He quirks a brow and crawls onto the bed, making his way to hover above you with a smirk and that same hair hanging over his eyes the way you always seem to see it in your daydreams.

Without thinking, you reach up and brush it off of his forehead, your fingers gliding across the sweat slicked skin of his face. You look at him for a moment, the way he looms above you, and your stomach turns.

This is too much. Your fingers tremble gently as you trace them over the bridge of his nose while dragging them off of his face, hand flopping down at your side while you struggle to shift from beneath him to get out of the bed.

"You alright?"

You nod and he backs away, sitting across the bed rather than lingering over the top of you. Sliding your legs off of the bed, you stand and feel him looking at your back as you bend and scramble to grab your clothes.

"Yeah, just realized it's super late."

Hurriedly pulling your pants up over your legs, you stop when you realize he hasn’t stopped staring at you since the moment you left his bed. His gaze burns and you wither beneath it, burning out like a shooting star as you stand still as a statue.

“Just stay,” he offers as if it isn’t the most self destructive option you could possibly choose. Stay and what? Chew on your nails the entire night until the sun finally rises and you can blissfully leave? Watch morning cast a warm glow over his sleeping body while birds chirp outside?

A persistent echo of the word idiot dances through your head as you briefly consider his suggestion, wondering if it would truly be so terrible to bury your head against his side and sleep soundly for the first time in months.

You can’t do this. The night feels suffocating, like it’s smothering you rather than enveloping you gently, and you pull your pants all the way up and fasten them while throwing your shirt over your head and pulling it on in a surprisingly fluid motion.

“I gotta go. Thank you for everything.”

Bustling out of his apartment, Toji watches your back head toward the door and can’t help but feel as if that was your final goodbye, gone in a flash the same way you returned to him.

Hey stranger, what's up?

The latest in a series of ignored messages pops onto your screen before you can close out the notification, today marking 21 days since the fateful night you cried in the back of an overpriced car the entire way back to your apartment leaving Toji’s behind you.

The messages are all the same - nonchalant and non committal, unspoken business proposals - but you scroll up through them anyway with a broken sniffle. How you’re still managing to cry over this three weeks later is beyond your own understanding but your fingers reach out to brush the screen of your phone regardless, just as they did the smooth skin of his forehead that fateful night.

Life has been normal without him, you reason. You go to work, keep your head down, come home and fall asleep in front of the TV. You’ve been too depressed to even masturbate but you’ve tried, crying through the measly two orgasms you’ve managed to pull out of yourself halfheartedly.

Part of you wishes you’d just die and end this misery once and for all, the other wants to die thinking of how someone would feel looking at your browser history. “Green eyed guy big dick”, “big dick DILF” , “toji big dick”, the terms thay would haunt you enough you worry they’d emblazon them on your headstone if you were to perish.

It’s dramatic, sure, your world has imploded in on itself more than once already but this hurts with the intensity of three broken engagements. Your heart feels like it could give out at any moment and it nearly does when your phone begins to vibrate and ring. Dropping it to the floor below, you sniffle again and feel another round of sobs bubble up in your throat at the name on the screen.

Toji Fushiguro. Clear as day.

You let it ring and ring until you know your voicemail will pick up and you’ll delete it. Fuck, you should really delete his number as a whole but even that feels too permanent.

How did it hurt less when you left your old apartment with an empty ring finger and a few boxes full of your meager belongings than it does to ignore a man you paid for sex?

Truthfully, you know it was never about the sex and you were treading in deep dangerous waters from the start.

You love him.

You loved him back in high school when he was a bad influence, you loved him when you’d open your hidden photos folder to stare at pictures you screen captured from his social media as soon as your fiancé rolled over to fall asleep, you loved him hovering above you with moonlight illuminating every shadow of his face.

This is the worst thing that has ever happened to you and through a flood of hot tears, you close out the open adult website on your phone and pull up a search tab, typing the words that will lead you to listings for apartments for rent as far away from here as you can possibly get.

Your time here is done and you know it, the ding echoing from your phone letting you know you have a voicemail almost sounding exactly like a timer would but you look at the notification anyway.

It's curious he left you a voicemail but you watch as your screen loads from the browser to the one unopened message in your mailbox. Taking a deep breath, you press play and hear his voice drifting through the speakers.

"Hey, uhh...I dunno what I did to piss you off but maybe we should talk about it. I'll be at the usual spot tonight if you wanna meet. Hope to see ya."

It ends as unceremoniously as it started and you cry harder, rewinding to start it over again. Listening to his voice, you trace your fingers along the screen of your phone a final time before deciding to take him up on his offer.

Closure will only help this process, you think, ending it all and closing this chapter for good.

“Look who it is.”

You recognize the voice coming from behind you but refuse to turn in your chair to greet its owner, instead sipping from your cocktail before tossing your napkin down unceremoniously. 

This isn’t your first time at this less than reputable establishment but you hope it will be your last, ready to get away from the shit in this city you wished you would’ve left behind a long time ago. Him included.

“Toji,” you toss from over your shoulder and the man himself enters your peripheral vision. Refusing to give him the smug satisfaction of turning to look at him, you simply nod and begin to tear the napkin you tossed down into little pieces. You’ve always loved how easy it is to transform things with your hands, from whole to broken and back again. It reminds you of yourself in a strange way.

“I could make some time for you,” Toji sucks his teeth and you roll your eyes at the sound. “If you want.”

A shake of your head is all you offer as you continue to throw bits of paper in front of you, a small pile of bits, all that remains of what once was whole. The metaphor dies as you think about it and you sit quietly as he settles in beside you.

“What would it cost me this time?”

Toji shrugs, the already clinging fabric of his short sleeved shirt gripping him tighter with the motion. You swallow thickly seeing the muscles move from the corner of your eye. He’s gorgeous and you hate it, reminding yourself that loneliness is what led you in his direction in the first place. Or at least you’re still trying to convince yourself of that.

You wish you could have stuck to your guns when you promised yourself you’d stop seeing him.

“I can make a deal for my favorite even if she has been avoiding me lately.”

A laugh escapes before you can stop it and you turn to look at him, taking in the deep jade color of his eyes and the dark lashes that frame them.

What point did you start looking for the mischievous little sparkle that lives inside of those irises? What point did this become more than transactional?

You always have and it never was.

You sigh, tipping your head back to look at the dim modern-attempt-at-vintage overhead lighting and he sweeps his large hand across the bartop to sweep your bits of napkin into his palm. 

“No charge, actually.” 

Making a show of considering his offer, you squirm uncomfortably at the boundary that has been firmly broken by it. He has given you discounts, sure, but to offer a completely free no strings attached session is almost more than you can reasonably deny. You have been suffering in his absence, self imposed exile keeping you locked inside of your apartment when you aren’t at work. You aren’t dating, you aren’t fucking, you’re just trying to exist as simply as possible.

Even the most upright girl needs to have a little fun sometimes, though, you think. Especially since this will be the last time before you go and leave him to his life. You have no place in his world and he no place in yours, two paths that intersected briefly but have to diverge eventually the most the two of you will ever be.

Despite your better judgment, you look at him with a bittersweet smile and he finds the look puzzling. There’s still the ever present softness you hold for him deep in that gaze but there’s something else he hasn’t seen before. 

His heavy stare makes you interrupt with a question. 

“What did I do to deserve a free one?” 

He shrugs, dropping your bits of napkin into your drained lowball glass where they soak up what’s left of the water. The cycle into something new begins again. 

“Feelin’ generous. You in or not?”

Dragging it out for a moment longer, you wonder if you should tell him this will be the last time. You’ve known him for such a long time there’s an element of obligation but you shrug it off and rise from the barstool, smoothing down the fabric of your pants.

“Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Toji doesn’t bother to hide his smug half smile, tossing down a few bills to cover your drink. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you start and he cuts you off as the two of you walk so close your shoulders brush. “Told you I’m feelin’ generous, quit making me regret it.”

He’s teasing but you flinch a bit at his words despite yourself. 

What if he regrets this? What if it hasn’t been as mutually beneficial as you originally thought, you’re just another face with disposable income that wants to see what it feels like to fuck a man with reckless abandon? Isn’t this why you walked away in the first place?

The what ifs will drive you crazy if you keep it up so you let the cool night air clear your mind, gasping as he pushes you against the driver side door of your car.

“Toji,” you warn but his hands glide up your sides and you lift your chin to expose your neck, his lips and teeth easily finding the column of your throat. The vibrations of your voice feel good against his mouth and you yelp as he scrapes at your skin using his front teeth. “Someone could see us.”

He scoffs and lifts his face away from your neck, lips mere inches away from yours. 

“Would that be so bad?” You nod emphatically and he rolls his eyes, dark brows knit together as he considers what you’re saying. “Ashamed to be seen with me?” Your shoulders slump and he presses his lips against yours so quickly you wonder if you imagined it and you sigh.  “No, I’m not. Just would rather people not know I’m paying some dude I used to go to high school with to fuck me.” 

There’s too much truth to your words for him to argue so he simply leans in against, pressing his lips against yours for a moment longer than he previously did. You feel the corner of his lip rise, a little smirk, and you wonder what’s on his mind.

“Don’t seem so ashamed when you’re screamin’ about how you can feel me in your….” he feigns thought for a moment and you feel your face heat, knowing what he’s about to say next. “What is it you always say? Ah, yeah…tummy.” His lips press against yours again and you kiss him back this time, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and wrapping his dark hair around your fingers. The two of you separate before the dry humping starts, catching your breath as you wipe remnants of chapstick and saliva from your lips.

“Get your ass in the car before I change my mind, Fushiguro.” 

He smiles at the sound of his name on your pretty lips. There’s no going back now and he knows it as he squeezes your ass once before rounding your car to enter the passenger side. A glance up at the night sky allows you a moment to clear your mind before you enter the vehicle yourself, shutting the door behind you as you fire up the engine. 

Something new begins again, the night revealing thing you know to be true.

You love him too much for this to be the last time.

[buzzkillchainsaw]

More or less direct continuation of this comic:

I.

Isamu pushes against the door. A little bell above him signals his arrival as he enters the restaurant. Warm air and the smell of fast food hit him in the face, providing a hint of much-needed comfort. He doesn’t get too far before he reaches the back of the line that trails all the way to the cashier taking the orders. Isamu balances on his tiptoes to catch a glimpse at the colorful screens advertising all the different menu options while his hands juggle the warm coins in his pocket. Not enough for a full meal at an actual restaurant, but maybe enough for a burger and some soggy fries?

The bell rings out again behind him and a man walks past the customers waiting in line to talk directly to the cashier. Isamu is too busy to care, because he’s finally close enough to decipher the menu prices. Cold sweat runs down his back and he grips the coins tighter and tighter with each step he makes towards the cashier. He pulls a hand out of his pockets to nervously scratch an itch on his neck. The boy recoils at the white grime that has now appeared under his fingernails, wiping them on his jeans and using his sleeves to get rid of any remaining crumbs of dirt still left on his neck. It’s his turn in line now. 

“Welcome to Boss Burger, may I take your order”, the cashier asks in a rehearsed melodic tone. 

“I-” Isamu’s voice sounds like a stranger’s. He hasn’t used it in days. “What would be the, um, cheapest option you have?”

“Cheapest?”, the cashier asks, a bit too loud for his taste. But despite the medical mask on her face he can tell that she’s trying to shoot him an encouraging smile. No other worker is wearing one. “Cheapest would be 5,95 for the “Essential taste” burger. But…” She leans forward with a secretive glint in her eyes. A whisker, like a cat’s, pokes out behind her mask and she uses a gloved finger to push it back.

“...don’t you wanna dream a bit bigger? Your uncle’s paying for it, after all.” 

Isamu’s head whips around to see who she’s pointing at. It’s the man who walked past him earlier, now sitting at a table in the back and waving at him with a friendly smile. Isamu’s thoughts are racing. Who is this man? Was he following him? Why is he claiming to be his uncle? Why is he claiming he’ll pay for his food? Isamu looks at the man, then at the cashier, then at the screens above her circling through slideshows of beautiful, tasty, yummy food. A growl escapes his stomach. He raises a hand and points to the “Double decker X-treme Special” menu.

The man’s irises are an unnatural shade of silver. A splinter, obviously. Isamu doesn’t pay attention to much more than that. He sits down across the man and begins destroying the burger, fries, salad and soft drink before him. No moment is wasted. He could flee the scene and switch faces at any moment if that man tries to pull anything weird. A few minutes later, the boy slows down as his hunger is finally satiated. Still, he shoves some remaining fries in his mouth and finally looks up to face the man.

“What do you want from me?”, Isamu asks.

“Not even a hello?”, the man answers. “Ah, kids these days.”

Isamu narrows his eyes at him and bites into another fry.

“A few years ago I caught a mysterious illness," the man begins. “It caused my cornea to just” - he makes a flicking motion with his fingers - “fall off my eyes. My iris followed soon after. You can imagine my shock.”

Isamu shrugs and swallows the fry.

“Doctors told me that my eyes were completely destroyed, that I’d be blind for life. But against all odds, everything grew back the way it was. Except for one difference.”, he points at his silver irises. “That was Year Zero. You were probably born around that time, weren’t you?”

“I know where splinters came from, old man.” Isamu wipes his mouth with his sleeve and reaches for the straw in his soda cup. “You obviously want something. What? Have you been following me?”

“Guilty”, the man jokingly throws up his hands. “But I was about to reach that part before you interrupted me. Now, where was I - eyes, yes. As you pointed out correctly, I gained a splinter that day. A splinter that allows me to look at people and see the exact extent of their powers.”

Isamu stops playing with the straw. If that is true, this man knows what he can do. And he’d always be able to point Isamu out in a crowd, no matter what face the latter was wearing. Is he a cop? Is this an undercover operation? But why would the man tell him all that if he was about to put handcuffs on him anyway? This is strange. He’s trying to build rapport with Isamu, for whatever reason. Maybe to get him to confess to something?

“It’s amazing to watch it in real time.”, the man comments and brings Isamu back to reality. The boy’s hand shoots up to his face and touches fur. All those nervous thoughts had subconsciously turned him into some kind of animal. Isamu scowls and reveals sharp teeth.

“If you’re the real deal, then tell me what I can do.”

“Of course. Your splinter allows you to change everything above, um, right above here.” The man raises a finger and draws an invisible, horizontal line right above Isamu’s collarbones. “Human heads, animal heads, even fantastical creatures and monsters. The genetic makeup stays the same though, that might pose a problem if you leave evidence at the scene. And, hm, I can see that holding a head is kind of like flexing a muscle for you, it causes great discomfort if you have to do it for an extended period of time. Shifting shape brings you relief. Interesting…change as the natural state of self.”

He was good. Isamu decided that it was now time for the ultimate question: “And what does my original face look like?”

The man furrows his brows a bit and leans in closer. His silver irises, now finally visible up close, seem to be made up of countless thin rings in various metallic shades. His pupils jump from tiny to huge, like a camera lens.

“I don’t see one. You’ve been changing faces since before you were born, haven’t you?”

Isamu nods. His parents had convinced the doctors that his “original face” was one of the handful of approved appearances they forced him to emulate. And so, it was written down in all of his files.

"Anyways. I won’t waste any more of your time, buddy.” The man reaches into his bag, pulls out a simple white envelope and gently slides it over to the boy sitting across him.

“What’s that?”

“Keycard to a hotel room, so you can bathe and sleep in a real bed for a change. And a bus ticket, so you can reach it before it gets dark. And …”, he lightly taps the envelope once, twice, three times. “...the business card of the guy paying for all this. You might wanna give him a call if you feel like saying thanks. There’s a phone in the room, so no excuses!”

The man wags his finger and winks. Isamu presses his lips together and fixates his gaze on the envelope in front of him. The words that the man had spoken earlier, “...if you leave evidence at the scene…”, echo in his head. This envelope is obviously the ticket to a shady, mysterious, potentially even dangerous world. Whoever’s behind this needs Isamu and his splinter for something and he’s willing to pay handsomely.

“Sure. Maybe I will”, the boy says and pockets the envelope. The man says goodbye, pays for the food and leaves.

II.

“Hello?”

Isamu is sitting on the freshly made bed, phone in one hand and the business card in the other. “Atsushi Murakami - real estate” it says in simple black letters.

“Murakami real estate, this is Hakoda speaking, how may I help?”

“Oh. Um. I met with a man earlier who gave me a card and a hotel room key. He said to call this number. I don’t know his name, but he had silver eyes.”

“Of course”, the woman on the other line says, “I’ll connect you.”

Click. Music. Isamu stands up and begins to pace around the room. The fluffy bathrobe he’s wearing brushes comfortably against his skin with every step. He passes the bathroom door and peers inside to check on his dirty clothes. He can’t wash them, but airing them out next to the open window might at least get rid of some of the smell. Click. The music stops.

“Good evening. The young Isamu Yamamoto, I presume?” The voice sounds like it belongs to a strict middle aged man, perhaps a teacher or the boss of a company. Not someone to be messed with either way.

“Uh, that’s me. Yes.” Isamu doesn’t bother asking how the man knows his name.

“My name is Atsushi Murakami, nice to meet you. Is the hotel room to your liking? If you get up early tomorrow, you may also enjoy the excellent breakfast buffet.”

“Yes. Thank you, um, sir. I wanted to ask - why all this?”

“That’s a matter best discussed in person. But I will say this: I know who you are, I know what you’re running from and I know how to put your talents to good use. If you’re interested in hearing more, join me for dinner tomorrow at the “Grandieux”, 8pm sharp. It’s not far from your hotel, so you’ll make it in time.”

“Oh.” Isamu needs a moment to think. “Should I … look a certain way so you’ll recognize me?”

“That would help tremendously. How about tan skin, blonde hair and green eyes?”

“Tan skin? I can do tan skin, but everything below my collar will stay pale. It might attract attention.”

“A valid concern.”, the man says, “You’re free to choose the skin, then. I look forward to meeting you, Yamamoto. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Click.

III.

Isamu is woken up by a loud knocking at the door. It’s the cleaning service, he needs to leave. On his way down to the lobby he sees a sign advertising the opening hours of the breakfast buffet, but a quick look at the big golden clock on the wall tells him that he had already missed everything by a long shot. Hunger gnaws at his stomach and makes his limbs heavy. The coins in his pocket only allow for a tiny candy bar from the vending machine in the lobby and it’s far from filling. He tries pickpocketing someone in the streets, but he draws too much attention to himself, forcing him to flee and change faces in a hurry. The hours go by painfully slowly and all the comfort and relaxation from the previous night at the hotel fade with each step on the cold, hard pavement. Then the rain starts. Isamu spends the remaining time wandering around a shopping mall and sipping water from the bathroom faucets. 

Finally 8pm arrives. He’s hungry, tired and every bone in his body aches for a place to lie down. Despite everything he steps into the bright golden light illuminating the restaurant from the outside. A man stands at a desk right by the entrance.

“Do you have a reservation?”

“Isamu Yamamoto. I’m supposed to meet Mr. Murakami at 8pm.”, Isamu replies and silently begs all heavenly forces above to not let the receptionist kick him out after catching a whiff of his clothes.

“Right this way.”

The receptionist leads him to a door labeled “staff only”. Isamu briefly imagines a room full of wizard magic sticks before he’s greeted with yet another dining area, smaller this time. The windows are covered by thick red curtains and the door closing behind him seems to shut out much of the noise from the rest of the restaurant. The receptionist shows him to a table near the end of the room. That’s where Atsushi Murakami is sitting, Isamu presumes. He is a middle aged man with black hair and a prominent mole on his face. His attire, consisting of a suit and tie, is professional and clean. Another chair at the desk is occupied by a similarly clothed boy, about the age of six or seven maybe. The boy has blonde hair, green eyes and tan skin.

“Welcome, Yamamoto.”, Murakami says and reaches out to shake Isamu’s hand. “Sit down please. Are you hungry?”

Isamu nods. Murakami hands him the menu. It’s printed on heavy paper and there are no prices next to the fancy sounding menu items. A server appears out of nowhere, notebook in hand. Isamu raises an eyebrow and looks at Murakami, who nods encouragingly. Isamu orders. Out of the corner of his eye he can feel the boy staring at him.

“As you already know, my name is Atsushi Murakami. I own Murakami real estate, which is on its way to become one of the top players in Mirai City. But the real money doesn’t come from renting houses. It’s renting splinters.”

“Renting.”, Isamu says. “Renting to whom?”

“Anyone and everyone who needs a very specific solution to a very specific problem.”

“What “problem” would you use someone like me for?”, Isamu asks. Murakami nods. 

“Shapeshifters are rare, even partial ones like you. You can be used for anything that involves a face - someone that the police will search for fruitlessly. If you grow up a bit, you’d make a menacing bank robber even.”

There it is. The confirmation that this really was something criminal. Something dangerous. Something that could potentially get him in prison, or worse, killed. All the signs were there, Isamu just needed confirmation. 

“And what if that is not the life for me?”, he asks. Murakami shrugs and cuts into his steak.

“We all make choices. You can choose to go back to the streets, without parents, education or even a roof over your head. You can choose to report me to the police, but I’ll always have more dirt on you than you have on me. Or you can choose to leave everything behind and start working for me. My real estate business isn’t just for show - I’ll find you a nice place suited to your tastes and you’ll never have to sleep outside again.”

A woman approaches Murakami and leans down to whisper something in his ear. He nods and stands up. “Excuse me, Yamamoto, I need to step out for a second. Don’t let Yuu talk your ear off!”

Isamu and the boy, presumably Yuu, are left alone at the table. He looks at the kid and tries to force a smile, but the boy’s stare doesn’t waver. His eyes look tired and wide awake at the same time. It reminds Isamu of the kid in his class who always walked around in hoodies and long-sleeved shirts no matter the weather.

“Was that your dad?”, he asks the boy. The latter tilts his head for a second, then nods.

“He’s absolutely loaded, isn’t he?” The boy just looks at him silently. 

“With money, I mean. Lots of money.”, Isamu adds. The boy understands and nods.

“Damn. Your room is probably stuffed to the brim with all the latest games and toys, huh?” The boy furrows his brows and shakes his head. This one sided conversation is making Isamu sweat nervously, and the boy’s piercing green gaze and overall miserable appearance doesn’t help. He never was good with kids, especially sad ones.

“Hey, how about this: What’s your favorite animal?”, he asks the boy.

“Lion.”, he answers with a thick accent.

“Alright”, Isamu says, “Let me show you a magic trick then. Close your eyes.” 

The boy obeys.

“Now open them.”

The boy opens his eyes, wider and wider as he realizes what has happened: Isamu has changed his head into a lion’s, complete with a bushy brown mane that hangs over his shoulders.

Finally the boy’s stone cold expression shifts.

He smiles.

[jacksprostate]

wip preview part 2 (part 1 here)

As it turns out, I'd never quite told anybody what Tyler looked like.

As it turns out, former Detective David Mills is not Tyler Durden. Cannot be Tyler Durden, because he’s living, breathing, real in everyone else’s eyes, not just mine. That I think he looks like Tyler Durden is not coincidence, but my brain retroactively applying his face onto Tyler's because, God says, I must finally be ready to face him.

I wasn’t punching myself. Tyler Not Tyler, next time I see him, will have a real bruise.

Which would usually be never, God says.

But you’re a special case, God says. A lot of people out there want progress.

We think this could be good for you.

And for Mr. Mills. He's recovering. He could use something to focus on.

It'll help his case, to work with you.

This is divine mandate.

That's something Mills has yet to be informed of, apparently.

Monday morning, I hear the archangels sing, they say, Mills hasn't responded to anything other than a direct order since he found out his wife died. Since he killed a man. One angel says to me as he spoons scrambled eggs onto my plate, you choose good men, sir. He's got conviction.

Conviction makes me think of explosives and a house following orders like a soggy bag of organs.

I think of Tyler Not Tyler with his everything-blond face and eyes like a fish rotting in the sun.

We pass each other in the hallway, led by our respective guard. I wonder if he even registers how gaunt I've become. Desiccated. If he can see how they've made me start swallowing Xanax again so I don't take up residence in his body cavity. I wonder if this is the result of brain damage. Nothing is quite the sight to see like the purpling imprint of my knuckles across the right side of his face.

When Mills speaks, I'm told it's been two weeks, and he finally responded to God's suggested experience by trying to flip the bolted down desk. I hear, Mills said no. He doesn't care about good behavior. He doesn't care about focusing. His wife is dead. If they cared about him at all, they'd put a bullet between his eyes. If he was any smarter, he would've left one bullet for himself.

Not the smartest thing to say when you're already committed.

This gets him a steady drip and a visit from two men.

The man who mops the halls, he tells me it's Mills' lawyer and the partner he had for a week on the case that sent him here. His first case in the big leagues.

You'd think after a year, they'd realize Tyler is dead and stop feeding me information. I wonder if they think this is a step in his return. Another chrysalis.

These men request to meet with me. I have never been allowed visitors. Not even Marla.

Marla hasn't called.

I'm brought to the visitation room, and Mills' lawyer might be there in the background, but it's his partner who's running the show. A black guy, old and wrinkled like a raisin in the sun. No cauliflower nose or stitches through his eyebrows.

Hi.

"Why Mills?"

Don't I get any small talk? If I wasn't on benzos, benzos, benzos, Detective, I'd be hurt. You're the first person I've been allowed to see from outside since I did what your boy wants to do and put a bullet in my brain.

He stares at me.

I smile. The cyst of flesh I've chewed away from the inside of my lip ensures it's always a bit pink.

He looks bored.

Ah.

A kindred spirit.

He made you care again, I say. That's why you're here.

Well.

Imagine, Detective. The only person to see how fucked the world is and want to do something about it, and you're told, even by him, it's all in your head.

And you rot in a psych ward for a year.

And then he walks through the door.

How would you react?

I'm my boss, proposing a hypothetical.

"Mills isn't your hallucination," he says.

Bullshit. So, everyone else can see him too.

"Mills had a wife, dogs, worked five years in homicide upstate before moving to the city a week ago. He is a real person."

In the flesh.

He repeats. "Why Mills?"

And on, and on, and my first ever visitation ends in a very dull stalemate where I visit Tyler's walking corpse in my ice cave as Tyler Not Tyler's detective partner tries to squeeze something other than the truth out of me.

I'm politely informed Detective Somerset has advised I not be involved in Mills' case due to potential violence and psychosexual obsession, and I laugh, because well-meaning men always assume God cares what they have to say. Assume their reasons are universally considered negative.

He's not caught on.

It gets made part of Mills' treatment plan, I'm told. With his little fit in the office, Mills confirmed I'm the only thing that'll shake him out of his walking coma. This is indirect for God saying if you don't do what he wants, he'll let St. Peter know to send you on down to hell the next chance he gets. As in, he'll testify against you. Heaven is a bit authoritarian.

Mills still doesn't care. We end up in a room together anyway. It seems God's smoking gun is at least as effective on his partner.

Amazing to think they've only known each other a week. But my guilt had me blowing up buildings, so I can't quite judge Somerset for his.

In this holy meeting ground of ours, I've got plenty of nice restraints on, handcuffs and ankle cuffs and a persistent level of sedation and a leash that leads right to the hand of an angel that's got a syringe with my name on it.

My remembered violence has been received well by half the guard. The other half seems rededicated to liquifying my brain.

Mills, across our long table, has nothing but his own angel on his shoulder.

Nothing in his eyes. Nothing in his face.

A changeover, but no one hooked up the second reel.

God speaks up from his seat of observation and says, "Mr. Mills, why don't you introduce yourself?"

No one's home.

"Mr. Mills. Introduce yourself."

"Mr. Mills."

I'm watching him like I'm trying to see the pollen grain movement of his very atoms, so I get to see when something starts to wake up in Tyler's stolen body. Olympic torch kind of hellfire, in his eyes. Still foggy. I wonder what they've got him on to keep him from chewing his veins out.

Deliver me.

"I don't need another crazy obsessed with me," he says, looking at God. Immediately physical, he's putting his arms on the desk, leaning forward, an automaton sprung to life.

Yeah, well. I say. I don't need another blond angel blowing up my condo and installing me as a cult leader all across the continent.

"Shut the fuck up," he mutters quick, and turns back to God. "This is bullshit. You can't make me do this. Just testify against me and send me to jail. I don't give a shit."

"Detective Somerset does," God says. "He wants you where you won't go and make someone shank you in two days."

Mills presses his hands against his head, squeezing. His hand over my bruise. I hope he feels it. He says, "I don't care what Somerset wants. I knew him for a week."

"Yet you're here because he asked you to be, David — can I call you David?"

Mills rolls his eyes. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Tons of pretend niceties around here, isn't it something.

"Shut up," he says.

Hey, I say. Hey. Come on.

What more can I take from you? What's the harm?

It's not like I can kill your wife.

[bearofohu]

my hopes and dreams for whatever “must see” layton video we’re getting at the tokyo game show presentation tonight

- full trailer (my most delulu hope)

- a full cutscene (hino would never….. Heheh…. Unless…..)

- layton gets shot during the trailer so i can make a post where it’s just a still of it with the caption He is Died 🙏

- more info about the scary cowboy man who shot those two bullet holes from the extended teaser (i hope he is the main or secondary villain is there nothing more beautiful than a fat evil cowboy)

- 14 year old british american boy angst (i need this like i need air)

- just more footage of my special little detective boy in general (i need this like i need air)

- footage of some sort of giant steampunk beast like a snake or a bull or a wolf gotta be one of my favorite genders

- a full cutscene of descole but hes not involved in the plot at all hes in a missouri gas station chowing down on a sloppy soggy 7/11 hog in a t-shirt that says worlds best grandpa and the cutscene is 4 minutes long of uninterrupted slow gradual chewing with no speaking or music. occasionally he takes a sip of an obnoxiously large american beverage

- level 5 continues to pretend lmj era was a mass hallucination

- ANY cute dad stuff between hershel and luke i need this like i need air

- gameplay footage in a third person style and no longer point and click (PLEASE. society has progressed past the need)

- luke acts as like a lil RPG navi follower in the third person camera but make him even worse than navi make him insufferable. hes 14 and was british one time he would be so annoying

- you can now dress layton up in funny outfits and u can take his knickers off but not the hat

- in third person camera npcs now free roam and theres an action wheel you can use when you target luke to give him commands. one of the commands is “KILL”

- you can swap between controlling luke and layton and luke is the only one that can sprint and when hershel is following luke while sprinting he repeatedly stops and starts holding his hip in agony

- GTA laytonmobile or frog mech gameplay i need this like i need air

- a tense scene between hershel and the evil cowboy man except it’s got that luigi and bowser tension, where the evil cowboy grabs hershel by the chin and rips him closer until they’re staring each other down in the eyes. the evil cowboy’s hot breath is on hershel’s face skewing his barely visible bangs and it’s cold in whatever steampunk chamber they’re confronting each other in so the cowboy’s breath is visible with frost and warms hershel’s face

- all of this will happen btw im always right about professor layton and im never wrong

[bretongirlwrites]

tagged by @sheirukitriesfandom for this tag game... tagging anyone who wants to participate :) i've delved into the entire julienne canon for this

A line from your fic that makes you laugh

‘I’m a forester,’ said he, ‘a local forester: and I’ve seen you gallivanting about the place, evaporating trolls and what-not: and the city guard’s always short of people who can… evaporate trolls. And what-not.’

(i didn’t know how to finish this line so i put the last bit as a placeholder and now it’s stuck)

A line from your fic that makes you sad

Malborn possessed, was so perfectly not him, that I did not at first see him, nor want to see him. Malborn at the Earth-stone with the others, with their voice, – 

(from this fic)

A line from your fic you're proud of

‘Keep your secrets,’ I cried, trampling some volume which overreaching, had gone diving into the ink, ‘keep your damp soggy books, keep your damn Seekers,’ head still spinning from one, which having got in Apocrypha more legs than sense, had fallen wriggling to the same fate as all its knowledge, ‘keep this, for I already have one!’ throwing a first-edition Waughin Jarth almost directly upwards; and half regretting it when it fell spine cracked before me, – ‘oh! whatever can you see in me! only tell me the Word, and let me go!’

(from this fic)

A line for your fic you think could have been better

(idk since i’m at a point where i can pretty much edit any line i want hehe. currently going through old fics and rewriting them into my headcanon... lines aren't the problem, whole paragraphs are)

A line from your fic that makes you want to punch a character

And Ulfric Stormcloak himself, who had hardly dealt a blow yesterday, picked up his carving-knife as if it were his finest sword; and cut flesh.

(that man is not a warrior. he only thinks he is because he's big and ginger. from this fic)

A line from your fic that makes you go 'aww'

Looked quite directly at me: the books all forgotten: they had been special, but this must be special.  ‘Is that, – is that an Amulet of Mara?’

(from this fic)

A line from your fic that's full of symbolism

In my vigilance I wondered if I had got it all wrong, if I were not even the Dragonborn, – if the heroine required by the age, and so loved by profiteering bards, would not come like me, like a mouse; but would rather burst through a door she was too tall for, and Shout so loudly for something so trivial as a drink, that all glasses but the one steadied by her hand trembled almost onto the floor.

(don't really know what's meant by symbolism here. this is more about julienne than anything else... from this fic)

A line from your fic that contains an Easter egg

‘The green ray!’ I cried: ‘you saw the green ray. I do not know what it is. People are superstitious about it, –’ and recalling the superstitions, thought I had better not press the issue. 

(it’s not much of one but it’s the most overt jules verne reference in a fic thus far)

A line from your fic that's shocking

[...] where I had before seen it addressed to Julienne, – imagined it! – read only: Dragonborn.

(delphine gives julienne an ultimatum about paarthurnax. idk how much of this will end up in the final canon... from this fic)

A line from your fic you want to talk about more

(idk what this is supposed to be about. there are no lines in particular, more paragraphs and fics)

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Long Distance (2) Masterlist

part one

can i call you tonight? (ao3) - oihesmine

Summary: texts between long distance d&p

can’t wait for you to be back (ao3) - okaydoomer

Summary: Dan is on tour and they miss each other so much.

Come Back, Be Here (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: The five times Dan and Phil said goodbye in a train station, and the one time they didn’t.

Distance does not have to be a problem (ao3) - Phantje

Summary: Dan lives in the South of England, Phil lives in the North. They meet at a party from Dan's theatrical group. Dan has unknowingly left quite an impression on Phil. Phil saves himself as a contact when all his attempts to make a move don't succeed. Dan is just happy to leave the party. When he eventually texts Phil the next day to see if it was genuine or a stupid joke Dan starts to wish he was Phil's friend. So does Phil but his thoughts lead a bit further. Follow them on their journey to getting to know each other through texts, phone calls, visists and malcommunication. :D

distant love (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan hates being away from Phil. As always, he can't wait to see him again. And even if it takes a while to get there, he hopes they will make it in the end.

Hi Bear (ao3) - phangirl00

Summary: Dan has a bonfire night with his friends, but misses his long-distance boyfriend Phil who he was supposed to see that night.

If These Sheets Were the States (ao3) - Emejig16

Summary: Ever since Phil moved to Florida, Dan has been missing seeing him, talking to him, and just all of the things they would do together; especially the nights they would spend together.

Internet Relationships (wattpad) - rickyblitzz

Summary: Long distance love is directly proportional to heartbreak.

Let The Salt Dry (ao3) - dandrogynous

Summary: “When I look at my old pictures, all I can see is what I used to be but am no longer. I think: What I can see is what I am not.” - Aleksandar Hemon

2009 except Dan is a trans boy

Letting Someone In Can Change Your Life (ao3) - winstonlives

Summary: “Fine. I will let you in. But I am not buzzing you in I'm coming down. And bringing my phone and a weapon.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Dan shoved his phone in the pocket of his hoodie and grabbed the tennis racquet he had by his front door for protection. Once downstairs he looked out to see one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen. He very much regretted not putting on actual clothes. He ran his fingers through his hair trying to smooth out the unruly curls he knew were there from his shower. He pushed open the door and the man smiled, his bright blue eyes flashing.

“Thank you so much! I thought I was going to be locked out all night!” He said, shaking the rain off of himself as best he could while clutching a soggy pink bakery box. “I’m frozen. Sorry, uh my name is Phil. I live in 301.”

“Dan, 503.” Dan said as he followed Phil up the stairs. “So when did you move in? I haven’t seen you before.”

Long Distance - auroraphilealis

Summary: Phil’s gotten into his top choice school, York University, and Dan’s the first person he calls to tell the news. Dan wishes he could be happy for him, but all he can think about is how they’re going to survive in a long distance relationship.

long-distance lads (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Dan worries that he’s going to miss Phil while on tour.

The Harvest for the Seed (ao3) - cosmogeny

Summary: Phil’s gone away for a family reunion and Dan is left at home to contemplate the various ways he shouldn’t come out.

The Odd Uneven Time (ao3) - yikesola

Summary: Phil fancies a boy on the opposite end of the country, four years younger than him, with a girlfriend. Lovely. This is gonna end so well. A fic about 2009 and inching closer.

Too Many Miles (ao3) - YourEyesHoldTheGalaxy

Summary: Things you said with too many miles between us.

Tuck You In Every Night On The Phone (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: After their Skype call ends abruptly, Phil calls Dan to say goodnight in their own special fluffy way.

until you come back home (ao3) - lestered (clonetrobed)

Summary: it's 2009, distance sucks, and phil's probably (definitely) in love.

What Are You Doing Here? (fanfiction.net) - who tf knows

Summary: Dan has to move from Reading to Manchester, but he’s been so busy he didn’t have the chance to tell his boyfriend, Phil.

Where Demons Hide (ao3) - goodluckgettingtosleep

Summary: Groaning into his pillow, Dan reached for his phone. Of course he had to spiral into the the black abyss of his mind when Phil was still on holiday with his family, thousands of miles away. A holiday he could’ve been a part of, but decided to miss out on in favour of spending some time alone in their new flat, recharging and finding the desperately needed inspiration for a new video.

Or, Dan is struggling with anxiety and the one person he needs is thousands of miles away.

You > Cuddles (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Dan wakes up alone, physically aching to cuddle someone.

[0clu]

slipknot x splatoon because i feel the need to combine my interests all the time

originally i was gonna have all 12 here but i decided to keep it as the original 9 we all know and love since i hardly even know the new members.. i would have loved to have them under here tho

so basically these guys arent really an actual team (yet) but they do have scrimages with eachother. like all the time. everyone has basically the same traits and personalities as their irl human counterparts.

i went off of vibes i get from them btw

------

#0 Sid Wilson

Inkling

• he has the rat/ray tail

• most annoying skirmisher..

• inkbrush main all day

• sucks at zipcaster and corey berates him for it

• A rank isnt treating him well but he doesnt care. hes just having fun (joyful little guy he is)

• loves qr ssu and ninja squid

• you know he has the record player in his locker

• dj

#1 Joey Jordison

Octoling

• reliable frontline slayer

• if the dapple dualies has only 1 fan on earth its him.

• also plays jr and sploosh 7

• could get top 500 if he wanted to but he doesnt care much abt it

• prefers nouveau to vanilla despite its special

• still pops reefslider like its splashdown

• plays in a band

#2 Paul Gray

Inkling

• midline

• average mini splat/nautilus main

• misses the zink variant from years ago (the old bubbler)

• just your basic S ranker, good but not the best

• comes up with the wackiest comp ideas

• "what if we all used weapons with splash wall as the sub... or quad big bubbler on tc"

#4 Jim/James Root

Inkling

• anchor

• heavy splatling, ballpoint

• came from greater inkopolis (is that what they call it?)

• him moving made his rank reset from S back down to B- so now hes scared to touch ranked

• "im a backline, man... what if my teammates are fucking braindead?" ion know

• new to the group so doesnt really know these guys

• got in from a tryout session

#3 Chris Fehn

Octoling

• midline slayer

• used to be insane with the sting ray special before it got banned

• shotpro main and jet dick rider for life

• never thought abt gear building until like a year ago, its amazing how he even got to X rank running opening gambit on jet.

• pinocchio mask in his locker he sometimes wears to turf war

#5 Craig "133" Jones

???

• slayer

• wiper. lives and dies by the sword

• he just kinda popped up one day

• ...

• him talking is like a big foot sighting

• really good. like... super good... almost mick level

• everyone wonders what the hell he mained before splatanas were a thing

• well decorated locker. nice color theory

#6 Shawn Crahan

Octoling

• anchor but can be mid for faster comps

• explo is his babby. slosher is nice too

• 'they dont know i served in the octarian army'

• was basically the groups leader 24/7 until corey came

• his strongest feat is making strategic decisions and pop up plans for the team

• has been S+/X rank for yearsss

• probably responsible for some of the map callouts you hear today (ex. skipper pavilion, blackbelly skatepark)

• his locker has a dried squid corpse playing a miniature drum set inside

#7 Mick Thomson

Inkling

• as anchor as it gets

• "do you ever play anything other than 5k??" "...5k scope"

• frequent top 500 in tc and rm

• wants the original eliter 4k to make a comeback

• evil charger main #666

• will talk you to death about chargers and their history

• his locker just has a singular eliter in it

• "come into MY house, suck MY dick, call ME gay?!?" incarnate

#8 Corey Motherfuckibg Taylor

Inkling

• the most "splatlands born and raised 💀" guy ever

• aggro midline

• 💞flingza💞, stamper

• hates big swig it feels like a knock off flingza to him

• S rank isnt treating him well and he does care. bro is suffering

• some know him as "the great big mouth"

• no ass unfortunately

• shawn saw him in turf war once and immediately went and got him to join his team afterwards

• was found as a soggy flingza main but gradually learned to have great team spirit and become a good leader :D

• just kinda puts shit in his locker.

• joey says he has frontman energy

[mysticband-writing]

Sneak peek, See ya on the 16th

By the decree of the high council as of today July, 29th, XXXX at 2:45 PM. We declare that humanity, be seen as legal citizens of the world. No longer are the pets, slaves, and unpaid workers. Any of those who keep them as such will be persecuted with the highest regard. Humans, I humbly welcome you to a brand new world. For those who are in need of assistance of transitioning into your new roles you can-

Tommy huffed as he pressed the off button on the remote. Throwing it onto the janky coffee table Tommy rests his head against his fingers. Two years ago he was cheering when hearing that news broadcast. Thinking this was his chance of  finally being the big man he was supposed to be. That awe and happiness didn’t last long when reality hit. 

Though he is luckier than the rest of his fellow man. Sam, his  owner  his friend made him a deal a year and half ago. If he graduates at a police academy with decent marks. Sam would let him move out and give him a position at his police station. Even help him get an apartment.

It seemed like a kind and generous offer to those with blind eyes. Many had said so both human and hybrid alike. Tommy knew better. It was a way for Sam to keep him close and under his control. Sam has always been a possessive controlling bastard like that. He didn’t consider it at first but after an incident he saw it as a way to finally be free and leave this god's forsaken city once and for all. Not seeing any other option to obtain his goal Tommy agreed

Beep Beep Beeeep.

Hearing the microwave go off Tommy forces himself off the old worn couch. He had been sitting on. Don’t ask him how old he got it in front of a sketchy dude a month ago, no questions asked. It made him a bad cop but he's only a cop on the clock. It beat sleeping on the floor with a sleeping bag as thin as a tissue.

So he didn’t mind the awful smell and that one soggy spot that doesn't dry. Grabbing the handle Tommy pulls the door open retrieving the still steaming cup from the microwave.

“Ow ow ow ow.” Tommy mumbled quickly, depositing the cup onto the counter behind him. Grabbing the season pack he fully pulls off the seal. Jerking his fingers away from the plume of steam that bursts free.

Grabbing the season packet from nearby. Tommy licks his lips in anticipation. He’s been looking forward to this since this morning. Just as he slightly rips it open his phone rang. Groaning Tommy slams in onto the counter. Dragging his phone out from his pocket. Accepting the call he knows who it is. Without having to look at the I.D.

“Tommy! How are you?” Sam chirps on the other side of the line.

“Hello Sam, How’s everything?” Tommy asks putting Sam on speaker. He really wants to eat hot ramen, not cold ramen.

“It’s going good Tommy. What are you eating for dinner?” Sam asks.

Tommy bites his lips as he stirs the ramen with a fork. To allow the powder to mix in with the water. “Ramen, The beef one.” Tommy reluctantly replies.

“Tommy…” Sam sighs disappointed. “You know I don’t want you eating that garbage. It's not good for your body. It’ll make you sluggish… I’ve told you. If you don’t have any good food. You can always come home.”

“I know Sam….I just…” Tommy sighs. When Tommy lived with Sam. He always made sure Tommy ate healthy. No junk food aside from rare special occasions. 

These are the first two pages of Faux Independence! if you wish to see how this plays out. Read the rest on my A03 account: Mysticband! I'll be uploading this on the 16th. Hope to see you there!

[eievuimultimuse]

3, 6, 9 for the character ask game!

YET ANOTHER MULTIMUSE QUESTIONNAIRE.

3. Is there any themes, tropes, or cliches that you like giving to muses ?

RECOVERY, BABEYYY !! There’s nothing more that I love than allowing characters to recover after going through hell ( esp if they don’t get that reprieve in their canon material rippp ). Given the types of muses I gravitate towards, it’s often a long and painful journey & they’re usually stubborn as hell about it but it’s so so worth it because they’re happy in the end and ouuUUGHHH I want them to be happy so bad man they deserve it 🥺🥺

6. List some random facts about any muse of your choice !

Gonna go w/ REG for this since he’s one of my most obscure ones along w/ zosky. He’s from an old canadian early 2000s show called roboroach which iirc was made by the same guy tht wrote for the beetle.juice cartoon so that’s pretty sick. He’s the older sibling to a superhero, he’s got chronic pain & is also genderfluid ( that one’s more of a HC but he’s also openly expressed interest in traditionally feminine stuff & altho early 2000s shit is usually idk abt that, as a NB person I’m reclaiming it. his gender is for Me to decide now lol ). A single soggy noodle has better mental stability than he does. he apparently has a thing for women like 3 times his size. I love him < 3

9. For canon characters, tell what drew you to use a character to make them a muse? Any of your choice.

I’m gonna choose SUN WUKONG for this one bc it’s a short but sweet story: basically about a couple years ago now, I had a bit of an Epiphany regarding my mixed Chinese heritage and wanted to get in touch w/ it a lil more. Part of that was reintroducing myself to Sun Wukong by reading through Journey to the West along w/ watching some media tht features him and I absolutely fell in love w/ him. He’s become a very special character to me for this reason & is like an old family friend to me < 3

[pampergirl1]

(Eyes opened slowly).

I looked around , all I saw was tall white bars. As I stared in amazement, I tried to move but couldn’t. I literally couldn’t move. I tried lift my head as much as possible, I was able to life it, but I was bobbling up and down. I was laid on my stomach, and couldn’t move. I hear the door opening, and I see a dark figurine come inside holding something. I thought what could it be? The figure got closer and closer. As they got all the way up to where I laid, I saw a tall man. He was dressed very nicely. He had a white button down, and a pair of slack pants and nice dress shoes. He then spoke, “well hi there Andrew”! “Is someone ready for a diaper change”?! I heard him and as I tried to speak, something fell out of my mouth, I looked down and my head fell flat on what I believe is the mattress I’m laying on. It was a big white binky. “Uh oh let daddy help you , your poor precious thing”! “There you go all better”. As he plopped the oversized binky back in my mouth. To my surprise, i was instantly soothed . I lifted my head, it fell again. Why am I not able to move or lift my head? As the man stood there over me, I saw what he had in his hand. It looked like a pack of wipes and a fresh diaper. What was he doing with that I thought, certainly it’s it for me, I’m 40 years old. “Alrighty baby boy, it’s time to change this diaper I’m sure your good and soggy”. “Diaper”!! I thought. My eyes grew big. He then did the unthinkable. As I laid there on my stomach, binkie In mouth. He then proceeded to grab the back of my but, and some weird substance smeared on my bottom. I started to panic. “Who is this man, what is he doing and what is going to do with me”? He then did the unthinkable , he stuck his finger inside of my underpants. “Yep that baba did it’s job, I’ve got a stinky boy”. “Wait what , stinky”. The man went over in corner and he grabbed something. He came back to the crib with it, it was some kind of table on wheels with a huge mat on top. At the bottom, I saw the unthinkable. Fresh diapers, packages of wipes. Destin and diaper creams and large bottles of baby powder. Am I I’m a crib, in a nursery about o be diapered what is going on? The man lowered the bars of what I believe is a crib. He came over to me, and picked me up like it was nothing. He then laid me on this huge white table he’d brought over. “Hi baby hi, okay let’s get this yucky pamper off”. “ I want you to see what stinky baby you are”! He said. What ? Pamper !? I thought. He grabbed a remote and it elevated my back and head. I then looked down and saw the unthinkable, a huge sodden soggy Sesame Street diaper. I tried moving, I couldn’t it’s like I was paralyzed. I began to have tears in my eyes. What was I doing In a diaper ! Hold on little man, let’s get you situated”! as he grabbed supplies for whatever he was about to do with me. “Thereeeee we goooo, there we go”. As he rubbed the front panel of the diaper tapes. “I know this is a very special time for us to finally meet after you started your transistion, a new diaper baby. This is a very special and intimate time for us. Daddy and baby. I promise to make all of your diaper changes … and feedings so very intimate”… “how does that sound”? Tears filled my eyes, I don’t know who this is, I’m in a poopy diapee, I have a pacifier in my mouth and I’m on a large table about to have a diaper change I supposed. “Ohhh no baby , no crying poor thing, we’ll get you changed fast so we can nurse and I can spend some time with you later. Well go for a walk too”. I cried profusely, I don’t understand, I went from ceo at my company to wearing pampers , and then pooping in them”. “Okay, so let’s start, I, sure you want to know what happened right, your really a man so you can understand everything, so let’s talk”. The man said plainly. He untapped one tab and then undid the other, grabbed out about ten wipes before he pulled back my diaper. “So you were a ceo of five fortune company, you made 600k a year, and I know, I know, how did I get here”. Well I’m the one who will be taking bed your company now….

To be continued..

[bonfire-at-the-crossroads]

Concerning frogs….

I like frogs. They fill up the back yard every Spring, and turn up in other unlikely places when I least expect them.

They are the harbingers of returning sunlight, softer winds, and returning birds to sing in the trees around the schoolhouse.

Three days ago the morning doggo walk passed the soggy patch in the field along the road. A quick ripple, a stir in the puddle, and stillness again.

But

The sound of a single frog-gentleman singing his sweet song of Spring rose to greet the dawn. For all the world like an old man sneaking across a creaking wooden floor, wearing a pair of squeaky leather shoes…..

A slow and cautious sound, almost on the edge of hearing.

But to the lady frogs - it sounds like sweet, sexy whispers in her ear-holes.

The base of the waterfall is packed full of squiddgy, flubbery, froggo-jello - just waiting to become a swarm of tadpoles on the first sunny day.

The water-feature was in full and merry gush yesterday - this morning it was silent and dry as a bone. I hitched up my coat and slid over the stone wall into the field, and waded through the grass to the rocks which mark the stream.

Slithered down into the water, pulled off the plastic housing which slurps the running brook into the pipe - and peeked in.

There he was.

A frog in a predicament.

Even though I’ve covered the narrow intake pipe with plastic mesh - and allowed more than enough space in the housing for a frog of very little brain to turn around and hop out again - this guy is truly special. His big round belly fit perfectly into the slightly concave mesh - the perfect cork in a bottle.

I lifted his slippery foot, gave a slight tug to loosen the plug - and flipped him into the dark water.

Away he went, diving deep under the rocks - with a story to tell of his narrow escape from death.

It is officially Spring.

[uncpanda]

Your Man

AN: For the purpose of this story, Jack is your biological son, and the adorable little boy cast as him doesn’t exist. This is a few hours late, but it’s here! Please leave a comment and let me know what you think. 

Prompt: Your Man by Josh Turner (Personally I like it better when Chris Stapleton sings it) 

Requested by: @originalsoulduck

This meeting could have been an email. That’s all Aaron can think as he sits there with other department heads and listens as the Chief of he-can’t-even-remember talks about cutting costs. It’s obvious this man has never been in the field. By the looks the other department heads are giving him, he’s dangerously close to going missing and never being found. 

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He doesn’t even try to hide checking it. He’s praying for a case. Instead he gets a text from you. That’s even better. He has to use his hand to cover the smile that automatically comes onto his face. Because there you are and in your arms are your three year old twins: Jack and James. They’re giggling at something, squirming a little bit, based on how you have the camera positioned. 

You follow it with a text, “Meetings today. Just us tonight.” 

He clicks the phone back to sleep mode and tunes back into the presentation going on in front of him. At the halfway point, at lunch time, he and every other agent in the room try to make a break for it. An hour is just what they all need to keep from becoming the kind of people they hunt. Then  the Chief of Nothing Important announces that the meeting is being catered. He makes it seem like a big deal. It isn’t. It’s a sandwich and some chips and a bottle of water. What’s even worse is the sandwich is soggy. And  Aaron's feeling just petulant enough that he’s not going to eat it.

He takes a moment to check the other people in the room and from the frowns of disgust they’re just as mad. He goes ahead and looks at the man giving the presentation. He’s munching away with a content smile on his face. He picks out at least eight or ten things he could probably use to reduce the man to tears. And he’s really considering it, when his phone buzzes again.

It’s from you. 

“The boys are with my sister. Which dress for tonight?” 

A picture comes in a second later. The first is of a red dress he hasn’t seen before. He assumes it’s new. He can only imagine it on you. The second one is a green dress. He’s seen you in it several times, and it never fails to make him want to skip dinner. So, does he go with ole faithful or something new? 

He glances back up. After the same boring crap as always from today? He has to go with something new. “Red.” He types it and hits send.

You come back seconds later, “Look at you stepping out of your comfort zone.” 

He chuckles under his breath, and then his eyebrows shoot up when you send a picture of some amazing looking heels that he knows he hasn’t seen before. You’ve never been a big fan of heels. And with the twins being the terrors they are you need sneakers to keep up with them. You only wear heels for special occasions or when he asks very nicely.

“You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to tonight. Possibly this entire weekend.” 

He raises an eyebrow at that, and types back, “Weekend?”

“My parents are taking them from my sister tomorrow and keeping them until Sunday. Start praying that you don’t get a case.” 

After today, he better damn well not get a case. And if he does, he’s taking the weekend off. He hasn’t taken time off since he took paternity leave. He’s earned it. He goes ahead and eats the chips. 

He makes it to the end of the day, and just as they’re getting ready to leave, the presenter asks for some more of their time - to give feedback. Aaron is done. He stands up, “I think we’re done now.” 

There’s literal clapping as he stands up, buttons his suit jacket, and strides towards the door. The man, the little man actually steps into his way. “Agent Hotchner. . . I could really use your feedback. Everyone’s feedback.” 

He’s done being nice. It is five minutes past when he should have left and this man doesn’t have any common sense. “Honest feedback is that you continuously repeat yourself. Everything you said today are things we learn in the field during our first year. You have just wasted a day of my life, and more than likely when I come in on Monday my desk will be overflowing with paperwork. 

“I find this to be problematic because I have a wife and children at home. Actually, my children are staying with my in-laws. Which means my wife is at home, in a lovely red dress, and waiting for me. Now move.” 

This time there are cheers as the man steps out of his way. 

“I’m really surprised that any of you lasted that long.” He stops as the director comes down the hallway. He clenches his left hand and then releases it to offer it to his boss. “Director.” 

“Agent Hotchner. I came to see if Agent John was still standing. I tried to cancel this meeting but legal said it was required. I’d offer you a drink for telling John where to shove it, but apparently you have plans.” 

He smiles, “Yes sir.” 

“Tell Mrs. Hotchner I say hello.” 

“Yes sir.” 

He makes a bee-line for his car. Traffic is horrible. He sits in traffic for nearly an hour. When he does finally get home there’s music playing. It makes him smile as 'Your Man' drifts through the air. 

“Aaron?” 

Your voice is magical to him after the day he’s had. He walks further into the apartment and into the bedroom. The bathroom door is closed. He tries the doorknob. It’s locked. 

“Sweetheart?” 

“Two minutes Aaron. It’ll be worth the wait.” Oh he knows it will. “I expect you to be dressed to the nines too.” He moves to the closet and pulls out his not often used pinstripe suit. He changes quickly, puts on the tie that he knows you love and he puts on his Rolex. He’s fixing his hair when you step out of the bathroom looking amazing. 

You smile, and move to him. Using his tie you drag him down for a kiss. You nip his bottom lip as you pull back and wink at him, “Welcome home, Agent Hotchner.” 

His breath catches as you let go and move to the bed. You pull out the heels you sent a picture of, “You mind helping me?” 

“Gladly.” 

He can’t help but smile as he helps you slip on the heels and fasten them. When they’re on he stands and then helps you stand. His hands settle on your hips while your arms snake around his neck.

He begins swaying you around to the music, and you laugh. And he can’t help but softly sing along, “I’ve been thinking about this all day long. Never felt a feeling quite this strong. I can’t believe how much it turns me on. Just to be your man.” 

You throw your head back and laugh, before pulling back from him, “You are definitely my man, Aaron Hotchner, and I couldn’t be more grateful. As for the rest of the song, that comes after you’ve shown me off at our favorite restaurant." You shoot him another wink, and he thanks God for how lucky he is to be your man.  

[blooming-violets]

Pinky Promise || TASM Ch. 10

Pinky Promise Final Chapter

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Eight] [Part Nine]

Summary: Basically Lucy and Peter go around killing off bad guys until they find Liv. You can’t end a ten part fic without a little, light murder. 

Warnings: idk I talk about injuries and blood and electrocution and falling damage 

A/N: I did it. I finished a chapter fic. This is big for me. If I never write anything ever again at least I can say I didn’t leave any loose ends open for Peter, Lucy, and Liv. I’m glad it’s over because I think I traumatized the three of them enough. They all need therapy. Thank you for those who stuck around to the end. You all made this depressed old lady feel special. Your support helped me find my love of writing again. Me and my therapist thank you lol xoxo Katie

Tag List: @hannahnikohl @poison-in-society @blooo0ooop @anakins-angel @the-winter-queen​ @queernami​ @navs-bhat  @rattdonovan  @ssa-uglywhore27 @liz-allyn

“Lucy. Lucy, wait!” Peter ran after you. He tried to grab your arm but you shoved him away.

“I’m not speaking to you right now.” You couldn’t look at him. This was his fault. He promised. He made you stay at home. You would have left to get her sooner if you didn’t have his words hovering over your head.

“Lucy, how was I supposed to know any of this would happen? I don’t even know who your father is!”

You turned to face him. Tears burned in your eyes. Your lip quivered. It was taking everything you had in you not to start sobbing uncontrollably in middle of the street. “She’s seven years old, Peter. She’s just a kid. I should have been there! This is your fault! You told me to stay home! You promised me! You promised…” your voice caught in your throat as a sob broke through.

Peter’s eyes filled with pain. He looked down in shame. “I’m sorry,” he croaked out. “I didn’t know.”

Whatever plans your father had with Olivia weren’t done with good intentions. This was a man who murdered a 4 year old child without hesitation. He had no love for his daughters. Whatever he was planning, he needed Olivia for a reason. When she wouldn’t be of use to him anymore, you feared what he might do to her. 

You rubbed your nose on your soggy jacket sleeve and turned away from Peter. This was too much. “You’re going to help me find Liv. You’re going to bring her home safe. And then we’re done. I don’t want to see you anymore after that.” 

You didn’t care that you were in love with him. If loving Peter meant putting your sister’s life at risk than you weren’t even going to entertain the idea. Olivia would always come first. 

Peter took a step back from you. Anguish flashed over his features as he processed your words. “What-no...but-” 

“Shut up,” your words were harsh. Even as they fell from your mouth, you already regretted them. “You’re the reason all of this is happening! Spider-Man is the reason Hydro even exists at all! You caused him to become like this, Peter. He was just a normal man before you came along and tossed him into the ocean! Now he’s released hell on the city. People are dying because of you. I told you that if anything happened to Liv I would never forgive you. Well something happened to her, Peter! She fucking missing!”

You let out an angry yell and turned away from him. You couldn’t look at the expression on his face. You knew your words would cut deep into his soul, that’s why you said them. You wanted him to feel the same pain you were. Even still, guilt already tugged at your heart. 

You took a deep breath and tried to sort yourself out, “I’m going to start searching the streets for her. You should go try and contain some of the bad guys. Keep an eye out for her while you’re out there.”

You could feel Peter move closer behind you. There was no way you could turn around to face him. Your guilt was too strong. If he saw your face, he would know exactly how you really felt. This was breaking your heart. He pressed something into your hand. 

“To keep you safe,” he muttered. The pain was evident in his voice. Your words had done the trick. 

You fingers closed around a small ball. One of Peter’s Cryo Cubes. You didn’t have to look at it to know what it was. It would freeze whatever it touched. You couldn’t do this. You had to say something. You wanted to take it all back. 

You turned around to apologize but he was already gone. A lump formed in your throat. What had you done?

Now was not the time to cry about it. Your goal was to find your sister. 

---

Joseph “Johnny” Miller. 

That was the man you were looking for. It had been over seven years since you had last seen him. You didn’t even know if you could trust your memory of what he looked like. Instead, you kept your eyes out for Olivia. 

There weren’t very many people left on the streets. Hydro’s flood had destroyed a good few blocks. Everything outside of that area seemed eerily quiet in comparison. Anyone who was sticking around were probably taking shelter in whatever building they could. That’s what a smart person would do anyway. 

You jogged through the empty streets in search of your sister. New York had never been this desolate before. It didn’t feel right. Your wet clothes weighed you down. At some point, you had to shrug off your jacket. It was soaking wet and useless in the winter air. You’d stick to your wet sweater and jeans. It was easier to run in them even if it was freezing. 

Your heart pounded and your body ached. Your forehead felt like it was being split in half. The blood from your cut had since dried to your face but you could still feel the wound oozing and pulsating on your skin. Even though you couldn’t see it, you knew Peter was right. It needed stitches. 

You didn’t want to think about Peter. It hurt too much. 

The street you were on was empty just like the last three you had tried. For all you knew, you were going in the opposite direction of Olivia. You had no idea how long ago your father had gotten her. She could be anywhere by now. 

You pushed away the nagging tears and cut through an alley to the next street over. A man was sitting in the middle of the otherwise empty street. He was slumped over and sitting in a pool of water. The hair on your arms stood up. Something about him seemed weirdly familiar. 

You kept your distance as you asked, “Excuse me, sir? Are you okay?” 

The man looked up. He had a mop of blonde hair and watery blue eyes. He looked exhausted. “I’m just resting for a moment,” he mumbled. 

You wondered if he was hurt. Slowly, you approached him, “Were you in the flood?” 

He didn’t answer you. He was a bit too far from where the flood happened but maybe he had wandered away in a daze. Peter’s inherent goodness had rubbed off on you. You felt the need to help the stranger despite the pressing need to find your sister.

“My name is Lucy. I lost my little sister. I’m looking for her,” you said. Then you asked again. “Do you need help? Were you in the flood?”

The man looked up at you and gave you a sad smile, “I caused the flood.”

Your eyes widened. This was Hydro-Man when he wasn’t in his water form. You debated running away but something kept you here. He didn’t seem that dangerous like this. He just seemed depressed. What was Hydro’s real name? Peter had told you earlier. 

“Morris Bench?” You asked. 

He gave you a confused look as to why you would know his name, “Morrie. I like Morrie. Do I know you?” 

You shook your head, “Not really. We met once before. Kind of. In a bathroom.” You were going to hold up your cast to see if it rang any bells for him. Then you remembered it was decorated to look like Spider-Man’s suit and thought better of that idea, casually hiding it behind your back instead. 

A look of recognition dawned on his face, “You were in Peter Parker’s bathroom?” 

The blood in your veins ran cold. Why did he know Peter’s name? You tried to play it cool, keeping the conversation as light as possible to not set him off. “Yes. I’m a house cleaner. Well, I was. I was cleaning his house. Did you know him?” 

Morrie looked down at his hands. He seemed so sad. It was a vast difference from the Hydro version of himself. “Sorry about that. It wasn’t anything personal. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an ID, tossing it over to you. “He dropped this on the ship the day it happened.” 

You bent down and picked it up. It was a student ID card to the Empire State University. Peter’s face and name were printed clearly on it. Your heart surged with guilt at his image. You rubbed your thumb gently across his picture. You didn’t even know Peter was in college. There were probably a lot of things you didn’t know about him. You wished you had a chance to learn everything but, after what you said, you doubted that would be possible. 

Morrie kept talking while you stared down at the ID. “I just get so angry sometimes. It’s like I can’t control it. Whenever I think of Spider-Man-” His body started shaking. You glanced up at him and quickly pocketed Peter’s card. Something was happening to Hydro. The skin on his arm dissolved in front of your eyes and became replaced with moving, circulating water. He clenched his liquid hands into fists. “I hate him. He’s going to pay for what he’s done to me.”

You took a step back. Your hand found the ball in your pocket and gripped it tightly. You were ready to throw it at him the second he lost control. Maybe you could talk him down. 

“Spider-Man isn’t why you’re like this. What he did was an accident. He was trying to protect everyone else on board. He’s a good person. He would never purposefully hurt someone like that. If you want to blame someone, you should blame the company that put all that radiation in the ocean. That’s what turned you into this. Not Spider-Man.” 

That’s what you truly believed, not whatever you told Peter earlier. You were an asshole. You were so distraught over Olivia that you pushed away the one person who would be willing to go the ends of the earth for you. 

Morrie stood up. He looked over at you with anger, “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know what it’s like to have this thing living inside of you!”

You could see his outline start to quiver and morph into liquid. Crap. You had done the opposite of calm him down. You had pushed him too far. You stumbled backwards. You didn’t know if you’d be able to survive another wave. Your body already felt so weak. Your skin was clammy and your stomach ached. You just didn’t have the strength to fight your away out of the water again. 

Just when he fully turned into his watery form, a red ball flew down from the sky. The second it hit him, the water exploded into ice. His entire body froze in place. His icy arm reaching out towards you and his eyes locked in a frozen death stare. 

You whipped your head over to see Peter swing down from a building. Your heart jumped in your chest at the sight of him again. You wanted to apologize but you were finding it hard to come to terms with it. Admitting you were wrong wasn’t your strongest suit. Sometimes you were too stubborn for your own good. 

He landed in front of you, “Are you okay?”

You didn’t answer. Instead you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him close. Tentatively, he gently wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Did he hurt you?” He asked. 

“No,” you wanted to say more. Why weren’t the words coming out of your stupid mouth? You hated that he had his mask back on. You wanted to see his face. You wanted to kiss him and tell him how sorry you were.  

“Listen, we don’t have any time. I overheard a couple of escaped inmates talking before I got them. Apparently there’s a group of them who are trying to get out of the city. They mentioned they had a little girl as a hostage. It’s gotta be Liv. I think they’re going to try and use her as a bargaining chip for their freedom.”

Your stomach turned at the thought of your sister surrounded by criminals. Whatever apologies you had buzzing around your head disappeared. There would be time for that later. 

“Take me to her.” 

Peter didn’t argue even though you knew he wanted to. Like he said, there wasn’t any time. You had to act fast. 

---

Peter was able to cover ground much more quickly with his webs than you had been able to by walking. If it wasn’t for him, there was no way you would have found Olivia in time. He had a rough idea of where they were keeping her. Some abandoned warehouse near the river was their choice of hideaway. Apparently extra police forces had been called in. They had blocked off all the bridges and main roads out of the city. If the criminals really wanted to escape then they’d have to get creative. Having a child hostage seemed to be their plan. 

“Are we getting closer?” You called to Peter over the sound of the wind whizzing past you as he swung you across the city. 

“I think so!” He called back. 

You clung onto the front of him, legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck, so he could have two free hands to move faster. You liked this position better than the one had he carried you in before. It was less of a jerky motion and felt more fluid for him to move. The only downside was that you were fully in charge of holding on to him without his help. To say you had a death grip on him would be an understatement. 

Something appeared in your vision over Peter’s shoulder. It was far off in the distance but gaining on you rapidly. 

“Uh, Peter? There’s something coming!” The closer the object got, the more it took shape in your vision. It was the thing on the hoverboard that flew over you earlier. It had caused that car to explode in front of you and your neighbor. With its gaining speed, you were able to start making out its features. It looked like a man but something was not right with his skin. His hair was sticking up straight and he had a crazed look in his eyes. He looked like a very ill person. 

“Peter Parker! My old friend!” He called from behind you. “Where are you running off to so fast? I thought we could catch up!” 

You could feel Peter tense under you. A low growl came from under his mask. You had never heard Peter make that kind of noise before. It sounded deadly. Whoever this person was, they clearly had a long history. 

“Don’t want to stop and chat? That’s fine. I’ll make you.” You watched as five black disks shot out of his hoverboard. They hurdled directly towards you and swirled in circles around Peter as he tried to swing you out of there. Thick, black smoke emitted out of the discs and surrounded you in a cloud. It crawled down your lungs and made it difficult to breath. You choked and sputtered on the smog. Even though Peter’s head was directly next to yours, you couldn’t see anything but the smoke. It had completely blinded you. If you couldn’t see, you were sure Peter wouldn’t be able to see where he was going either. He stopped his swinging and hung still in the air. You felt his hand tugging at the back of your sweater. 

"Gotta-” Peter’s voice was hoarse as he choked on the smoke. “-put you down. While he can’t see us. Then you run. Fast and far away.” 

He dangled in place high up in the air and pulled you away from his body. A web attached to your chest and you descended downwards away from him. You couldn’t see how far the street below you was. You just hoped your feet would touch something solid soon. You didn’t like being suspended in the air like this.

Half way down the cloud of smoke abruptly disappeared. The discs were called back to the man’s hoverboard. He had a terrible smile on his face as he watched Peter trying to desperately get you to the ground as quickly as possible. You weren’t far now. He was lowering you as fast as he could. So close. There was only about ten feet left to go. Closer now. Almost there.

The man pulled something off the green armor he was wearing and tossed it at the web attached to you. It spun through the air and sliced cleanly through the web, breaking it in half. There was no time to think. You felt your stomach drop as you fell. 

The scream that came out of Peter was like nothing you had ever heard before. The hurt, rage, and pain behind it filled your ears. It was the last thing you heard before your head bounced off the concrete. 

---

Someone was laughing a terrible and cruel laugh. 

“Remind you of anyone?” You heard their voice call out. It sounded far away and echo-y. You struggled to open your eyes. Blurry sunlight blinded your vision. You squeezed them shut again. 

“How many girlfriends of yours am I going to kill, Peter? It’s becoming a tradition at this point.” 

You had no idea how badly you were injured. By the time the web was cut, you weren’t that far from the ground but you had landed on solid concrete. You slowly tried to wiggle your toes in your boots. Then your fingers. At least you could still move them.

“I should have killed you a long time ago, Harry.” 

That was Peter’s voice. Only it didn’t sound like his usual self. His voice was dark and low. You struggled to open your eyes again. You were staring up at the deep blue sky. There were no clouds. It would have been a perfect winter afternoon on any other day. 

The sounds of fighting filled your ears. You desperately wanted to move your head to see what was going on but your body felt like it was filled with sand. Olivia’s face floated into your memory. Panic filled you. You still had to get to her. You had to make yourself move. 

You tried to focus on your breathing. Connect yourself to your body. You’d wiggle your fingers. Then slowly inch your arm closer to your side. Then the other one. Your toes came next. Your foot twitched and your legs sluggishly bent at the knee then extended again. You tried to get your arms into a position where you could push your body off the ground. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t get up by yourself. You needed Peter. 

Carefully, you turned your head to the side. Sharp pain shot through your brain. A horrid migraine washed over you. The overwhelming pain stopped you in your tracks and you squeezed your eyes shut. You could still here the vicious sounds of whatever Peter and that guy were doing. Harry, you think you heard Peter call him. It sounded like they were fighting for their lives a few feet from you. There were snarls and yelling. An explosion. Swears. Metal scraping. Something crashing into a wall. A car alarm. More snarling. Like two lions fighting to the death. 

You tried to move your head again. The sunlight hurt your eyes. With your head tilted to the side, you could see a little bit of what was going on. It looked like there were two Peter’s hanging off Harry’s hoverboard, trying climb up to reach him. You rubbed your eyes. You were seeing double. You tried to focus your vision. 

You watched as Peter managed to claw his way up onto the board with Harry. They wrestled with each other. The hoverboard wove violently through the air as they lost control. A glint of a knife in the sunlight reflected into your eyes. It slashed at Peter’s head. His mask was ripped open and blood spilled down his half exposed face. Even through your blurry vision, you could see the look of death glaring out of Peter’s eyes. He wasn’t messing around. He wanted Harry dead. 

You needed Peter to end this fight quickly. You needed him to get Liv. 

Thankfully, he gained the upper hand. He managed to dislodge Harry from the board and lift him up over his head. You knew Spider-Man was strong but seeing him lift a grown man with such ease was impressive. Peter threw Harry through the air with a loud, angry yell. 

Harry’s body was tossed towards you. He skid across the ground until he was just within arms length. You heard him laughing, unfazed by what had just happened. Peter jumped off the hoverboard, catching it with a web, and threw it into the ground with such force that it became embedded into the concrete. 

Harry sat up and tried to push himself back onto his feet.

If Peter wasn’t going to end the fight, you would. You reached into your pocket for the Cryo Cube you had been given earlier. As Harry sat up, you threw the ball out of your hand and hit him square in the back. In a blink of an eye, his body iced over. He fell to the side with a loud crack and remained motionless, frozen in time. 

Peter watched what happened. His eyes were wild and his mouth twisted into a savage smile. This wasn’t the Peter you knew. He was lost in his rage. He jogged over to Harry, pulled his fist back, and punched his frozen body so hard that the sound echoed off the buildings. His body shattered into hundreds of icy pieces and scattered across the ground. 

“That was for Gwen, you fucker,” he growled. 

You let out a breath of air and slumped back down, closing your eyes. That little energy you exerted was enough to completely drain you. Your body had been through too much today. You weren’t sure if you would even be able to stand. 

“Lucy!” 

Peter rushed over to you. You felt him kneel by your side. You forced your eyes back open. His worried face wavered in front of you. Everything was still blurry. You saw the murderous anger wash away from his features as he looked down at you. His entire body seemed to relax the moment he grabbed your hands in his and held it tight in his grasp. 

“Sup,” you croaked out. 

A laugh sob bubbled out of him. There was a hint of relief mixed with his pained expression, “You’re alive.” 

“You told me I wasn’t allowed to die, remember?” You lifted your heavy arm to your head and used it to block out the sunlight. Your headache was causing strain on your eyes. “I don’t think my brain enjoyed hitting the concrete though.” 

Peter’s chest was rising and falling with heavy panting. There was a nasty cut running from the side of his temple all the way down to his jaw from where the knife had slashed him. You could only see half of his face. It was still enough to get a good sense of what he was feeling. Peter was never any good at hiding his emotions. He wore his heartache on his sleeve.

“I didn’t mean any of what I said earlier, Pete.” You had to apologize. The blatant concussion you had seemed to override any sense of pride and stubbornness. “This isn’t your fault. None of it is. These terrible people would still exist even without you. You balance out the scales. You give people hope. You make things better. New York City is nothing without Peter Parker.” 

Tears pooled in his visible eye. They rolled down his cheek, mixing into the blood, dirt, and sweat. You could tell he was just happy that you were talking to him and that you were alive. He gave you a sad smile, “You sound like someone I used to know.” 

“She must have been a pretty smart lady then,” you had a feeling you knew who he was talking about. It made your heart ache to think about the pain Peter must have gone through to get to where he was today. He had lost so much. 

Peter nodded, “She was.” He placed a hand on your forehead. “Can you move?” 

You sighed, “I better be able to. We have to go save Liv. Can you help me up?”

He slipped his hand under the back of your head. You winced. Your skull felt tender. Carefully, he hoisted you into a sitting position. The moment you were upright, a dizzy spell hit you. You slumped against Peter’s side. He quickly wrapped his arms around you and held you up. 

“I don’t know, Lucy. I know you’re going to reject this idea immediately but I really think I need to bring you to the hospital.” 

You opened your eyes and gave him a look, “I need to go to the hospital? You’re the one who got a knife to the face.” 

“And you’re the one who survived a flash flood and then cracked her head open on the pavement,” he gave you the look right back. 

"Clearly we both need to go to the hospital but now is not the time for that. We need to get to Olivia,” you tried to stand up. You only got about half way to your feet before your legs gave out and you fell back into Peter’s arms. 

He helped you back into a standing position and wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you up. You could tell he wasn’t happy. “Let me go get her by myself. I can do it. I promise I’ll bring her back to you safely. Please.” 

You turned in his arms and pressed your forehead to his, “I love you, Peter. I don’t doubt you for a second when you say that you’ll get her out of there alive.” You gave a big sigh and closed your eyes. “I just need to see her. I need to see him. I need to be there. She’s going to need me for emotional support. Not you. She’s a little girl and she’s terrified. It has to be me. Okay?”

“Okay. Then I’ll keep you both safe.” 

You smiled and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, “I know you will.”

---

The warehouse wasn’t far from where you left the frozen, broken into pieces Harry. Peter made sure you agreed to his terms to bringing you along. You had to stay quiet and out of the way. He would handle everything. When it was safe then you were allowed to come in and get Olivia.  Before then, all you had to do was not get in the way. He would find a safe spot for you and that’s where you were to stay. 

You felt a bit like a child being scolded but you agreed as long as it would bring you closer to your sister. Peter was the fighter, not you. You’d try to listen to him this time. 

He quietly dropped you off behind the warehouse. It was big, rundown brick building. Large windows ran the length of the upper walls. They were covered by industrial metal bars. Most of the glass had fallen out over time. Peter lowered you into a patch of tall grass that gathered around the edges of the wall. 

“I’m going to check it out,” he whispered. “Don’t move. I’ll come back and tell you what I see before I do anything.”

Panic settled on your skin, “Peter, whatever happens in there, your job is to save Olivia. That’s it. You get her out safely. No matter what.”

He nodded and gave you a quick smile, “She’ll be okay, Luce. I’ll get her.” 

With that, he crawled up the wall and around the corner away from you. You were left in silence. You couldn’t hear anything behind the brick walls. Your headache felt like it was splitting your skull in two. You had to sit down. Nothing in your body felt right. You felt dizzy and sick. You rested your back against the wall and waited. It only took a minute for Peter to show up again. 

He peeked his head around the corner next to you and whispered, “I can see eight guys in there. They’re armed and have a van. They’re talking about making their move soon. I couldn’t see Liv but there’s a back room. Someone is keeping guard by the door. My guess is that’s where they’re keeping her.”

You nodded and struggled back to your feet, “What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to try and keep those guys as far away from that room as possible. I’ll contain them. They’re just some assholes with guns. I’ve handled much worse. This shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Those are some famous last words before things become too bad,” your stomach was starting to hurt. “Where’s the back room?”

“Somewhere along this wall,” Peter answered hastily while already prepping to turn around and enter the building. “Stay here.” 

He left you alone again. 

You looked along the wall you were standing against. Your heart was beating fast. Olivia was just on the other side of these bricks. You eyes traveled along the length of the wall and spotted a small window a little ways to your right. It was too high up for you to see inside from the ground but if you stood on something, you might be able to peek inside. 

There were some wooden crates stacked up near by. One of them would be the perfect height for the boost you’d need to see. You silently thanked the universe that the box wasn’t filled with anything. It was easy to push against the wall. You climbed on top and pulled yourself up. 

The glass was smudged and caked in dirt. You could hardly even see through it. You had to use your sweater sleeve to wipe away enough grime for you to get a look. 

Inside was a small room. It was mostly empty except for an old desk, a wooden chair, and some yellowed papers scattered on the ground. None of that was important though because huddled in the corner of the room was Olivia. Her hands were tied together with some type of cord and there was a gag stuffed into her mouth. Her cheeks were stained with tears. Her hair was a mess. She looked petrified. Your heart surged at the sight of her.

If the window wasn’t so small, you would have crawled in there and scooped her up. You wedged your finger nails between the window and the frame in an attempt to pull it open. It made a terrible squeaking noise as it unwedged itself out towards you. Luckily, the sound was covered by a sudden flurry of gun shots. Peter must have finally made his entrance. 

Olivia jumped and gave a muffled scream as the sound of the guns. She tried to cover her ears but her hands were bound. She looked so small and scared. 

“Olivia!” You called out to her. You doubted anyone other than her would hear as they all seemed very preoccupied with trying to take down Spider-Man on the other side of the wall. 

Her head jerked up towards you. Her eyes widened and flooded with relief. She tried to say something into the gag. 

You shushed her, “I need you get up and push the chair over to the window. I think I can pull you through.”

You might not be able to fit through the window but she would. Olivia shook her head and glanced nervously towards the door. You followed her eyes. The door burst open. You caught a quick glimpse of your father’s face before a web shot out and pulled him backwards. Another web landed on the door handle and slammed it shut again. 

You breathed a sigh of relief, trying not to be too shaken up by the sight of your father, “It’s okay, Liv! Spider-Man is out there. He’s not going to let anyone get into this room. You have to move fast though. Go get the chair.”

At this point, you were more scared of a stray bullet hitting her. You needed to get her out as quickly as possible, “I need you to be really brave right now. This is important. Go get the chair, Olivia.”

The serious tone in your voice must have gotten through to her because she stumbled up onto her feet. She dragged the chair across the room and climbed up. You reached your hands into the window and slipped them under her armpits. Just touching her again was enough to make tears burn in your eyes. 

“I got you, baby. Lift your hands up,” you grunted as you pulled her out of the window. Your casted arm screamed in pain under her weight but you swallowed the agony. This was it. Her body came tumbling out of the window and the two of you fell backwards off the box. You hit the ground and pulled her on top of you. 

You wrapped your arms around her and held her tightly. Your hands ran over her head and down her back, touching every part of her that you could while she buried her face into your chest. You were both sobbing. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you kept muttering over and over again to her. 

Pull yourself together. She still wasn’t safe until you got her out of this area. 

You sat up and pulled her into your lap. The first thing you did was remove the gag from her mouth. She burst into loud tears and you had to cover her mouth with your hand. 

“Shh, baby. I know, I know. It’s okay. You have to be quiet though. I’m going to get you home really soon,” you worked at untying her bound hands. 

The second they were free, she threw her arms around your neck. 

“I got you, Liv. Let’s go.” You somehow managed to get to your feet while holding her. It must have been the adrenaline coursing through your veins because you could hardly stand otherwise. 

You had only taken two stumbled steps away from the warehouse when you heard the distinct sound of a handgun cocking. Olivia whimpered and hid her head against your shoulder.

“He’s back,” she whispered. 

You froze. You didn’t have to turn around to know it was your father. There was a stench of thick cigarette smoke and sweat wafting off of him. You remembered that smell from your childhood. You used to smell it in your dreams and wake up screaming. Slowly, you dropped Olivia to her feet and tucked her behind your back as you turned to face the man you hated most in this world. 

He smiled when he saw you. His teeth were yellowed and rotted. His hair was longer than your remembered and he had a scraggly, old beard now. His arms were covered in tattoos he didn’t have before being sent to prison. A gun was pointed directly at your head. 

“Look at this. My two girls back with me again. My little LucyLu is all grown up,” he sneered at you. “I remember when you were that kid’s age.” 

The fucker didn’t even remember Olivia’s name. You shouldn’t be surprised. He was already locked up by the time she was born. 

“You used to beg me to bring you home a Slurpee from the 7 Eleven after work. Blue Raspberry. Your whole mouth would turn blue and you’d get this big rush of energy.” He chuckled to himself. “Your mother would always bitch at me for giving you a sugar high right before bed.”

You didn’t recall any of this. None of your memories of him were good. Clearly, you two had very different outlooks on your childhood. You stayed silent and kept Liv pressed tightly to your back, out of his view.

“I need you to do something for me, Lu. I’m not going back to that place. I’m getting out of the city. I’m starting over. You and the kid are my ticket out of here. Your going to need to come with me.”

You shook your head. You were tired of being told what to do. You were tired of feeling weak. You were Lucy Miller and you were sister’s protector. No one was going anywhere with this man from this moment onward, “We’re not going anywhere with you. I’m tired of being pushed around by people who think they’re better than me just because they have something they can hold over my head. I’m sick of fucking bosses and shitty clients and men with freakish abilities who want to spread nothing but evil! I’m not weaker than you just because you have a gun!” 

You felt your own anger rise in your chest. You hated him. You hated what he put Olivia through. You hated what he had put your mother through. And you hated what he had put you through. You were a broken adult because of his actions. There was no way you were going to let him hurt you or your family anymore.

Just over your father’s shoulder you caught of glimpse of red and blue peeking out from behind the wall of the warehouse. Peter heard you. He knew you were here. A sense of focused peace washed over you. Somehow, you knew everything would be okay. A smile twitched at your lips. 

Your father stepped closer to you and pressed the gun directly to your forehead, “This isn’t a joke, kid. I’m your fucking father and you’ll do what I say. I’m the one with the bullets.”

“And I’m the one with a Spider-Man,” You used your heavy cast to knock his arm away from your head. The gun went off and shot directly into the ground. Olivia yelped. Before he could even fully comprehend what you had done, you raised your boot and kicked him as hard as you could between the legs. 

You father bent over and stumbled backwards with a loud grunt. He tried to compose himself. He tried to raise the gun to you again but a web shot out and hit him directly in the back of the head. 

It wasn’t Peter’s usual web. The thin line was racing and sparking with blue, buzzing electricity. It was the special one he had made just for Hydro. The second it made contact with your father, his entire body went ridged then started jerking uncontrollably. Black marks appeared over his skin. You could smell burning flesh as his intestines cooked inside of him. His hair stood on end and his eyes were huge. Foamy drool pooled around his lips and soaked into his beard. After a second of watching his erratic movements under the pulsating electricity, his body went limp and he crumpled to the ground. 

The air was filled with silence. 

You kept Olivia hidden behind you. She didn’t need to see the burned corpse of her criminal father splayed out in front of her. 

Peter emerged from behind the building. He tugged off what was left of his shredded mask and toss it to the ground. He walked straight towards you and pulled you into a hug. His hand reached behind you and kept it on top of Olivia’s head, making sure her sight stayed on your back and no where else. It was like he could read your mind. He kissed you softly. 

“Is it over?” You asked. 

You watched him nod with a small smile, “It’s over.”

---

[TWO DAYS LATER]

“So, Spider-Man is really that man we met on the way to school?” 

Olivia sat cross legged on the end of your hospital bed. She ate your cherry jello as she talked. 

You nodded to her. Your head had been wrapped up in bandages. Your forehead had been stitched up, the back of your skull had been fractured, and you suffered a terrible concussion from the fall. That’s not to mention the infection you got from swallowing all that dirty water Hyrdo had flooded you with and the internal bleeding you received from being slammed into a pole. You were lucky to be alive, the doctors had told you. You knew it wasn’t luck that saved you. It was Peter. 

“Yes. His name is Peter,” you replied.

“Are you sure?” She asked. She seemed skeptical. “Spider-Man seems too cool to be a Peter.”

You heard a laugh from the doorway. The two of you turned to see Peter standing there. He had a bouquet of daisies in his hand. 

“Sorry to disappoint you, Liv.” He made his way over to you and placed a light kiss on your lips. You saw Olivia scrunch up her nose in disgust from the corner of your eye. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked while putting the flowers on your bedside table. He plucked one off and handed it to Liv. She blushed when she took it and tucked it behind her ear.

“I’m feeling like I can’t wait to be back in my own bed. They told me I have to wait one more night,” you sighed. Thankfully, the hospital let you keep Olivia with you. She had been sleeping tucked safely in your arms every night. You would have refused to stay if they hadn’t let her. 

“Everything is starting to clear up out there. The police have the majority of the criminals back behind bars. I think it should be back to usual business again really soon.” He pulled up a chair and sat down beside your bed. The knife wound down the side of his face was already healing into a red scar. He’d recover much quickly from his injuries than you would. “I was thinking, that when you get better, maybe I could take you on a date? A real, normal date. One where I pay for your dinner and we get to have uninterrupted time together without the threat of serious bodily harm hanging over our heads.”

A soft smile flashed on your lips, “Can Peter Parker even handle a normal date?”

He matched your smile with one of your own, “I promise I can.”

“Pinky promise?” You held out your pinky for him. 

He linked fingers with you, “Pinky promise.”

Olivia giggled from the end of the bed, “I told you. You’re going to marry Spider-Man!” 

The two of you broke out into laughter. Your eyes locked with Peter’s. Your heart surged with love for him. 

No matter what the future held, you just hoped he was a part of it. 

[mimi-cee-hq]

Laundry Days - Aran x f!reader

Summary: Three times you picked up his underwear and one time you missed doing it.

Genres, other tags: fluff, slice of life, humour, meet cute, domestic fluff, not suggestive lol, married under 25, neighbours to married lovers ;)

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: manga spoiler

This is for @neoheros & @coophi's 2021 Summer Haikyuu!! Writing contest. (Okay I'm pretty shy at first so it feels a little scary to tag you two but here's my piece.) I was going for the married under 25 prompt but ended up doing neighbours to lovers too. :D

Don't mind me spreading the underrated characters agenda as well. lol.

*****

A few articles of clothing spilled out of the dryer and onto your feet. Oops. Your neighbour must have forgotten them. You should've checked first.

Your own damp clothes sat inside the washing machine next to it, waiting for their turn to enter the dryer. It wasn't possible now.

You sighed, retrieving the phone from your pocket and scrolling until you saw the name of the neighbour who lived a floor below you.

Ojiro Aran.

You were sure this was the right person after a second look at your texting history. Who'd bring the garbage to the curb, where the lawnmower was kept, and keeping the duplex's stairway clear were some of the conversations you had with him.

You had yet to meet the guy, but he seemed amicable enough.

After shooting him a text, you thought to give him a call instead. Perhaps he'd think a phone call was strange. However, your clothes were damp and you shouldn't leave them for long. Was he even home?

You sighed. Crouched down, you returned the clothes on the floor back into the machine. A scarf, several socks, and a knit hat made their way back inside. But what was this?

Underwear. Men's underwear.

You scrunched your nose as you lifted it from the cold, tile floor. Was that a hole in it?

Click.

"Sorry I just saw your text!" a tall, dark-skinned man blurted out as soon as the door was unlocked.

"Oh! It's alright! I only texted you a few minutes ago!" you quickly explained, waving your hands in front of you.

You shouldn't have done that. The underwear was hanging from your hand.

"Ummm…" Aran scratched his cheek, eyes retreating from you.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry!" you spat out, tossing the incriminating object to him. "It just fell out of the dryer when I opened it so I went to pick it up!"

Once in his hands, he recognized it as the one with the seam coming undone. "I… umm… should probably have thrown this one out."

"Umm… yeah… you probably should." Those words slipped off your tongue before you could catch them.

"I- I guess I'll go now," Aran said hastily.

He shut the door.

You let out a breath. That was awkward. Heat continued to linger in your body and you weren't sure who was more embarrassed by the encounter.

Wait. His clothes were still in the dryer. Did you dare ask him back?

The door slowly creaked open and Aran peeked his head into the room.

"I forgot something, didn't I?" Aran sheepishly asked.

"Yeah." The corners of your mouth lifted into a smile. "Yeah, you did."

"I'm Aran by the way."

"Y/n."

You never thought this would be how you'd meet your future husband.

*****

The office chair in your apartment was a comfortable spot for folding clothes. The webcam caught your face as you chatted with Aran whose image filled the monitor.

You smiled. Your husband was winding down after a long day with the team and decided to check up on you.

"I'm alright," you told Aran. "I miss you though."

"I literally just saw you yesterday!" he said. "I miss you too."

After that fateful yet awkward encounter with him in that laundry room two years ago, you had run into each other more frequently at the front doors of your duplex. Your classes ended at similar times four out of your five school days. You were surprised he even started a conversation with you. You wouldn't have been able to bear the embarrassment. Fast forward to a confession, a kiss and a rock-embedded ring, and you got a small, snowy wedding during winter break.

It was back to the books for you now, and you dreaded it. Chores seemed much better, easier. Plus doing them for your newly-wedded husband? You got giddy about that.

You quirked your brow, lifting a familiar piece of clothing from the basket.

"Hey, I thought you threw this one out," you mentioned to Aran, dangling his underwear in front of the camera.

"I did! That's, uh, probably a different one."

"Just how old are these?"

"Hey! Wait a moment! Are you folding clothes?"

You avoided the eyes on the screen. "Maybe."

"You have your paper due in a few days! I told you I was going to do it after flying back home."

"I know…"

Aran's eyes narrowed at you, a trademark expression of his. "You're procrastinating again, aren't you?" His tone implied disapproval.

"But I'm still being productive!"

"Y/n…"

"Okay, okay. I'll stop." Your foot pushed the basket away, sliding it across the floor. Maybe you could fold them after you hung up.

Aran must have read your mind. "Show me what the laundry bin looks like."

You groaned. He saw right through you. Complying, you removed the clipped webcam off the monitor and directed it at the pile of unfolded clothes.

"It better be like that when I get home."

"Alright," you said with a pout.

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Must he stop you from doing chores? They were a simple reminder you were married to him, as if the gold on your finger wasn't enough to show you.

You were his wife.

A smile snuck into your lips whenever that thought crossed your mind. The honeymoon phase was a peculiar, strange, lovely stage.

Yet it was fleeting.

*****

You groaned as you stood in the middle of the bathroom. Aran's white track pants hung off the counter, the red t-shirt he got for free from first year college laid on top, and of course his underwear, which likely went through hundreds of washes, remained on the floor.

Great.

You rubbed your temples, your headache getting worse by the minute. It was Saturday morning, and Aran, who was nowhere to be seen, had left his mess behind.

I'll clean it up later, he would tell you. You knew his mother had spoiled him, always picking up after him. You understood why he was like this, but why couldn't he just start doing it now?

"Do you have this problem?" you asked your friend through your wireless headset.

"What problem?" she asked.

"Does your husband always leave laundry around on the floor?" You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Aran never picks up after himself."

She laughed. You weren't sure if it was because you were a young, amateur wife or if she understood all too well.

Knowing her, probably a bit of both.

"Okay two things."

You listened.

"One, don't say always or never. That's lying."

"I'm not lying," you snapped back at her. You began to regret asking her.

"Are you sure he never picks it up and always leaves it on the floor?"

You left no comment.

"Exactly."

"Okay fine, but that still doesn't solve the problem. If only he just did it, it would solve everything–"

"Number two," she interrupted.

You groaned at her and she gave an amused snort in return.

"If you weren't picking up his underwear, it means he's dead."

You were aghast.

"You know I'm right."

Still aghast.

"What? No husband, no mess."

"I can't believe I asked you for advice."

"But it's true."

"Ugh," was all you could utter. She had several years more of marriage experience than you, yet you didn't want to acknowledge it.

You hung up the phone after you finished deciding today's outing with her, but you hadn't addressed the issue in front of you. Your head throbbed again.

Sighing, you picked up the underwear.

A few minutes later, the front door opened and you dipped your head into the hallway. Aran shuffled grocery bags through the door and into the kitchen. He yawned, placing the milk, eggs, and other items into the fridge.

A familiar coffee brand peeked out of a bag on the floor. Right. You didn't have your coffee yet because there wasn't any left.

You wrapped your arms around Aran and relaxed against his broad back.

"I can't put the food away like this," he said with a chuckle.

"You left your clothes in the bathroom again."

"Oh shoot!" He dropped a bag and started towards the bathroom but you tightened your grip on him.

"I put them away already," you told him. His body relaxed and he caressed your arm around his waist.

The honeymoon phase was a fleeting phase, novel tasks turned mundane, but your love for him grew deeper still.

*****

Aran was away again, this time at Tokyo in preparation for the Olympics. He eagerly called you during breaks, wishing to see his favourite person – although your hands were full as well.

"I miss you," he told you, his smile displayed on the screen.

"And I miss picking up your underwear," you told him with a smirk.

Like clockwork, he narrowed his eyes at you with a comeback. "Why don't you say you miss me like a normal person?"

"Because I'm your wife. I'm special," you told him as he rolled his eyes. "I wish I could be there though."

"You wouldn't be able to spend that much time with me anyway," he said. "Besides, one of us needs to stay home."

"I know." You smiled.

"I gotta go," he said as Atsumu yelled in the background. Aran blew a kiss at you.

You snorted. How cheesy. You returned the kiss anyway.

Hearing a mischievous squeal behind you, you told him, "I gotta go too."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

After you hung up, you turned around and sighed. A soggy wet diaper sagged on the floor and the little guy jumping in the crib giggled at you as if he did the funniest thing in the world.

You rolled your eyes and smiled before picking up the diaper.

"Alright kid. Let's put a diaper back on you and wash your sheets."

*****

I hope you liked it. This is a little different from what I usually write but I hope you still enjoyed it!

I blame Aran's current concern for giving me this idea along with the person who suggested I write Aran fluff. (As well as the seasoned wife I know who told her husband, "If I wasn't picking up your underwear, it means you're dead." lolll.)

I hope you stick around my blog to check out my other works! My current work in progress is a fake dating Suna series. I can't believe we're on chapter 10!

If anyone is interested, I have a Google form for my taglist.

[buckleyblueyes]

buddie + “what’s mine is yours. always.”

Thank you so much for this prompt! I hope you enjoy tooth rotting fluff (softness prompts)

Eddie woke to a disappointingly cold and empty bed. He let out a soft grunt and slowly opened his eyes to see that his husband—husband, shit, that was going to take some getting used to—had, in fact, abandoned him.

“Buck?” He called out, squinting in the bright tropical sun that poured in their window. It was their first full day in Hawaii, two days after their wedding. It still felt surreal to Eddie. Not only that they were actually married now, as if that wasn’t amazing enough, but that they were on their honeymoon. Two full weeks of just him and Buck, without interruption. It almost felt too good to be true, like it was all a dream that could be interrupted at any moment by the sound of the station bell.

Maybe it was because he and Shannon had never gotten a honeymoon--she was already pregnant at the time, and money was tight anyway. They always said they’d take a special trip for their tenth anniversary, but of course, that never happened.

He hadn’t even realized how badly he wanted a honeymoon until Bobby and Athena had surprised them with the trip to Hawaii about a month before the wedding, Bobby assuring them the time off was taken care of, and Athena even offering to let Christopher stay with them for an extended sleepover with Harry. He’d started crying at their dining room table, unable to articulate exactly what it meant to him.

Eddie was pulled from his thoughts when Buck stepped out from the en suite bathroom, inspecting a bottle of complimentary coconut scented body lotion. “Yes, dear?”

“Why aren’t you in bed?” He grumbled, and then, taking a longer look at Buck, he added, “Why are you dressed?” It was the first day of their honeymoon, he’d be damned if they left the bed. The beach would still be there tomorrow.

Buck chuckled, blue eyes shining. “Did you want me to talk to room service naked?”

Eddie furrowed his brow. “You ordered room service already? How long have you been up?”

Buck shrugged. “About an hour?”

“And you didn’t wake me?” Eddie’s frown deepened.

“Not for lack of trying,” Buck smirked, stepping toward the edge of the bed. “Someone must’ve really worn you out last night.”

Eddie huffed. “Oh, don’t look so smug. I think it had more to do with the five hour flight.”

“I’m just saying, that was only the first night, old man.” Buck flashed that insufferable look that always made Eddie want to kiss the grin right off his face.

“Shut up,” he groused instead.

“Make me.”

So Eddie did. He curled his fingers around the waistband of Buck’s sweats, and pulled him down onto the bed and into a searing kiss. Buck’s hands found their way onto Eddie’s bare chest, pushing him back down into the mattress. There was a time, early on in their relationship, when Eddie may have been more reluctant to give up control, but he’d long since let go of that desire, realizing at some point that he didn’t need to be in control with Buck; he was safe with Buck. It was a vulnerability he’d never found with anyone else. He let himself be pliable under his husband’s gentle touch. He settled into the soft nest of pillows, relishing in the firm weight of Buck on top of him and wrapping his arms around him.

Of course, the moment was broken by a knock on the door. “Room service!”

Eddie groaned when Buck pulled away from him. “Do we have to eat?”

Buck rolled his eyes, pushing off the bed. “I’m not letting you starve to death on our honeymoon.”

Eddie sighed. “Fine.” He lifted himself up on his elbows to watch Buck walk toward the door, shamelessly raking his eyes over Buck’s backside, hugged perfectly by his soft grey sweatpants. Eventually he pulled his gaze away from Buck’s ass to Buck’s upper back and shoulders, muscle bulging in his old, slightly too tight LAFD t-shirt. Eddie’s breath caught in his throat when he read the name on the back of Buck’s shirt.

Buck came back from the door with a cart laden with French toast, bacon, sausage, eggs, orange juice, and coffee. Eddie’s stomach growled against his will as he sat the rest of the way up.

Buck snorted. “Told you,” he said, sitting back down on the bed and pushing a coffee mug into Eddie’s hands.

“Whatever,” Eddie mumbled into his coffee. His eyes didn’t leave Buck’s shirt.

“What?”

Eddie shrugged. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

“Yeah?” Buck raised an eyebrow, clearly not understanding. “Is that a problem?”

“Nope,” he said, keeping his voice light and casual. “What’s mine is yours, always.”

Buck flushed. “Then why are you staring at me?”

“I like my last name on you, Mr. Buckley-Diaz.”

“Oh.” Buck grinned. “Well, I like my last name on you, Mr. Buckley-Diaz.”

And Eddie just had to kiss him for that. He kept it quick, barely more than a peck on the lips, knowing if they let it go any further the eggs would coagulate and the French toast would go soggy. He reluctantly pulled away, pressing a sloppy kiss to Buck’s cheek on his way. “I love you so much.”

“Y’know, before the wedding none of our friends believed me when I told them how sappy you are.”

Eddie rolled his eyes fondly. “Hopefully writing our own vows showed them how wrong they were.”

“Hm,” Buck nodded. “Hopefully.” He turned to the breakfast cart and picked up the plate of French toast. “The French toast and sausage is for me, and the bacon and eggs are for you,” he said.

Eddie pouted.

“What?” Buck asked, through a mouthful of French toast.

“Are you not gonna say you love me, too?” Eddie whined, fully aware of how petulant he sounded, and not caring one bit. This was their honeymoon, damn it. The whole damn point was to be lovey-dovey idiots.

“Man,” Buck shook his head, grinning. “You marry a guy and all of a sudden he gets needy.”

“Excuse me for wanting to hear my husband tell me he loves me on our honeymoon.” Eddie crossed his arms.

That was all it took for Buck to break, grin softening into a warm smile. “I do love you so much.”

Eddie mirrored Buck’s smile. “I know.”

“Good.” Buck shoved the plate of eggs and bacon into Eddie’s lap. “Now eat your breakfast.”