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onecanonlife · 3 years

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In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 4,391)

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Part Eight: Fundy

The easy part is deciding to run.

It’s all a pretty clear-cut process. The rules were stated at the outset, though he’s got no idea what was Wilbur’s idea and what was Tommy’s, considering how much Tommy seems to care about this whole thing. But none of them are unreasonable or anything like that, nothing that he’d find objectionable. He just has to declare his party’s intention before election night, not rig the vote, not join his vote with any other parties, and not seek endorsements from people who are banned from the server. And be a citizen of L’Manberg.

There’s nothing wrong with any of those, or at least, not that Fundy can see. And—he wants to run. He wants to look all the rest of the players on this server in the eyes and make them see him, respect him, listen to him. For himself, because he is awesome and capable, and not because they think he’s an extension of someone else.

So deciding to run is pretty easy. It’s not like he’ll even be the first; Quackity’s already declared his intentions, though he’s running solo, and doesn’t seem to be taking it too seriously. He considered trying to become his running mate, but Niki, when he explained his idea to her, seemed pretty on board to run with him. Niki’s really cool like that, and honestly, he’d rather team with her than with anyone else. So he’s running. He’s going to do it. He’s going to.

The difficult part is going to be telling Wilbur.

So he’s not procrastinating. He’s definitely not procrastinating. It’s just—there’s other people to talk to about it, right? Other people to tell? And it’s not like it matters what order he goes in. So that’s why he’s here, at the base of one of those big towers that Eret is building, hoping to find them here. It’s getting late, but the sun only set a little while ago, so they’re probably still around.

This can be like a practice run. A trial, for telling people about it. And Eret’s always listened to him, and they’re not even running themself, he’s pretty sure, so this will be good, to ease him into it. Not that this is something that needs easing. But it’s good to practice things, even if it’s not something that necessarily requires it. He’s just being responsible, which is a trait that anyone would value in a president.

The tower’s still a work in progress, but it’s pretty easy to get to the highest level. He’s almost certain that Eret is still here, and he’s right about that, but on a second glance, it turns out that Eret is asleep. They’re sitting upright, their back to the most completed section of wall, but their head has lolled to the side, their glasses close to slipping from their nose. He can even see their eyes—closed, of course. They’re definitely asleep. Definitely a little weird, since it’s not even that late, but he has noticed that they’ve been looking a little tired lately. Probably because they’ve sort of been responsible for a lot of L’Manberg’s development, build-wise.

He should come back later, probably. Except, that can’t be comfortable at all, and it’s really not that late, and the tower’s not finished yet, so the whole place is kind of exposed. Not the safest area to be taking a nap in after dark. Mobs might be able to get in, and then where would Eret be?

And also, he’s been psyching himself up this whole time, and if he doesn’t tell Eret here and now, he thinks that he might end up waiting until tomorrow to tell anyone at all. Not because he’s nervous! It’s just—late, and he’s spent time getting up here already, so he wants to do what he came here to do. That’s it.

So he creeps forward, not too loud but not trying to be too quiet, either, and crouches by Eret’s side. As he moves, something glimmers, and he squints, but—no, it’s just Eret’s jewelry reflecting the torchlight. They’ve taken to wearing a good bit of gold, lately.

“Hey, Eret?” he says. “Eret? It’s your pal Fundy. Maybe wake up?”

Eret doesn’t wake up. But their brow has creased, so, encouraged, he continues.

“Not a great place to go to sleep, probably,” he says, and he reaches out to give their shoulder a tap. “I mean, I know you’ve seemed pretty tired lately, but yikes. Maybe not good. C’mon, wake up.”

Eret still doesn’t wake, but they start to breathe quicker, which is probably not because of him at all. Are they having a nightmare? If they’re having a nightmare, he should definitely wake them up, because friends don’t let friends have nightmares.

“Hey,” he says, and shakes their shoulder more vigorously. “C’mon, man, I wanna tell you something.” He glances at the sky; the tower doesn’t have a roof yet. “And it’s getting just a little bit late, so you should probably go sleep in your house and not here, and I still need to go by the office so I can tell Wilbur—”

Eret gasps, lurching forward, jamming their sunglasses back over their eyes in the same motion, and Fundy jerks back a bit on instinct. He has no idea why they wear those all the time. Maybe it’s a light sensitivity thing. Or maybe they just want to look cool. But now’s probably not the time to focus on that, because Eret’s breathing is still way too fast, and they were definitely having a nightmare, from that reaction, so he inches forward again.

“Hey, Eret,” he says. “Sorry about that. Are you good?”

For a moment, Eret doesn’t reply. And when they do, their voice is—kind of weird. He’s not sure how to describe it, except as off.

“He failed,” they say, between gasps. “He tried, and he failed. That has consequences.”

“Uh,” he says. “Who failed?”

“But I wasn’t there,” they say. “I wasn’t there, so how did I—but the universe itself shudders, with a thing like that. What were the consequences? Something like that shouldn’t be interrupted.”

This must have been some dream.

“Something like what?” he asks.

Eret looks directly at him for the first time, though he has the strangest feeling that they’re not seeing him at all. He can’t see directly behind their glasses, but around the edges, there’s something like a pale glow. But he must be seeing things, some kind of weird reflection. Of the moon, maybe, or the stars.

“Dream tried to resurrect him,” they say. “But he couldn’t finish. That’s a dangerous magic to tamper with. You never, ever start a spell that you can’t see through to the end. And it had its blood.”

“Uh,” he says. “Sure thing. What exactly are you talking about?”

Eret falls silent. And then, they say, “Fundy?” Their voice is normal again, though he still can’t quite put his finger on what the difference was.

“Yep, that’s me,” he says. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m—fine,” Eret says, and then again, “I’m fine.” They sound far more confident the second time. “Sorry, I was—dreaming. I’ve been having a lot of strange ones of late. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Dreams can be weird,” he agrees.

Eret laughs. “Quite.” They stretch, tilting their head to side to side, wincing when something cracks. “Thank you for waking me. I’m not quite sure why I decided that was a good position to sleep in.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” he says, and Eret smiles, bringing their knees closer to their chest and laying an arm across them, twisting their torso to turn toward him more. It makes something burn in his chest, a comfortable warmth, at being given their full attention.

“Was there something you’d like to talk about?” they ask, and that warmth grows. “I can’t imagine you came up here just to prevent me from getting a crick in my neck.”

“I mean, that was part of it,” he protests. “I wanted to be a good friend! But um, yeah, actually, there was something I really wanted to tell you.” He hesitates, and Eret nods at him, encouragingly. Now that he’s here, about to say it out loud, he feels like his whole body is buzzing. It is kind of a big deal, actually, doing something like this. But he lets himself blurt it out. “I’m going to run for president!”

There’s a beat, and then, Eret’s face breaks into a wide grin.

“Really?” they say. “That’s awesome! I’m really happy for you, man.”

His tail starts wagging. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Of course!” Eret says. “That’s a big deal. I’m really proud you’re going for it. Do you have a running mate? And a name?”

He grins. “Niki’s running with me,” he says. “We’re going to be Coconut2020.”

Eret laughs again. “Coconut?” they ask. “Any particular reason?”

“Coconuts are good,” he says. “We both like coconut. We’ve bonded over coconuts.” He narrows his eyes. “Don’t mock our coconuts.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Coconuts are good. Fair enough.” Eret tilts their head. “What did Wilbur say, if I might ask?”

And just like that, his euphoria dies down.

“Oh,” he says. “Right, um. Actually, you’re the first person I’ve told! Other than Niki, of course.”

“Oh!” He can hear the surprise in their tone, and he cringes away from it, a bit; he knows very well, of course, that Wilbur probably should’ve been the first to hear it. But it’s not like what he doesn’t know will hurt him, and he—he just wanted to practice. That’s all. “Well, in that case, I’m honored.” A pause, and then, “You’re not worrying about it, are you?”

“What?” He laughs, and he definitely sounds nervous. “No. No, why would I be nervous?”

“I think you don’t need to be,” Eret agrees, leaning toward him a bit. “I know Wilbur’s been busy these days, but he cares for you a lot. I think he’ll be quite proud that you’ve decided to take the initiative.”

“You think so?”

“I do. I wouldn’t say you have anything to worry about.”

“Okay.”

He feels a bit better, hearing that, and he knows that Eret is right. He’s never doubted his dad’s love for him, after all, even if he’s doubted Wilbur’s faith in him in a lot of other respects, and this is exactly the kind of thing he needs to do to make him stop doing that second thing. To make him see that he’s a man now, able to take care of himself, to do great things. If he goes far in this election, if he manages to beat him, even, then he’ll have to acknowledge how grown up he’s become. Will have to look at him with pride in his eyes.

“Okay,” he says again. “Thank you, Eret.”

“Of course,” Eret says. “I wish you the best of luck.”

It’s time for him to go, then. This practice went pretty great, actually. He feels like he can do this now. He feels good. Pumped. Hyped up.

“Thanks,” he says. “Are you gonna go get some actual sleep now?”

“I might stay up a while longer,” Eret says. They stretch, and then rise to their feet, and he follows their example. “I’d like to get a little more done with this tonight. And I’ll admit, my dreams haven’t been very kind to me lately.” They pause, and he’s not sure what to say to them; it always sucks, of course, to have nightmares, but he can’t offer much more than a basic commiseration. “I can’t help but feel like something’s missing.”

“From the tower?” he asks.

Eret smiles. “That too,” they agree. “I like it so far, but it feels a bit plain.”

He considers this for a moment. Eret’s not looking at him, is staring out at the lands beyond, visible past the incomplete wall. They’re absentmindedly twisting one of the bracelets around their wrist, and that gives him an idea.

“If you wanted to spice it up a little, you could always try some gold accents,” he suggests, and Eret jerks, turning their head toward him. “I noticed you’ve been liking gold a lot lately.”

He’s not sure why that makes them go pale.

“Maybe,” they say, softly. “Maybe.” They smile again, but this one’s a bit shaky. “I’ll bid you good night, Fundy. And really, good luck. But don’t get too worked up about it. You’ve got this.”

He nods, grinning. “I’ve got this! Goodnight, Eret!”

He leaves Eret to their tower. It’s to the office from here, and it’s definitely well into the night by now, but he knows his way around this nation like the back of his hand, even in the dark, and there’s plenty of torches to see by anyway. He considers, for a moment, that Wilbur might have already turned in for the night, but he casts that thought aside. Wilbur’s always working, even long past when a reasonable person would have hit the hay.

Tommy accosts him just outside the building that’s been serving for L’Manberg’s headquarters, sliding out of the darkness with a smirk on his face and his hands in his pockets. Fundy regards him warily. Not that he doesn’t like Tommy. He does, even if he’s been a little weird lately. But that’s an expression that screams trouble. And what is he doing out and about at this time of night anyway?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, and Tommy raises an eyebrow.

“What, can’t a boy look?” he says. “Do you need me to avert my gaze? Are you perhaps up to some crime and wrongdoing?”

“What? No,” he says. Trying to decipher Tommy is, on occasion, like attempting to navigate a parkour course blindfolded. “I’m just—” He bolsters himself. Stands straighter, puffs his chest out. “I’m running for president. So I’m going to go tell Wilbur.”

He speaks it like the challenge that it is. As much as he likes Tommy, he’s competition in this case, as Wilbur’s running mate. Tommy’s mouth forms an ‘o’, and something flickers in his eyes.

“Really?” he says. “Well, good on you, getting in on it early. Before election night.”

He frowns. “Yeah? Aren’t those the rules?”

Tommy nods, and then doesn’t say anything else, and this, this is why Fundy thinks he’s weird. It’s like sometimes, he just says weird things without elaborating, or even without realizing that it’s something that should require elaboration. Tommy’s just a weird guy overall, really.

“Okay,” he says, more to fill the silence than anything else. “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about? Or can I just go in? And I’m not moving out of my house, before you start that again,” he tacks on.

“I’m telling you, the real estate in that area is not good. Rather not poggers,” Tommy says. “It’s a dodgy part of the SMP, it is.”

“The only one anywhere near there is Punz,” he says, exasperated, and immediately berates himself for letting himself be drawn into this conversation again. That’s another weird thing; apparently, Tommy has recently taken offense to the location of his house, and has made persuading him to move somewhere else a priority. He can’t tell whether he’s serious, or whether it’s a long and involved bit.

Tommy nods sagely. “Dodgy,” he says. “But nah, you go on in. Wilbur’s still there, far as I know. Good luck.” Tommy steps away, and then stops, frowning, and turns back. “But maybe make sure Wilbur knows that you running against him isn’t, like, you disowning him or some shit. He wouldn’t take that well.”

“Why would that mean I was disowning him?” he demands. Wilbur wouldn’t think that, would he? Surely, even he wouldn’t jump to so drastic a conclusion. Unless he would, and him doing this is going to ruin their relationship, and he’s making a terrible mistake. But no, he’s not going to think like that. If Wilbur does have that attitude, that’s on Wilbur. Not him.

“It wouldn’t,” Tommy says seriously. “But, y’know, one thing leads to another.”

“How would that lead to me disowning him?”

“It shouldn’t,” Tommy says, and then grins again. There’s less light in this one, less levity. It’s actually a little unsettling. “Don’t mind me. Go talk to Wil. See you later, Fundy.”

“Okay,” he says. “Bye, Tommy.” He watches as Tommy walks away, and realizes, with some frustration, that he forgot to ask why, exactly, Tommy was hanging around here. Oh, well. He can’t let himself get worried about what Tommy’s doing, even if it’s always best to have half an eye on the guy. Trouble follows him.

But then, trouble kind of follows all of them.

He goes inside, and finds his way to Wilbur’s office. It’s not difficult; he’s been here before, though not often. The door is closed, and he hesitates in front of it, his nerves flagging. But then, he inhales, remembers Eret’s excitement and encouraging words, the way that Tommy didn’t make any disparaging remarks, and—he can’t expect a completely positive reaction, probably. He’s declaring himself as a political rival to his own father.

But he doesn’t need the reaction to be entirely positive. He just wants to look Wilbur in the eyes and see respect there.

He knocks.

Waits a beat.

“Come in,” comes the voice, and he slides the door open.

Wilbur’s at his desk, chin propped up on his hand, glasses slipping down his nose. His eyes are focused on whatever paper’s in front of him, narrow and squinting as they dart across the words, and his other hand grips a pen tightly, though he doesn’t seem to be doing anything with it at the moment. After a second, he glances up, and his gaze locks on Fundy, and Fundy suddenly feels very, very unprepared.

“Hello Fundy,” Wilbur says, and he sounds a little unsure, like he has no idea what he could possibly be doing here. He feels a little bitterness start to well up. “Is something the matter?”

Of course that’s his first instinct. That something has to be wrong. Because he thinks of Fundy as a child, always getting into scrapes, always needing help.

“No,” he says. “Nothing’s wrong. But can I talk to you for a second?”

Wilbur sets the pen down, sits up a little straighter. “Of course,” he says. “I’ve always got time for you.”

Then where have you been? he doesn’t say. Why are you always working? How come you almost never do anything else these days? And even when you’re around, why do you act like I’m still a little kid, like I didn’t fight in your revolution, like I haven’t been here the whole time?

“Great,” he says. “That’s great. Listen, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Alright,” Wilbur says, slowly. “Go on.”

He takes in a deep breath.

“I’m running for president,” he says.

For a moment, there is silence.

“I see,” Wilbur says, still slowly, like he’s working through it in real time, and he continues, feeling an odd burst of panic, like he needs to get all of it out now, before Wilbur can reply, can say anything, can shut him down or question him or anything like that.

“I haven’t marked my name down yet, but that’s my next stop,” he says. “Me and Niki, we’re going to be Coconut2020.”

“You and Niki,” Wilbur repeats, and he nods.

“Me and Niki,” he says, and then pauses. It’s out there now. He’s said it. And Wilbur’s just staring at him. He’s got no idea what that expression’s supposed to be. It just kind of looks—blank. Which, frankly, is not the reaction he was hoping for, and he shifts uncomfortably. “So, yeah. That’s what I was here to say.”

Wilbur is quiet for a long, long moment.

“Have you thought this through all the way?” he asks, voice quiet.

“What? Yeah, of course I have.” He crosses his arms. “This is what I want to do. You’re not gonna be able to change my mind.”

“But—why, then?” Wilbur asks. The blankness is finally fading, replaced by—Fundy’s not even sure what, but he is sure that it’s not anything good. Which makes anger rise up in him; honestly, who is Wilbur to deny him, at this point? Why does Wilbur think he gets a say in this when he’s barely spoken to him at all, these past weeks? “Why do you feel the need to—do you think I’m not suitable? Is that it?”

“Not everything’s about you, Wil,” he says. Even though this kind of is. But not in the way he’s thinking. “I think I’d be a good president, so I’m running. That’s all it is. It’s not that complicated.”

“I think it is a bit complicated,” Wilbur says, “considering you’re my son. I—I didn’t expect this from you.”

That’s the whole point, he doesn’t say. You never expect anything from me.

“It’s not,” he insists. “It’s not complicated. Don’t make it into something it’s not. I’m running. That’s all. This isn’t—my being your son doesn’t come into it.”

“I disagree,” Wilbur says. “I—you do realize what you’re doing, don’t you? I’ve never wanted us to be enemies, Fundy. But this—we’ll be opponents. I won’t hold back just because you’re my son. An election’s an election. Even if—and that’s a side of me you’ve never had to deal with. That I’ve never wanted you to deal with.”

Despite himself, doubts flit across his mind. Did he think this through? But then, he hardens his resolve. This is what he wants. To challenge Wilbur. To make him back down, if he can manage it. To force him to acknowledge him as someone to be reckoned with. And if that comes in the form of taking his country from him, then all the better, right? Wilbur won’t be able to ignore him then.

“I can hold my own,” he says, and before he can stop himself, he continues, “And why does this even matter so much to you, anyway? Why do you need to be the one in charge?”

If he’s not mistaken, he thinks Wilbur rears back a bit, at that question. But it’s difficult to tell. Wilbur never lets anything show that he doesn’t want to, making him frustratingly difficult to read.

“I founded this country, didn’t I?” Wilbur says. “Didn’t I lead us? I just want to continue to protect this nation. I want to be able to do what’s best for it. I want to see it flourish, and be strong, and—if it’s the people’s will that that happens under someone else’s hand, I’ll accept that. But if I can continue to guide L’Manberg, then I want to do so.”

“I mean,” he says, “it kind of felt like Tommy was the one who won it for us.”

Wilbur stills. And then, inclines his head, lips twitching up. It’s a smile, though for some reason, Fundy has a hard time seeing any joy in it, any happiness at all. But then, he’s probably reading too much into things, putting emotions into an expression that simply aren’t there. Because when Wil’s not being overbearing, he’s being distant. There’s really no inbetween.

“That’s true,” he says. “Tommy did.”

Silence falls again, thick and stifling.

“Um,” he says, after a second, “that was all I had to say. I think I’ll just go, now.”

“Alright,” Wilbur says, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to say anything else, so Fundy turns to the door, an odd emotion settling into his stomach. It might be disappointment—he’s not sure that he got what he wanted from it, though the fact that he was able to rile Wilbur up at all is an accomplishment. And he managed to hold his ground, and he thinks that says something.

Except then, Wilbur says something else, and it gives him pause.

“I am proud of you, though,” Wilbur tells him, and he stops before his hand closes around the door handle, fireworks going off across his skin.

“Yeah?” he says, and turns around again. Wilbur’s still looking at him, meeting his gaze evenly, though there is something tight about it, something off. But he’s smiling, and Fundy decides not to examine any of it too closely. Because the words rattle around in his brain, in his heart, and then settle.

“Of course,” Wilbur says. “I suppose I don’t say that to you enough, but I always am. And in this—I’d be lying if I said I liked the decision. I don’t want this to—” He stops, and swallows, an oddly audible break in the flow of his words. “But that’s me, isn’t it? Good on you for—for having the balls, I guess. For going after what you want. Just be sure that you can handle it.”

A double-edged sword, then. How many times does he have to say that he can handle something before Wilbur finally believes it? But still, he said he’s proud. That he always is. And that has to mean something. Has to mean everything, in the end.

“I can,” he says. “Thanks, dad.”

Wilbur smiles again. Oddly, it still doesn’t look happy. But it’s very likely that he’s stressed and tired anyway. He didn’t consider that before. Maybe he really should’ve waited for another time to bring this up, another time that wasn’t late at night. But what’s done is done, and he’s said his piece, and Wilbur wasn’t quite enthusiastic but he did say that he was proud of him, which all in all, is much better than it probably could have gone. His chest is buzzing, still.

So he smiles back at Wilbur, and exits his office.

And later, after he’s made everything all official and he’s meeting with Niki in her bakery, going over their plans and forming his own in the back of his mind—a last resort, just in case it looks hopeless—she asks him, “How did it go? Telling him?”

And he considers that for a moment.

“Honestly,” he says, “I think it went pretty well.”

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #fundy #eret #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #dsmp fic #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #time travel au #everything's fine :D

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thesightstoshowyou · 3 years

Text

Revenge

Arkin x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: You find something special in one of the Collector’s trunks

Warnings: Mentions of blood and gore, cuckholding, praise kink, daddy kink, creampie

This was another commission by the fantastic @roachcult. Another happy birthday present! Hope you enjoy <3

~~~

You weave through the maze of wire stretched across the hallway. Your motions are smooth, practiced; you’ve been sneaking around this hellscape so long it’s starting to become routine. Duck, jump, turn, twist…. It’s like memorizing a dance.

When you round the corner, you pause. The peeling red door at the end of the hall is closed. This could mean one of two things: One, the Collector simply closed it as he was leaving. This is unlikely; he never does anything without purpose. Which means the answer is two: He’s added a new victim to the collection.

It is morbid curiosity that draws you. There is nothing that could shock you worse than what you’ve already seen, what he’s already made you see. Carefully, you ease over the spikes protruding from the floor and avoid the boards that will break under your weight and send you plummeting into a nest of barbed wire. Your fingers close around the doorknob and twist.

The door swings open and you automatically duck, but nothing swings down from the other side. He must not have gotten around to setting the trap for this room yet. As you suspected, there’s a new red trunk sitting innocuously in the middle of the room.

You wait, listening intently. No noise from inside, which leads you to believe the trunk’s occupant is probably dead. Still, you’re curious. Curious, and so incredibly bored.

You’d taken to wandering the halls while the Collector is away, learning his traps, exploring rooms. You’ve given up on escape. Every exit to this enormous building is rigged; he would know immediately if you had escaped and it would take very little effort to track you down.

Besides, you don’t necessarily want to die. Not yet, anyway.

Tentatively, you approach the trunk. Cautious fingers unhook the locks. With a gasp you leap back as a body comes tumbling out of the trunk, a body that utters a pained groan when it hits the floor.

“Holy shit, you’re alive?” you say, quickly bending down to assess the extent of the man’s injuries. He’s beat to shit, covered in blood and lacerations from head to toe. He coughs and blinks up at you with heavy, bloodshot eyes. You gently take his gore-covered face in your hands until he’s looking right into your eyes.

“Stay still, don’t try to move. I’m going to get a few things and I’ll be right back.” You’re up and out the door in a flash, sprinting down the hall toward the Collector’s surgical room. Down a flight of stairs, around a few more corners, you find the heavy door and slip inside. As well as you can, you look past the carnage littering the exam tables. Hastily, you retrieve antibacterial ointment, a basin of water, wash rags, bottles of water, and as much gauze and bandages as you can carry.

You’re going to be in so much trouble when he gets back….

With difficulty, you manage to heave the injured man up onto a dusty armchair. You clean the dried blood and gore from his skin and treat his wounds as best you can. He cautiously watches your every move through half-lidded eyes, but when you lift the water to his mouth, he catches your wrist in a surprisingly firm grip.

“It’s not poisoned. See?” You take a sip, swallowing and opening your mouth. He watches you for another half a second before ripping the bottle from your hand and chugging. You hand him the second bottle without another word.

“Who are you?” he rasps once he’s emptied both bottles. His voice is soft, hoarse from a dry throat or screaming, but still pleasant. You want to hear more of it, desperate for anything other than the gravelly orders you’re given on a daily basis.

You tell him your name, then, “I’m, you know, like you. A part of the collection.”

“Collection,” he echoes, some dark emotion you can’t place crossing his face. Blue eyes snap back to yours before quickly assessing the rest of your body. Your cheeks heat up under his scrutiny. Meeting your gaze again and narrowing his eyes in suspicion, he says, “I know this mother fucker doesn’t discriminate, so why aren’t you all beat up?”

You chuckle dryly, standing and lifting your skirt to reveal the lacerations littering your inner thighs, all in various stages of healing. Next, you hook your fingers in your collar and drag it down your shoulder, showing him the bruised bite marks marring your flesh. The man drops his gaze and nods once in understanding.

“He doesn’t like to mess up my face, but everywhere else is fair game,” you say in a dull monotone. You’ve grown numb to it, numb to most things after living in this shithole for so long.

“Look, I’m—I’m sorry,” he murmurs, shifting in the chair and wincing. You shake your head.

“I’d be suspicious of me too. What’s your name?” You move behind him and urge him to lean forward so you can look at his back. You grimace at the deep wounds dotting his flesh, like little pits of ground beef.

“Arkin,” he replies, tensing when you begin to clean his injuries, applying ointment and gauze where you can. He asks, “How’d you find me?”

“I’ve been sneaking out of my room for awhile now. Gives me something to do besides staring at the wall. I’m sure…well, I’m pretty sure he knows, but he hasn’t said anything. So, I keep doing it.”

“You haven’t tried to get outta here?” he asks, leaning back when you’ve finished patching him up, “And thank you,” he adds, assessing the cleaned lacerations on the back so his hands.

“Can’t. Everything’s rigged. He’d find me before I made it very far.” Arkin pushes to his feet, grunting with the effort.

“Show me.” You bite your lip nervously. Walking around on your own is one thing, but leading someone else through this maze is another. The Collector will know. How harshly would you be punished?

Clenching your jaw, you steel yourself. Maybe Arkin knows something you don’t. Maybe he can disable the alarms.

You hold out your hand and advise, “You have to stay as close to me as you can. This place is a minefield.” Arkin grins sardonically at that.

“’Course it is.”

Arkin’s skin is warm against yours when his grips your hand. His palm is rough, calloused, but his fingers delicately brush the back of your hand. As you lead him through the halls, you wonder what he does for a living.

“Okay, we have to be quick down this next one. It’s on a timer,” you murmur as you peer around the corner. The stacked saw blades glint ominously from the ceiling. You wait for the metallic clank, then the whir as the blades roar to life. They tear down the hall at great speed before disappearing back into the ceiling to lie in wait once more.

Immediately, you slip around the corner, towing Arkin along behind you. You ease over a trip wire, and he does the same, but your heart sinks when you hear the clank. It’s early, too early. You whip around and watch as the rusty blades drop from the ceiling.

“In here!” you shout, slipping into a dimly lit supply closet to your right. Arkin follows and swings the door shut just as the blades whizz noisily past.

“Fucker. Must have changed the timer,” you mutter, taking a deep breath to calm your racing heart. It is then you become acutely aware of how small the closet is and how close Arkin stands to you. Timidly, you meet his gaze.

He’s looking at you, intently studying your expression. The single lightbulb hanging above you throws shadows across his face that darken the longer you stare. Anxiously, you bite your lip. You recognize the look in his eyes because you are thinking the exact same thing.

The Collector would be furious if you allowed someone else to touch you, especially another in his collection. He would kill you, undoubtedly. You can see Arkin weighing the pros and cons just as you do; he wants to, wants to sully something the Collector deems as his, wants the revenge. You want that too.

What the Collector doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Arkin starts to whisper, “Can I—

You hiss, “Fuck it,” at the same time and pop up on your toes to push your lips to his. He meets you gently, so tender you can’t help but gasp. It’s been so, so long since someone kissed you sweetly it nearly brings tears to your eyes.

Warm hands grip your hips, pulling you in until you’re flush against him. Your lips part to make room for his tongue and the quiet groan that leaves his throat. One hand slides up your waist, your arm, to cup your cheek. Slowly, he backs you up until you’re wedged between his body and the wall.

You break the kiss to take a breath before nuzzling the rough stubble along his jaw, trailing your lips across his neck. He groans again, fingers tangling in your hair when you place wet kisses to his pulse, under his ear. You taste copper on your tongue from the blood that still coats his skin.

“That’s real nice, baby,” he purrs and you shudder at the way his soft, deep voice shoots straight between your legs and makes you drip. His hands trail over your hips, lifting the hem of your dress so he can drag his palms across your ass, cupping handfuls of flesh and squeezing. One set of dexterous fingers slides around to the front, teasing you through your panties until you whine against his throat.

“That feel good, baby girl?”

“Yes, daddy,” you purr into his skin. He utters a strained, “Fuck,” under his breath, fingernails digging into your ass. He pushes your underwear to the side, coating his fingers in your slick and circles your clit until you moan his name and buck your hips.

“Yeah, that’s a good girl, I want you t’cum before I fuck you,” he growls through gritted teeth. You tip your head back to capture his mouth again and he eagerly swallows your mewls and whimpers. Warm pressure coils like a spring in your gut, your legs trembling the closer he brings you.

You bury your face into his neck to muffle your shriek of pleasure when the coil finally snaps, but Arkin doesn’t wait for you to come down. He twists you around, simultaneously lifting your skirt and unbuckling his belt. You feel warm, turgid flesh brush your ass, then deft fingers as he pushes your panties to the side. In one, smooth thrust, he slams his cock into your fluttering cunt, pulling a strangled shout from your lips.

One hand rests on your waist, the other around your neck as he snaps his hips. You meet each thrust, the both of you intent on thoroughly ruining something the Collector has claimed as his own. Arkin pants against your ear, fingers on your throat twitching as the sound of wet skin slapping against skin fills the little supply closet.

“Yeah, baby girl, you’re doing so good, taking me so good. Fuck, you’re wet, fucking perfect, what a sweet little pussy….” Filthy praise spills from the lips pressed to the shell of your ear. Dazedly, you nod, biting your lip to keep your moans contained in your mouth.

“You’re gonna make me cum again, daddy, please,” you whisper and Arkin responds with a brutal snap of his hips, one that makes you brace your hands against peeling wood.

“Good girl. Say it again.”

“Daddy, please, please, I’m going to cum, daddy, don’t stop—

“Fuck yes,” he hisses, pummeling you into the wall. He pushes bloody fingers into your mouth to silence your noisy, high-pitched moans. You suck the metallic taste off his digits, squealing around them when your back arches, beautiful heat rolling through your belly in waves. Arkin groans low in his throat, hips bucking erratically as he paints your cunt with slippery warmth.

Your knees knock together and you must hang onto the wall to stay on your feet. Arkin spins you around again, placing languid kisses to your trembling lips. You both jump when the mechanic whirr sounds outside as the blades race down the hall again. For one, wonderful moment, your world had shrunk to just your little closet. Nothing beyond this rotting door had mattered.

Arkin pants, slumping against you and you wrap your arms around his waist to help him stand. He was already exhausted before this little venture. You can’t imagine how he’s feeling now.

“Maybe we should go back, try again tomorrow—

“No. No, I can do it.” Arkin takes your face in his hands and earnestly mutters, “I’m gonna get us both out of here.”

You don’t believe him, but you smile and nod all the same.

#arkin #arkin o'brien #arkin x reader #arkin o'brien x reader #n sfw #the collector arkin #the collector 2009 #the collection #my writing

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daveeddiggsit · 4 years

Text

No Return

Note: so this is not a new fic. i actually posted it back in 2017 (but deleted all my smut from this blog about a year afterwards haha we love being impulsive). but i’m over myself now, so i’m reposting! a lot of you have been asking about it, so... here you go. posted for all of y’all to enjoy again.

Word Count: 4.7k

Pairing: Daveed Diggs x Reader

Warnings: smut. cursing.

Summary: Diggs loses a bet which results in him owing you a lap dance.

Parties at Rafa’s place were always the best; the drinks were great, the music was amazing, the atmosphere was never dull, but the best part about them were the incredible people that made up each one; you were never bored. There was always something to do whether you were talking to people, dancing, playing drinking games, or just drinking in general. And that’s why whenever you were told that there was going to be a party at Rafael Casal’s apartment, you never turned it down...even if you ended up showing up late.

“Well, look at who finally decided to show up.” You heard a familiar voice say as you walked through the door to Rafa’s place. Daveed grinned widely at you before he slid an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him as you walked deeper into the apartment. “My favorite!”

Daveed was one of your closest friends and if you were being honest, it would have been a lie if you said you didn’t want him to become something more than that. The two of you often flirted and were constantly together (these occurrences happened so often that there were many times people believed you were dating), but neither of you had made a real move. You knew how you felt toward him, and he was giving you signs that he felt the same way, but no true actions were made by either party. So that’s why it stayed the way it was between you two: just close friends who often flirted with each other.

“Aw, I’m your favorite?” You asked, raising your voice so he could hear you over the loud music that was pumping through Rafa’s speakers.

“Uh, yeah,” he stated as if it was obvious, “but don’t tell anyone else. It’s a secret between you and me.” He whispered in your ear as you entered the kitchen.

Yeah, he had definitely downed a few drinks before you got here.

“Diggs, I’m pretty sure everyone heard you when you shouted it.” You laughed as you plucked the cup half-full of alcohol from his grasp, draining it of its contents. He pouted at you once you handed him back an empty cup.

“Y/N, hey! It’s been forever since I’ve seen you!” Adrienne said from beside Rafa who was pouring out a few drinks.

“Hey!” You pulled away from Daveed’s grasp to give her a hug. She’d been away in Canada for the last few weeks shooting for a new project she was working on. “I’ve missed you! Why’d you have to leave me alone to deal with these boys for so long?”

Adrienne laughed while Rafael furrowed his eyebrows.

“Oh, so you didn’t miss me? I see how it is, Y/N, I see how it is.” He feigned hurt, before pushing a couple of newly filled cups towards you and Daveed.

You rolled your eyes at him. “We had lunch a few days ago, Cash, it hasn’t been that long since I’ve seen you.”

“But so much has changed since then.”

You chuckled before taking a sip. “Like what? Did you finally finish that song you’ve been working on?”

“No.” Rafael replied before he smiled at Adrienne beside him. “Unlike Diggs, I am no longer a single and lonely Bay Boy.”

Daveed’s eyebrows furrowed as he cocked his head. “Yo, who said I was lone—?”

“You guys are finally together? Oh my god, congrats!” You cut in with widened eyes.

They both grinned at each other before Rafa leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“Aww,” you gushed, “you two are couple goals already.”

A few seconds passed before you felt Daveed’s arm drape around your shoulders again.

“You know, we could be couple goals too.” He said, looking down at you with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, pushing him away. “Ha, you wish, Diggs.”

You laughed it off because you knew he was too tipsy to be serious. He always flirted with you like this, but why did this time feel so different?

A few drinks later, you were beginning to feel the familiar light-hearted, buzzing feeling course throughout your body, giving you a boost of energy. You had drifted away from Daveed and Rafa to roam through the house and catch up with people you hadn’t seen since your Hamilton days. You were talking with Adrienne and Ari when you heard your name being called from behind you.

“Aye, Y/L/N!”

You turned your head to see Daveed standing next to a table a few feet away.

“Diggs!” You responded in the same playful tone.

He grinned at you before waving you over. “Come play Flip Cup with me.”

“Really?” You quirked an eyebrow. “You lose every time you play against me, D.”

“I’m feeling confident today. I’ve been practicing.”

You tried not to laugh as you rose from your seat and approached him. “Practicing?”

“Bruh,” Rafa snickered at his friend from the other end of the table. “You played a few games before this and won two in a row. That ain’t practicing.”

You let a smug grin show up on your face as you glanced back up at your best friend. “Daveed, I am the queen of Flip Cup, okay? You can’t beat me. Nobody ever has, and nobody ever will. That’s a fact.”

“I’m pretty sure I can beat you today, Y/N.” He said bluntly. Wow, he was forward when he was drunk. “I have a good feeling about this.”

“Ha,” you huffed out a laugh, “wanna bet?"

“What do you propose, oh mighty Queen of Flip Cup?”

You thought for a second. What was something you knew would make him think twice about challenging you? Something that would make him step down from this newfound cockiness he embodied.

When the idea formed in your head, you sent him a sly grin. “Winner gets a lap dance from the loser.”

You distinctly remembered an earlier conversation with him where he stated that he couldn’t dance. You knew it was untrue due to the times you’d seen him dance at the club or during some of the numbers in Hamilton, but you also knew that the wager wasn’t something he’d necessarily jump on (despite the confidence boost the alcohol had supplied him).

Rafa led the mini crowd that had formed around you in a chorus of “ooo”s.

“Deal.”

You looked up at Daveed in surprise. You hadn’t expected him to agree to the terms so easily.

“Diggs, that means if you lose— sorry, when you lose, you have to give me a lap dance.”

“I know.” He said seriously.

“And you’re good with that?”

“If it happens, which it won’t because I’m gonna win, then yes.” He stated, his mouth forming into a confident smile. “I’m good with that.”

Fine, he wanted a challenge? You were going to give him one.

“Alright, then.” You said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Game on."

⋆﹥━━━━━━━ ♛ ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Daveed lost. Badly.

So badly, in fact, that you actually felt bad for him. So you tweaked it so it was the best out of five games...and even then, he still lost.

Oh well, it’s not like you didn’t warn him.

When the third game ended and Daveed realized his defeat, he threw his head back and groaned.

“Aww, don’t be such a sore loser. You lost fair and square, Diggs. ” You teased with a smile, wrapping your arms around his torso to hug him from behind. “I warned you. I told you I was the queen of Flip Cup, but you didn’t listen.”

“Those cups were rigged, Y/N.” He stated, turning around in your grasp so he could hug you back.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Say whatever you want to make yourself feel better. Nothing’s gonna change the fact that you owe me a lap dance.”

He was quiet for a moment before he murmured something. “You know I can’t dance, right?”

“First of all, yes you can. And secondly, lap dances are different, Diggs.”

“No, they’re not.”

“Yes they are. And if you don’t think they’re different, you dance at parties all the fucking time. You should be able to handle an easy lap dance.”

He lifted his head back up from your shoulder to look down at you. “But Y/N...”

You let out a laugh before you patted his cheek lightly. “You dug yourself into this hole, loser. Guess you’re just gonna have to figure it out because you’re not getting out of this one.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━ ♛ ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The next day you woke up to someone knocking on your door. In sweats and an old t-shirt, you made your way over to unlock it, squinting your eyes to adjust to the bright light. The slight hangover you had wasn’t really helping you get out of your groggy state.

“Daveed?” You asked, realizing who your visitor was once your vision adjusted. “What are you doing here so early?”

He was dressed in a yellow Oaklandish tank top that showed off his toned arms/shoulders and dark blue jeans with a brown belt buckled just enough to let them sit loosely on his hips. You also noticed that he decided to rock his glasses today.

You snapped your eyes up to his and away from his figure that left you breathless. You totally had not just checked him out.

“If your definition of early is 2 o’clock in the afternoon, I think you may need to reevaluate some things and consider fixing that sleep schedule of yours.” He replied with his lips turning up into an amused grin.

“Shut up, I had a late night last night.” You mumbled, turning around to walk away, leaving the door open so he could let himself into your apartment. “And you did too. I’m surprised you’re not asleep right now.” You glanced back at him to see him shrug.

“I had to meet Bill and Jon at the studio at 10. I’ve been up since, like, 9:30.”

“Damn, Diggs, you’re gonna have to teach me your ways.”

“Caffeine.” He chuckled, putting on his signature grin. “It works miracles.”

You returned the smile, before sending him a curious look. “So, why are you here? Not that I mind or anything, it’s good to see you, but you haven’t been over in like a month and a half.”

“Exactly! It’s been awhile since we’ve hung out alone, so I thought it’d be dope if we chilled and watched movies or something.” He replied before he went to ramble on. “I mean— only if you want to. If you’re really tired, I can leave so you can get some more sl—”

“No, no, it’s fine! That sounds great.” You cut him off and placed a hand on one of his toned arms to reassure him.

“You sure?”

“Yeah!” You responded. “Just let me take a quick shower and we can start in like 20ish minutes.”

“A 20 minute shower counts as a quick shower?” He questioned with a teasing look.

“Yes,” you said, “or would you rather it be 45ish minutes?”

“20ish minutes is good. Have fun with your quick shower. Though, I think it would be more fun if I joined.” A tiny but noticeable smirk made its way onto Daveed’s face.

You laughed when he sent you a playful wink, dropping your hand from his arm to walk towards your room. “You wish, Daveed Diggs.”

“You have no idea.” He mumbled under his breath (inaudible to your ears) before he let his eyes follow your retreating figure.

“Maybe you could set up the movie in the meantime? It’s your turn to choose. The remote’s on the coffee table and you know where the popcorn and shit is in the kitchen. I’ll be out soon. If you need anything, yell.” You said before closing the door to your room.

Daveed sent a thumbs up in your direction even though he knew you couldn’t see it before he made his way to your living room.

Little did you know, Daveed had something else planned.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━ ♛ ━━━━━━━﹤⋆

When you emerged from your shower, you quickly dried yourself and combed through your now damp hair. After that, you exited your room and entered your living room to see that it was completely dark. Confused, you surveyed the room to look for your best friend, but there was no sign of him at all.

Did he leave? If he did, he didn’t text you or anything to let you know.

“D?” You called out, walking further into the room.

With each step you took, the more you realized how this seemed like a scene from a horror film. You weren’t a fan of them, but a few months back Daveed and Rafael had pretty much forced you to have a scary movie marathon with them.

“Daveed Diggs, I swear to God. If you’re trying to scare me right now, I will—”

You squeaked when a pair of arms snaked their way around your waist from behind. Daveed’s voice had come seemingly from out of nowhere. “You’ll what?”

“Kick your ass.” You glared at him, quickly turning around to push him away. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He laughed, smiling brightly. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“No, you’re not.” You grumbled, moving to sit on your couch. Daveed followed you.

“You right. It was so worth it.” He grinned at you, causing you to roll your eyes at him. You tried to stay mad at him, but it was damn near impossible when he was looking at you like that.

“We’re not friends anymore.” You stated, crossing your arms.

“What, why?” He asked, his grin dropping into a pout.

“You were mean to me, Diggs! How dare you scare me in my own home!” You were laughing internally.

“Okay, fine. I’m sorry for real this time. What can I do to make it up to you?”

When he asked, you contemplated it for a few moments before you looked up at him with a smirk.

“What?” He asked.

“Well, you still owe me that lap dance…”

He groaned, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back on the couch. “I thought you forgot about that.”

“Nope.” You said, your smirk forming into a smug grin. You had the upper hand now. “How could I forget you losing a bet against me, resulting in a lap dance from the great Daveed Diggs himself?”

After a couple of seconds, he sighed, opening his eyes and tilting his face towards you. “If I do this now, will I win back your friendship?”

“I’ll think about it.” You said, causing him to give you a deadpanned look. You laughed before you spoke again. “Yeah, I guess we could be friends again. But it has to be good.”

Daveed sighed again before he straightened himself up. “I don’t even know how to give a good lap dance, Y/N.”

“Improvise. C’mon, D, you’re great at improv. Treat it like you treat a freestyle. Just go with the flow.” You smiled widely at him.

“Fine.” He said, getting up from his spot next to you. “But I’m only pulling through with this because I like you.”

“Aww, you like me?” You asked teasingly to mask the actual feeling that was coursing through you. You continued to grin at him as he pulled out his phone to scroll through his music library. When he finally settled on a song by The Weeknd, he turned to you once he pressed play.

“Do I start now?”

“Yes,” you laughed. “C’mon, you know how a lap dance works. You’re not a novice when it comes to these things, stop fucking around.”

You could see him smile and rub his arm before he looked away for a second. When he started to slowly sway to the beat of the song, it was extremely hard for you to stifle your laugh. Your best friend was about to give you a lap dance and you could not take him seriously.

He continued to dance to the beat for a bit as he stared you down with a smirk. He was doing this shit on purpose. He was joking around until you couldn’t contain your laughter any longer.

“Diggs, I can’t take you seriously like this. I can—” You wheezed. “I just can’t.”

Your laughter and the slow, sexy beats of the music were the only audible things in your apartment until Daveed spoke again.

“Are you ready for me, Y/N?” His smooth, low voice washed over you.

You let out yet another giggle. “Don’t make it sound so sexual.”

“It's supposed to sound sexual, Y/N, it’s a fucking lap dance.” He chuckled, now standing directly in front of you.

“Alright, show me what you got, Bay Boy.”

You continued to laugh at him as you watched him, but the moment he straddled your lap, you stopped. His arms were on each side of your head, using the couch to steady himself over you as his hips began to slowly grind against you. That’s when the atmosphere in the room completely changed.

Your eyes widened slightly when you saw him bite his bottom lip in concentration. When you envisioned Daveed giving you a lap dance the night prior, you didn’t think it would be like this...it was flustering you more than you thought it would. Before you knew it, you were struggling to control your movements. Your fists were clenching and unclenching as you so desperately tried to keep them anchored to your sides.

As if he had read your mind, Daveed murmured, “You can touch me, Y/N. Don’t be afraid.”

If you weren’t turned on before, you definitely were now. His gravelly voice paired with his hot breath right next to your ear caused you to shiver, making goosebumps appear across your entire body.

Then, you finally let your hands wander. They traveled up his chest to rest on his shoulders, then back down again to move under the hem of his tank top so you could feel his bare and strong torso. Sure it was a bold move, but the more and more Daveed grinded on you, the less and less you cared. When his tank top rode up to the point where you could see all of his abs, he paused to stand up and quickly get rid of the article of clothing before he came back to straddle you again.

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest as you looked up at your best friend. He looked undeniably attractive when he was on top of you shirtless and with his glasses on. Every feeling you had ever felt for him came crashing down on you at that moment and that’s when you just about lost your self-control. Part of your brain was screaming at you, saying that you were about to cross a line that you could never cross again...but at the same time, all of your cares had disappeared.

You used your newfound courage to cup Daveed’s face in both of your hands and pull him into a deep kiss. He gasped softly, surprised at the sudden contact, but quickly eased into it.

You had just passed the point of no return.

You didn’t know what to expect when you decided to kiss him, but it was better than you could have imagined. When you pulled back, his mouth was slightly dropped in awe and one of the sides slowly twitched up into a soft smile. (It was kind of adorable.)

“Daveed, I like you.” You blurted, short of breath.

His face broke out into a full grin. “I like you too, Y/N.”

“No,” you shook your head, moving your hands from his cheeks down to his shoulders. “I mean like— like like you.”

“I know,” he chuckled. “I mean, I figured given what just happened a few seconds ago. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You shrugged, breaking eye contact with him. You subconsciously traced one of your thumbs across his collarbone. “I was afraid of rejection, I guess.”

“Are you serious?”

“What?” You asked, sounding offended.

Daveed caught your gaze again, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Y/N, I’ve had like the biggest fuckin’ crush on you since Ari introduced us.”

“Wait, really?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “I’m actually really surprised you didn’t notice.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your crush earlier, Diggs?” You voiced, giving him a pointed look.

He gave you a shy smile when he moved off of you to sit beside you, still facing you. “Same reason as you.”

“You know what? I’m not even mad about not knowing sooner.” You said. “I’m glad we found out like this.”

“You’re just happy I gave you a lap dance with my amazing skills.” He teased with a laugh of his own.

You laughed again, and pushed at his chest so he could lay on his back and let you crawl on top of him to straddle his waist. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think you had it in you, Diggs.”

His jaw dropped completely as he looked up at you. “But you said that I could do a lap dance when even I said I couldn’t!”

“That’s true, but to be fair, I never said you couldn’t do a lap dance. I just didn’t think you’d do as well as you did.”

Your response brought yet another smile to his face as you leaned closer to him. “I’mma take that as a compliment.” He said softly.

At this point, the song Daveed had chosen had ended a while ago and the lap dance was long over.

“Good.” You responded before you kissed him again.

This one was different from the first. It started off soft, but quickly turned passionate and heated. As your mouths moved against each other, Daveed’s hands moved from your hips up to the hem of your shirt, his fingertips grazing your bare sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The only word you could use to describe this feeling was just complete bliss.

When you reached down to Daveed’s belt buckle, he shivered, causing you to smile against his lips.

Then he pulled away, panting. “Y/N…” he breathed. “Are you sure about this? You don’t have to— fuck.” He cursed as you pulled back completely to unbuckle his pants. “I don’t wanna push y—”

“Daveed,” You said, before pausing quickly to put a hand on his scruff, tenderly moving your thumb to caress his cheek. “I’m absolutely sure about this. Now please, shut the hell up so I can blow you.”

You smirked when you saw his eyes widen and when you crawled off of him to go in between his legs, you heard a quiet, “Okay.”

Wasting no more time, you removed his jeans and boxers to free his erection. You could see Daveed’s chest begin to rise and fall quicker when you took his length into your hand and pressed a kiss to the tip of it.

“Oh, shiiit.” He drawled softly when your mouth wrapped around him, slowly sucking your way down as far as you could. As you began to bob your head up and down, Daveed’s breathing increased with each suck and occasional flick of your tongue.

Now, he was fully panting. He lifted his head up to look down at you, causing him to groan. After a minute or two, he brought a hand down to move some strands of hair out of your face.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he babbled, “I...I shouldn’t...oh God, I shouldn’t be this fucking close.”

You slowly pulled off of him and he brought you back up to kiss him again.

“You,” Daveed breathed against your lips, “are way too fucking good at that.”

You grinned.

“And,” he continued, “this clothing situation is a bit unbalanced, don’t you think?”

His thumbs grazed the waistband of your sweatpants. When you nodded, you pulled them down along with your underwear. You moved off of him to take them off completely and remove your shirt and bra, leaving you just as bare as he was.

You climbed back on top of him, straddling his washboard abs, when he ushered you to move up. You obeyed, moving forward an inch or two, but Daveed shook his head and grabbed your thighs, moving you himself.

“Daveed, what are you doing?”

“Returning the favor.” He said simply, bringing you over to his face.

“Oh,” you breathed when you felt his tongue lightly touch your clit.

The man’s mouth worked miracles from between your thighs. Daveed kept you still above his skilled tongue, occasionally giving your ass a squeeze.

“D-Daveed,” you gasped, your mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as his tongue lightly circled your clit before he brought fully into his mouth to suck gently.

This was the best head you’d gotten...well ever, actually. He wanted you to feel the best you’d ever felt and he definitely achieved that.

Before you knew it, you were reaching your high, climaxing as you shouted Daveed’s name, not caring how loud it echoed throughout your apartment. When you crawled back down Daveed’s body, the two of you shared a sloppy kiss as you both breathed heavily.

Although you just came, you weren’t completely satisfied. You still wanted him... needed to feel him inside you.

You moved to position yourself above his cock, but he made you pause before you could do so.

“Y/N, stop,” Daveed panted. “Condom.”

“Don’t need it.” You replied quickly. “I’m on the pill.”

“Oh, fuck yes.” He replied, releasing you so you could resume what you were about to do.

You breathed out a laugh before you slowly sank down onto his length, making both you and him release a groan.

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he gasped. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.”

Your fingers ghosted along his stubble-ridden jaw. “I think I have an idea.”

When you adjusted to his size, you began to bounce and he helped you, meeting each of your thrusts as he guided your hips onto him.

Your lips met Daveed’s yet again and you captured every moan that fell from his mouth, he did the same for you. As your pace quickened, so did each grunt, pant, and moan. You felt your pussy begin to clench again like it had when you came before.

“I’m gonna come,” Daveed said quickly against your mouth.

“Fuck.” You groaned. “Me too, D.”

“Come for me, sweetheart.” He breathed, bringing a hand up from your hip to cup your cheek. “You can do it.”

And you did.

Your walls clenched around him and you gasped, letting your orgasm wash over you in waves. Daveed came shortly after you, and continued to thrust, riding the both of you through your highs.

As you came down and pulled yourself off him, you collapsed, exhausted, halfway leaning on him and halfway laying on your couch. You moved a hand up to rest on his chest again, closing your eyes in bliss as you relaxed against him.

After a minute or two of silence, Daveed broke it.

“Wait, so...does this mean we’re friends again?”

You looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. He was still on that? Wow, what a dork. “After this? Everything that just happened?” You asked bewildered. “God, I hope not.”

“Fine,” he said letting his signature bright smile show up on his face, still breathing heavily. “More than friends?”

Your heart fluttered in your chest and you grinned widely back at him. You leaned up to softly kiss his jaw before you gave him your answer.

“Way more than just friends, D.”

#daveed diggs x reader #daveed x reader #hamilcast x reader #daveed diggs fanfiction #smut

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batfamscreaming · 3 years

Text

superbat highschool au - Halloween

[warning for: non consensual kissing, implied abusive living situations]

As Halloween grew closer, Tommy (bundled up in the same scarf and loafers as Bruce) asked if anyone had plans for the evening.

Clark hadn’t celebrated Halloween in a couple of years now. Not really. Maybe a Halloween party here or there but that was it. Houses were too far spaced out for trick-or-treat back home.

“Uh, I mean I think Bruce ‘n I were going to head to the library again, but--” Clark began, looking to the other boy for confirmation.

Bruce began to nod, but--

“No, Bruce and I are gonna go out on the town,” Tommy said, swinging his arm around Bruce’s shoulders and tugging him close.

“...Tommy, curfew exists,” Bruce said, huffing a little.

“Not if we break it, it doesn't,” he said, grinning.

“Uh, okay. Is that an invitation then?” Clark smirked.

Breaking curfew once wouldn’t get him expelled.

“It can be,” Tommy said. “Harv?”

Harvey gave him a look that called him an idiot.

“Gotham on Halloween?” he said. “You're not exactly strolling around the hill houses for candy.”

“Is it bad?” Clark asked. “I’ve actually never been off school grounds.”

He’d never seen the city.

“Halloween’s crazy for crime everywhere,” future lawyer Harvey Dent said flatly. “It's thematic.”

And if Gotham didn't follow a trend towards the thematic… whew.

Bruce just seemed to be taking a moment to be stunned that Clark hadn't been anywhere outside the school.

“Okay,” he said, turning to Tommy. “What’s the plan?”

“I was thinkin’ ice cream and bowling,” Tommy said, grinning. “You wanna plan our escape?”

(Bruce had been thinking too much about the library lately. It was time to steer him towards literally any other thinking direction)

And Bruce nodded, accepting that assignment.

“Sounds fun.” Clark said, shrugging on his jacket.

“So how do you usually sneak out?”

“Badly,” Harvey said, still crossing his arms and clearly not pleased.

“Dodge the guards. Hop the gate,” Bruce said. “Not hard. Easier with a rope. Getting in again’s worse.”

“Cause they actually expect it,” Tommy explained before there were any questions.

“But at least we’re only on the second floor this year. If we weigh down the curtains and leave the window open it shouldn't be noticeable.”

“If it helps any I can jump pretty high,” Clark said. “So you shouldn’t have to worry much about me keeping up.”

Totally within normal human standards. Yes.

Bruce snorted. Laughed almost.

“The gate’s ten feet at lowest,” he said. “Plus spikes.”

Clark was so stuck between keeping everything under cover and bragging. He could fly since he was 10. Ten feet was nothing. Ten feet was laughable.

He opened his mouth, swallowed, and sighed.

Dammit.

Keep it under wraps.

“Right.”

The boys just huddled together again, nodding and still discussing. “So, do we need rope? Or are we gonna be able to grip the bars?”

“I need the rope,” Harvey said miserably.

“Got it,” Tommy said. “Leave it to me.”

“Please don't steal stuff and get us in more trouble when we get caught.”

“Never,” Tommy promised. “As if Bruce and I would get caught.”

(Bruce laughed then, but it was anxious for different reasons, then.)

“I’ll be able to grip the bars.” Clark said, for what little it was worth. For a moment he even considered offering to carry Harvey over on his back, but he thought maybe that was too much.

Could kids his age carry kids their own size on their backs?

He looked pensive for a moment.

…

No. Probably not.

“Anything I can help with?”

Tommy shook his head just as Bruce did.

“Lay low,” Bruce said. “...have any hats?”

Clark thought about that before turning and digging through his things.

He slapped on an old, beat up John Deere baseball cap.

Bruce made a distressed face.

“...have any other hats?”

“I gotta winter hat but it’s not that cold out.”

…

“What’s wrong with my hat?”

“That Bruce’s gotta wear it,” Tommy said, grinning.

… Clark grinned, took off the hat, and shoved it onto Bruce.

“Nnnooo,” Bruce said, hat shoved onto his head and shoved down even more securely by Tommy.

It tilted his dark hair out of place and looked completely out of place with his ironed white oxford and school blazer.

“It suits ya.” Clark grinned.

It really didn’t.

“You're a shit liar,” Bruce said.

“Quick, get the smallest shirt you have, Kent. He still sticks out too much!”

“Just use some of mi--” Harvey started to say.

But that got hushed as Tommy urged them into a game of Bruce Dressup, and Halloween grew ever closer, until finally the night arrived.

Clark couldn’t do anything about Bruce’s very pressed pants, but he could find a small shirt for him.

‘Small’ being relative.

Bruce would drown in it a little, but at least in the end he didn’t stand out so much in his old ratty John Deere hat.

And when the night arrived he followed their lead.

….Bruce, unwillingly, donned the shirt and cap when it was finally time, looking a bit more like a ruffian with the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbow and the cap on his uncombed hair.

It made him look shorter. His face seemed rounder. Almost puppyish.

He was a very determined looking puppy as they rigged up their window so that the corner of the bunk bed jutted into view of the opening.

Tommy had, indeed, acquired a rope from somewhere, and they tied one end into a loop, tossing it around the shallow jut of the bedpost and getting ready.

Tommy was lookout as Bruce descended first.

Then Harvey. They'd wait for Clark. Tommy last. They flicked the rope until it came loose from the bedpost, gathered it up, and raced to the gate, sneaking around the buildings and in the bushes in the low light.

The gate was closed for the night, and they snuck under the desk guard to reach it.

Again, Bruce took it first, climbing up between the bars using the traction on his shoe to get up.

The rope was thrown over between the spokes at the top. Used to control their descent.

He ushered Clark to mimic him once he'd made it to the other side and decided it was clear. Harvey had to have his foot in the loop and he pulled over to make it.

Tommy went last again, staying behind to make sure Harvey had someone to catch him if he fell.

And they were outside.

It was hard for Clark to do things like these guys.

He… might have flown a little to descend out of the window a little faster, but kept his feet on the wall and his hands gripped to the rope so at least it looked like he was doing it like everyone else.

The gate though.

Ugh.

He tried to mimic Bruce as best he could, but it looked a little too… flawless. He didn’t strain or land on the other side very hard.

But they had made it.

… And outside, in the dark, there was even more light for his eyes to catch than usual.

He was lucky the boys were largely too focused on their own descents to notice.

That streetlights were common enough to make his eyes look somewhat normal for the moment.

Once they were on the street, Tommy and Harvey definitely took the lead, steering them up north of the academy, to a slightly more crowded--and festive--area.

“Is this what you guys do every year?” Clark asked anyone who wanted to answer.

He always kinda wondered what these rich city kids did for fun.

“What? No way,” Tommy said. “I mean. That'd be nice…”

Harvey shook his head, too. His hands were wrapped around his elbows in a self-protective hug. “Normally wouldn't be able to get away with it.”

“Besides. Our old roommate was really bad at stuff,” Tommy added. “Like not getting all of us in trouble.”

“Spent last year in detention,” Bruce mumbled.

(By now, Clark knew that didn't necessarily mean Bruce had done anything to deserve detention.

It could've just been he'd been around while someone did something. Or been the dorm mate of someone who did something.

...Harvey’s caving to come made more sense if he would just be punished anyway, if they were caught.)

“So, what, you just spend Halloween in your dorm studying? That’s… a lot less than I expected out here.” Clark said, not looking as defensive as maybe he should have been in Gotham of all places, hands in his pockets and head up.

Casual.

(Bruce kept his head down and the baseball cap over his eyes.)

“...what did you think we did?” Bruce asked. “Orgies? I'm taking you out for ice cream and bowling, Kent.”

“I dunno… parties? I thought that's what rich kids did. Go to clubs. Drink. That kinda thing.”

“... Not that I'm saying I want to do those things, but…” Clark shrugged.

All the same, all three kids had paused in walking to stare at him.

“...I wouldn't even be able to set foot out of the house if Mom had her way,” Tommy said, staring.

“....” Bruce just had that look on his face.

“Hey. I worked my way in,” Harvey said.

“I did too!” said Tommy, turning on Harvey a little. “I had to barter to get here.”

“...”

Bruce shuffled a little closer to Clark and breathed out, “their dads are the ones who drank all night.”

And that was all he mumbled before trying to step forward and break up the fight again.

The bowling alley would close, late hours or not, if they didn't get a-moving.

“Oh.” He mumbled to Bruce, and started walking too.

“Sorry, I guess the TV makes you think one thing even when it isn't very true. Sounds like I get it more'n you guys.”

Once more they turned, surprised.

“You've fucked?” Tommy said.

He had definitely pegged Clark for a virgin.

Clark nearly tripped over his own feet.

“N-no!! No! God.”

He was beet red.

“Did you mean ‘out’?’” Harvey asked, baffled, at the same time as Tommy said, “oh. Okay. Harv still has company then, at least.”

Bruce could finally see the bowling alley coming up. Extended hours for the weekend.

Ice cream parlor across the street.

Yes.

“Ugh, shut up.” Clark groaned, following them while rubbing his face to try and get some of the red from his cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy said, dropping it as they ducked into the building. It was much warmer inside. “...it's not like we have the money to get into clubs or buy alcohol, though. Seriously.”

“TV,” Harvey shrugged, quietly trying to reassure Clark a little that it was fine.

“What’d ya mean? You at least get an allowance, right?” Clark said.

“Even I get an allowance. Or at least paid a little when I help out on the farm.”

….Harvey shook his head. “...my family doesn't have the money for an allowance, anyway.”

Tommy just scowled. “If I see any of my dad’s money it'll be long after mom’s died.”

…

Meanwhile, Bruce ducked his head, and pulled out a ten dollar bill, handing it to Tommy, who took it and huffed up to the counter to pay, being the one who was clearly not dark-haired Bruce Wayne in a baseball cap and oversized shirt.

“...I get an allowance,” he admitted. “But it's not like I’m going to hike ten miles into the city from the manor to use it.”

“Jeeze…” He mumbled over Tommy talking about his mom needed to die for him to get his dad’s money.

“I guess that makes sense.” He said to Bruce again, watching Tommy pay for them.

“Thanks for treatin’ us though.”

Even if it made sense Bruce would pay for it. Still polite to thank him.

Bruce smiled a little. “Yeah. No problem. It's nice to get out. Thanks for the hat.”

“Shoooes!!” Tommy called once he'd paid, waving them over to change.

A four player game was being set up for them, the first letters of their names being their designations.

And ready to go.

A night away.

Clark smiled back.

He got his change of shoes and then looked around for the heaviest ball they had. It still wouldn’t be enough to offset his throw, but it would help. It was easier not to look too strong when you needed to roll it rather than throw it. It was just a matter of dialing back the momentum.

His first throw though it went way too fast. Nothing that would break everything in its way, but still just too fast.

Shit.

He would try and hide his distressed face and play it off and… dial it back for the one after that.

The desk manager warned him the ball was probably way too heavy, but thankfully, the other three boys seemed to tack up his wild throw to weight and momentum, laughing wildly as it careened impressively fast-- into the gutter.

“Beautiful!” Tommy whistled at him.

“Like you'll do any better,” Harvey said.

(And Tommy did not.)

But after a few rounds, everyone was adjusting a little better to the balls, and…

Bruce sat beside Clark while waiting his turn, and jeered the others when they missed just like they did him.

And… seemed relaxed and happy for once.

Smiling.

“Hah!” Clark hollered as Tommy did just as poorly as him.

As the night went on though he did get used to rolling the ball down the lane and compensating for how little it weighed to him in comparison.

It was a lot of fun.

He cheered and jeered everyone when they did well or poorly, jabbing them with words just the same as they did him. He tended to stick to Bruce more than Harvey or Tommy. They had grown to know each other a lot better over the past month working on their Court of Owls stuff.

It was good.

This was fun.

He was clapping and laughing along with the rest of them, and upon noticing Bruce looked happy too he would give him a little nudge and a smile.

Happy to see him happy.

Bruce had gotten a lot better at being casual with Clark with their search together the last month, but--

It wasn't as if he smiled much during the investigating. It wasn't like he was giddy over crime scenes. Any excitement he had about finding a pattern quickly turned to seriousness as soon as he had to explain what he’d noticed.

And in school, he said little. Let people part in front of him or walk by him without any seeming preference.

But here, finally, it was just fun.

...through some twist of fate, Harvey’s score was highest at the end of the game.

They had no real way they planned to reward the winner. But it was fine if they just mocked Bruce's place in dead last.

He had wonderful aim, after all--if he was aiming for the gutter.

But when the game ended, Bruce trotted over to the shoes, picking up his and Clark’s, and bringing them back over to change quietly before heading across the street for the last half hour the ice cream parlor would be open.

Bruce didn't have to tell Tommy what he wanted--a float--but Tommy would ask the other two before trotting up once more with Bruce’s cash in hand to pay and order at the counter while the four slid into a booth.

And maybe because Tommy was up paying, Bruce found himself sliding in beside Clark to sit across from Tommy, instead of beside him for once.

Clark’s choice of ice cream was pretty much the most boring of all; a vanilla shake.

He sat on the inside by the window, and didn’t think twice about Bruce sliding in beside him.

“How often have you gone bowling before, Harvey?”

Harvey shook his head. A lot. “Almost none? I think in Jr High we went once as a class trip, but I was terrible at it.”

“Harv has two settings,” Bruce said, leaning his chin on his hand and very carefully not putting his elbow on the table. “Professional, and worst luck ever.”

Clark snorted, “Man now I feel worse, I go bowling like… at least once a year when my friends and I are bored back home. It’s one of the few things to do back in Smallville.”

“Yeah?” Bruce said, leaning in a little, interested. “You've mentioned your town a couple times. What's it like?”

“Lives up to the name.” Clark smiled. “Small. Bowling alley, gas station, market. Got one street light in the whole town. The farm is about five miles from the center of town, you gotta have a car or a bike to get anywhere.”

“People always hang out by the train tracks or the ol’ Glott farm that’s cavin’ in on itself.”

“Does it rain any less?” Harvey asked, a little sardonic, but still listening all the same.

It was about then that Tommy came back with their ice cream.

Vanilla shake. Two root beer floats. A sundae.

But when he made it to the table, he paused before setting things down, as if he had to… look around and see where they were all sitting for a second.

“Yeah but we gotta worry about tornados way more.” Clark said, and was already reaching for his shake since he was the only one to get one by the looks of things.

“Thanks Tommy.”

“Y’welcome,” Tommy said, and... passed out the rest.

Sundae for Harvey. Floats for him and Bruce. He sat across from Bruce at the table, and didn't interrupt the conversation. Just started to drink silently through his straw.

“...are tornadoes actually like what they say?” Bruce asked. “I read they can pick up a carton of eggs and just set them down miles away, completely intact.”

“Oh yeah, they’re capable of some crazy stuff. After one I saw someone’s record just… stuck in a tree. Like it was a razor blade. Powerlines bent over like they were made of playdough. Then sometimes it’ll set a full can of soda down on someone’s steps without a dent.”

He took a sip from his milkshake, oblivious to anything amiss with Tommy.

It was a nice way to ease into the later part of the night. A nice wind-down from bowling as they asked questions about Kansas and what it was like to live on a farm. In a small town.

When his float was almost drained, Bruce stood, saying, “bathroom, be right back,” and turned to head to the back of the shop.

“Me too,” said Tommy, following along behind him a moment later, wobbling to get out of the table with his long legs.

(They turned a corner and headed into the boy’s bathroom, and once they were there, door shut against anyone listening, Tommy said, “Bruce?”)

“Okay,” Clark said, and thought nothing of it. He slurped the last of his shake through his straw.

But he did overhear their conversation, whether he intended to or not.

Neither did Harvey, who had gotten content to just sit and listen after a while, and was now just quietly watching the street go by, trying to find room in himself to finish up his sundae.

(“Hm?” Bruce said.

“Are you mad at me?”

“What? No. Why would I be mad at you?”

“You’ve been avoiding me, lately,” said Tommy.)

… Clark turned and looked in the direction of the bathroom.

He didn’t look too hard. Not yet. But he was definitely listening.

As far as he knew Bruce wasn’t mad at Tommy at all.

Nothing had changed.

“Don't lie to me,” Tommy said, voice no louder, but a thousand times more sharp than it'd been a moment before.

There was a stutter in Bruce’s heart.

“We tell each other everything,” he said. “I told you everything. And now all you do is hang out with Clark.”

“...we’re just looking stuff up,” Bruce said, voice low and careful. “It's just hanging out. It's different.”

“Really? Because you barely ask to just hang out with me. You were gonna be with him before I got this plan together, you remember?”

There was a footstep. A set of footsteps. Shuffling around.

Clark narrowed his eyes.

He glanced at Harvey, then leaned his head in his hands to try and hide the line of sight to his eyes as they glowed blue and looked harder.

Into the boy’s bathroom.

He'd find them both shuffled into the two-stall bathroom, neither in stalls. Just Bruce taking a step back towards the back wall, and the tail end of Tommy moving forward, teeth clenched in distress.

“It's not like that,” Bruce said, keeping his voice certain, even if he didn't look it. “We came along, we went with your plan, didn't we? You're still my best friend, Tommy, come on--”

“Prove it,” Tommy said.

“What?” said Bruce, furrowing his nose.

“I told you everything Bruce,” Tommy said, and took a step forward once more, even without Bruce moving back. “So if you really care then just--”

And Tommy had pushed Bruce by the shoulders against the wall, and pushed their mouths together.

For a long, silent moment, Bruce just stared, unresponsive at him.

Then, he reeled back with a punch, and slammed Tommy flat on his back.

Before Clark knew it he had crushed his now empty shake glass in his hand.

“Gnnhshit.” He mumbled, blinking hard and looking away from the bathroom.

Holy shit.

The woman working behind the counter was already looking up and heading towards their booth to see what happened.

Harvey practically jumped in his seat at the shattering, turning to stare. “Oh, crap! Are you okay?!”

He grabbed a napkin and started trying to help, dabbing up the spilled milkshake and reaching for Clark’s hand to check for injuries.

“Yeah, I’m-- yeah I’m fine.”

He showed him his hand.

No blood. No glass stuck in it.

“What happened over here?” The woman asked, and Clark mumbled out something that was hard to hear. Something like ‘wasn’t paying attention’ and ‘sorry’.

“There must've been a crack in the glass,” Harv reasoned, helping her pick the glass up from the floor and countertop. “It just broke while you were holding it?”

From the back of the shop, two boys exited the bathroom.

“Did something happen?” Bruce asked, coming over.

(Tommy was quiet, behind him.)

Clark started to help too.

“Broke my glass.” Was all he managed, still a little too stunned to say much.

“You kids be careful, I’ll clean this up. Don’t worry about it.” The woman said, trying to shoo them off lest they end up cutting themselves.

The other three figured he was stunned from his glass exploding in his hand, and they shyly backed off a bit as the waitress shooed them.

“Sorry about this-- here,” he said, and shuffled in his pocket.

He pulled out a five.

“Whatever doesn't replace the glass is a tip,” he said, handing it to her.

“Sorry.” Clark said again, and carefully got out of the booth, picking any glass off his lap if there was any.

“Thank you young man.” The woman said, not recognizing who it was handing her the money.

“It's no problem,” he said, but even though she didn't recognize him at that moment, he still was hit by an overwhelming urge to put the cap on and hurry the group outside.

If Clark had ice cream in his lap, it was wiped off with napkins, and Tommy said, at some point, “we should probably head back.”

He and Bruce left their floats unfinished, and were ready to get out the door.

“Yeah. Good idea.” Clark said, and quickly started to walk towards the door.

God.

Shit.

Things were going to be so awkward back in the dorm.

Should he ask Bruce about it??

Bruce and Tommy said nothing. Nothing at all about what happened.

They followed Tommy and Harvey back to the Academy’s gates and took the rope out of Harv’s bag to throw it up again and get them all over.

Bruce first. The surest climber. Clark. Harvey.

Tommy picked up last. A sure climber, but big enough to catch them if they fell.

They snuck back on campus. Lassoed the end of the bed in their window, and rock climbed their way up the building in reverse order. Tommy lookout up top to keep the knot stable. Bruce, surest climber, getting up when no one would be there to catch him if he fell.

...once they were on campus, all three boys fell into their usual quiet, reserved for avoiding detection after hours, but still-- Harvey said, quietly, “...thanks for doing this. I think I needed to have a day.”

“Course,” Tommy said, stripping to his Pjs and grinning. “Anytime.”

Bruce nodded too.

“It was a good idea.”

...he returned the hat. The shirt.

He tugged on his night clothes too.

As if nothing had happened.

Clark followed them all in, kicking off his shoes and sitting on the edge of his bed as everyone wound down.

“... Yeah. Was fun.” He said, trying to sound convincing.

It was already way past hours and he didn’t want to risk sneaking out in his street clothes, so even he changed into his pajamas in the room too. At least the lights were off so maybe they wouldn’t notice anything weird.

Not that he was… that weird. A little more jacked than a sixteen year old should be, but it was dark, so…

He hurried through it and climbed into bed.

...tonight, they were all a little too distracted to really notice.

Even Bruce was too tired to have one of his quiet nightmares, which surprised even him upon waking.

...and upon waking, Tommy and Bruce would get changed together as usual.

Head off to class after sitting together at breakfast.

No hint of what had occurred between them the night before.

Clark changed in the bathroom again that morning. He was still too self-conscious to do it around everyone else.

He didn't mention anything to anyone. He ate breakfast with the others, went to classes even if it was just him and Tommy in the same one.

Waited until that evening when again it was just him and Bruce walking to the library.

“Hey, so… last night.”

…

“You and Tommy fight or anything? I thought I heard something when we got ice cream.”

There was an uptick in Bruce’s heart rate, but his confused expression revealed nothing of the sort.

“No? Maybe you heard him spook me when I got out of the stall. Wasn't expecting him.”

Ah.

“Okay, yeah. Maybe.” Is what he said instead though rather than keep prying. “Just checking that you guys are okay.”

“...why wouldn't we be?” Bruce asked, his own thoughts loud panic bells that couldn't be heard by anyone else.

No one could know. Even if Bruce didn't want it. That didn't matter as much as Tommy had done it and Bruce was a boy.

And he didn't want to know what their teachers, or the press, or Tommy’s Mom would do if they found out.

“Is something wrong?”

“Tommy seemed kinda distracted I guess. Quiet. Normally he doesn't shut up.” Clark tried to huff a laugh.

“But maybe I'm reading too much into it. I was kinda distracted too.”

“He might be tired,” Bruce said, making a mental note to tell Tommy to talk more. (Maybe it’d even make him happy.) “or dreading break, now that it's officially November.”

November.

Clark had made it to the third month.

“Dreading-- oh right, he doesn't seem to like his mom very much.” Clark said, wanting to get off the topic he brought up.

“Man I can't wait to go home and visit.”

“...it hasn't been a good couple years between them, yeah,” Bruce admitted. “...what are you going to do at home?”

Clark shrugged, “See my friends. See Ma ‘n Pa? Pet my dog?” He chuckled.

“... What do you do on break?”

“....” Bruce needed to think a moment. “Walk. Mostly.”

“... Walk?”

It sounded so weird Clark needed to make sure he heard right.

...he nodded.

“Around the grounds. I walk. Maybe read.”

He would definitely read. But.

Even he got tired of reading.

A massive manor with nothing to do in it but wander.

…

“Don't have any other family to spend Christmas with?”

He shook his head.

“...the Kanes, I guess. But no. We’re Jewish, anyway.”

“...and Tommy and Harvey’s parents won't let them escape long enough for coming over.”

…

“It's fine,” he said, already sensing the look on Clark’s face. “It's been like this for years. It's not upsetting or anything. Just dull.”

“Oh.”

…

“Would you wanna come spend it at my place?”

Bruce turned to look at him, startled.

“Huh?”

Like he hadn't quite understood for a moment.

“Do you wanna come spend break at my house? In Smallville?” Clark asked again as though Bruce hadn't heard.

“I'd have to call my parents but I don't think they'd say no.”

Before he'd even said he wanted to, Bruce was doing math in his head.

Clark had been open about how his family couldn't really afford GA. Last minute decision to come. If they couldn't afford that with only one kid it might be rough to take in another and

(Okay. Okay. What do I have to do to get out. How much money. What did he have to do.)

“Yeah,” he said, calculating the price of a plane ticket if Alfred tried to say ‘no.’ Taxi fee. Plane ticket. Get out. “Yeah, if they say yes-- they don't have to worry about much from me, I can pay for my own food and room if they need me to.”

Clark laughed a little, “You don't have to pay for room ‘n food. Maybe bus ticket though.” He stopped and looked around for one of the school's pay phones.

“You got a quarter?”

He would need to call and ask. Letters were too slow for this.

Bruce didn't usually carry the money around school, but he dropped his book bag and started rooting around in it for a stray quarter in the bottom, finally coming up victorious.

“Nice, thanks.”

Clark took it and walked over to one of the phones bolted to the wall, pushing in his money before dialing back home.

“Hey Ma. … I'm good. Um, question actually. Would you mind if a friend comes over for break? His name is Bruce. … Nah he's-- well he's Jewish but he usually spends it alone, so-- yeah. He can buy his own ticket don't worry about it. Can he use the guest room? Cool.”

Then he paused.

“Uhhhhhhh okay. Hold on.”

He held the phone to Bruce. “She wants to talk to you.”

Bruce’s spine was straight as a rail and his shoulders set, the way they always were when he knew exactly what he wanted and was staring down something in his way.

He nodded and took the phone.

“Yes, ma’am?” he said.

“Hello, Bruce? Clark says you're thinkin’ about staying with us over break. I'm fine with that but I need to know, have you run this by your parents?” A kind-sounding woman on the other end asked.

“Oh my god.” Clark groaned, having not gotten to that part yet with her and able to overhear it over the phone. He mouthed a 'sorry’ at Bruce.

“My guardian will be fine with it,” Bruce said, not letting a pang of anything show on his face. “He's been hoping I'd find someone to be with.”

“... Really?” The woman on the other end said. “I know you boys are at school but is there any way I can call your… ‘guardian’ and make sure?”

Clark was rubbing his eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “And if you tell him we called Kansas he’ll handle the distance fee.”

Fine. Fine.

He gave her the manor phone number.

“Let me call him real fast and make sure he knows.”

He mouthed to Clark, ‘kidnapping plot,’ and rolled his eyes.

Clark gave him a ‘really??’ look like he didn’t quite believe it, but said nothing.

“Okay, thank you Bruce. Is there anything I should know before you come over? Allergies…?”

Bruce nodded, looking bored as sin thinking about it.

He had to let Alfred know the nice lady on the phone was not trying to get permission to sneakily kidnap him or else he'd never get out of here.

“No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, I’ll make up the guest bed for you. Mind handing the phone back to Clark?”

“Alright.”

He did. Handed the phone back.

Listened from the short distance between them.

You didn't need super hearing to do that. And Bruce’s ears were still sharper than most.

Clark took the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Is this the Bruce you’ve been writing home about?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure his parents are going to be okay with it?”

“Guardian, Ma. He’s got a guardian. And yeah, probably.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end.

“Oh. Ohhhh. Okay, honey.”

Clark thunked his head onto the side of the payphone and looked like he would rather die. “So it’s cool? You don’t have to worry about him getting there or anything. He can afford a bus--” He paused and turned to look at Bruce.

“You gonna get a bus ticket and come with me or like…?”

“However I should get there,” he said, letting Clark suffer. “...might have to borrow your hat again for the first part, if it's a bus from here.”

“Yeah he’s gonna get a bus ticket with me.” Clark said. “Anyway we got studyin’ to do so--”

“Okay honey. I’ll call Bruce’s guardian tonight to make sure. But I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Love you, sweetie.”

“.... Love you too, Ma.” Clark said a little quieter before saying goodbye and hanging up.

“You've been writing to her about me?” was the first thing out of Bruce’s mouth.

“Yeah?” Clark said. “I told her I made friends with my roommates. If I didn’t tell her that she’d think I was miserable and alone.”

“... Mentioned we’ve been working on a report, but that’s it really.”

… “Oh, okay,” Bruce said, not really sure what the knot in his chest (which was normal to have) meant right now, and whether it was loosening or tightening at that.

“I'll call Alfred,” he said, starting to dig around for another quarter in his bag. “You can go ahead if you want.”

“Nah man, I wanna see if he really does think this is a kidnapping plot.” Clark grinned, leaning up against the wall.

“Ugh,” Bruce said, rolling his eyes again and shoving in the quarter. “I'm doing it so he doesn't.”

He dialed a number. Waited.

“Hello. Alfred Pennyworth. You've reached the Wayne Estate.”

“Hi Alfred,” Bruce said. “I'm going to Kansas for winter break.”

“Pennyworth.” Clark whispered in disbelief.

What. A. Name.

Bruce turned back to look at him. Whispered: “I could've been a millionaire named ‘Pennyworth.’”

“Oh? I see it's all already been decided then, has it Master Bruce?”

“Master Bruce?”

Clark was grinning from ear to ear, like this was the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard.

Holy crap was he glad he stuck around for this conversation.

That one, Bruce kicked him for.

“...I'm just going to stay with my roommate for a bit. Okay?”

“I see. And which roommate moved to Kansas, again?” Alfred sounded dry.

“...the new one’s from there,” Bruce said. “Look, his mom’s going to call tonight and make sure it's alright. I've still got plenty of allowance. I'll just pack weekend clothes and head out from school.”

“...I see. Are you sure you wouldn't like to--”

“Yes.”

…

The other side of the phone was quiet for a while. Bruce just stared down at the buttons.

“Of course,” Pennyworth finally said. “...but please. Try to keep me more upbraided on things, wouldn't you?”

“It's not hard to find o--”

“I’d just like to not have to go searching all the time is all,” Alfred interrupted. And Bruce went silent again. “...I'm glad you've found someone to spend break with. I'll let his mother know it's fine.”

“...thanks, Alfred,” Bruce said.

And he hung up without saying goodbye.

Clark didn’t move from the kick, but his amusement died a little when things got… not exactly antagonizing between the two, but not fully great either.

“... I’m sure my mom will give him our address and everything.” Clark said when Bruce was finished, pushing himself from the wall so they could start towards the library again.

Bruce nodded. Headed off still feeling good about getting out, but…

Alfred made it hard sometimes.

“Yeah. He'll ask. What are we looking for tonight?”

“Left off with the Belinsky murders.”

#80s gay superbat #superbat #high school au #boarding school au #bruce wayne #clark kent #thomas elliot #rp logs #long post

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your-average-weeb-dealer · 3 years

Note

Playing Just Dance with MHA characters headcannons

I can see Denki being really bad but also really into it.

Todoroki is the type who just moves their hands and gets a perfect score

Mina and s/o are ✨killing it✨ obviously

Iida keeps getting bad scores because he can only do the hand chop thingy

Kirishima’s dancing all the “girly” songs like: 💃 manly 💃

Somehow Mirio got in and be brought Tamkai and Nejire before starting to 🕺dance 🕺

Monoma found out everyone was dancing and challenged 1-A to a dance battle but no one in 1-B cared so they just started dancing with 1-A because they were actually invited

TestuTesu joined Kiri in his 💃manly dance💃

And Sero taped Mineta up in his room so the grape isn’t there to ruin the mood

This all happened on a Monday night so all the teachers are like 🧍‍♂️ really? 🧍‍♂️

Also I think it would be really cute because there’s a bunch of songs that are for/ their implied to be for romantic couples

omg I can see it (these are really short cause theres a lot, also I based the songs on what I think your relationship would be like, sorry for my poor music taste lol)

Just dance party with mha characters

style: headcannons

Genre: fluff

warnings: none!

“Come on Todoroki~ You gotta move some more!! It’s called just dance not just stand!” (mina)

“I don’t see the point of flailing my arms around when I can just move my hand and get a ‘perfect’“ (Todoroki)

Denki and s/o:

You’re is definitely winning

He gets all pouty about it

He may or may not google “how to beat Just Dance every time”

But he’s still having fun

He’d pick you on the high note and kiss you all passionately

Song: Electric love, by BORNS (come on, did you really think i’d pick something else?)

Todoroki and S/o

He’s not that into it

Please stop making him dance to “hot n cold” by Katy Perry.

He’ll end up making some dark joke about his past halfway through and everyone would look at him like ‘you good bro?’

He’d hold your pinky with his left hand because he really only needs his right in order to win

Song: Snowman by Sia

Mina and s/o

She’s going 101%

Of course she’s dominating everyone (Todoroki’s a close second though)

She’s going be extra af

You’re both wearing matching outfits, there's no debating this.

Every time you get a ‘perfect’ expect her to kiss your cheek

Song: E.T by Katy Perry

Iida and s/o

He’ll get annoyed

He’d end up saying the game was rigged and he was doing the dances perfectly

Mina and her s/o would be rolling

Please cheer for him or tell him he’s going great. It make’s him feel all warm and fuzzy inside (it gets him all flustered as well)

Song: Mr. Loverman Ricky Montgomery (but only the slowed with rain)

Kirishima and s/o

He’s doing pretty good

Bakugo might’ve made fun of him for the songs

But he doesn’t care

He’d totally just sweep you off your feet and kiss you halfway through

Song: Swim by Alec Benjamin (I know it isn’t necessarily girly but shh)

Big three (I just combined them)

Mirio and Nejire keep going against each other, Nejire really likes rematches

Tamaki is just in the corner like

(whispering) “Yeah! you go guys...”

He wants to play but he doesn’t want to get made fun of. Please sit next to him and comfort him

Mirio’s loud asf and will probably give you a piggy back ride when he wins

Nejire’s just happy to be here

Mirios song: if we have each other by Alec Benjamin

Nejires song: Ophelia by the Lumineers

Tamakis song: Riptide by Vance Joy

Monoma and s/o

You best believe he’s challenging you as well

Just humor him and dance

He’s not going to do anything publicly but when you get back to the dorms he’s either going to be ranting or bragging

He’s honestly not that good and everyone points it out except you

Song: Bad Romance by Lady Gaga

Tetsutetsu and s/o

Him and Kirishima are rocking out

I mean full on ‘bro’ moment

You and Kendo just waited it out

Eventually him and Kirishima got tired so you swooped in and beat Kendo

Song: Angel with a shotgun, The Cab

Sero and s/o

thank god for this man

You and him just be sitting off to the side with Kendo and Tetsutetsu’s s/o, sharing stories and telling jokes

Really chill vibes coming from you guys

He may play a round with you or Kaminari

Lots of kisses

Kendo don’t mind though, everyone knows you’re the “PDA” couple

Song: Pierre by Ryn Weaver

A/n Shit this took forever. Again I apologize for my trash taste

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shotofire · 3 years

Text

Sibling Rivalry

TODOROKI x F!READER

BAKUGOU x SISTER!READER (no, not incest. We don’t allow that here)

•Overview: Bakugou is your crazy brother who would die before he’d let you date Todoroki

•Warnings: cursing, angst

•Season: in the season one range, but it’s not specified

This fic is more of a Bakugou brother au then a Todoroki fic, but I love it.

Getting accepted into UA was your greatest dream come true. You’d imagined it happening for years, you’d practically counted down the days until you could take the eligibility test. And when the day came you absolutely killed it, you did better than your twin brother Bakugou.

He had totally freaked out when the results came back. Saying how, “It was rigged,” and, “There’s no way you could’ve done better than me.” But you knew he was happy for you, deep down in his angry heart he was proud to have a sister like you. Your mother constantly told you how much he admired you but may never admit it, even if he was on his death bed.

You didn’t really mind him though, he was your brother and you cared for him. Siblings aren’t ever going to let the other get the upper hand especially under your guys’ circumstances. You both wanted to be hero’s, more importantly the number one hero.

From day one you and Bakugou have competed to be better. It was one thing after another. Your parents even said you two fought for the ‘better rattle’ when you were babies. There’s no sibling duo that shows rivalry better than you two.

But, there was also admiration. You may argue a lot and possess crazy anger issues, yours being way more controlled than his, but you were still joined at the hip. You both didn’t like the same people, both wanted to be hero’s, had a mission to get into UA, and wanted to save people.

The only thing that really bothered you about Bakugou was the fact everyone was afraid of him. He made it hard for you to have friends, and especially boyfriends. Guys have always been scared to even talk to you because of him.

When you got into UA you hoped things would be different. Maybe he’d calm down because he’d reached one of his goals, but no. He still yelled, he still got angry, he still picked on Izuku, and he still tried to boss you around.

The constant drama Bakugou was starting among your classmates was unbelievably tiring. It seemed that he had a problem with just about everyone you talked to, and would yell at anyone who even glanced at you. All you wanted was a good experience at UA and your brother was making it pretty much impossible.

The main reason Bakugou acted the way he did towards certain people was because of you. He’d heard the things boys said about you in middle school and it made him want to rip them to shreds. It didn’t take a genius to know that you were a very attractive girl, and boys naturally gravitated towards you. But with Bakugou in the middle they always backed away.

You used to tell yourself that the one who didn’t back down was the one for you, but it seemed like that day would never come. He was like your personal bodyguard that you didn’t ask for and didn’t want. You even gave up on liking boys pretty quick. You accepted the fact that every guy was going to be scared of your insane brother.

Then you came to UA and met him.

Shoto Todoroki, truly the best looking boy you’d ever seen. He had these two different colored eyes that had you breathless, and his hair looked so soft you just wanted to rake your fingers through it. More so, you wanted to talk to him without Bakugou around.

Todoroki and your brother were constantly at each other’s necks competing, and you were tired of it. There’s no way Todoroki would even consider talking to you knowing your brother practically hated his guts.

“Give me an actual reason why you don’t like Todoroki,” you had asked one day, “and you can’t give me some bullshit response. Tell me what he’s actually done to you to make you so angry.”

Bakugou grunted and narrowed his eyes, “he thinks he’s better than me!”

You had only scoffed at his response before dramirally rolling your eyes, “did he say that to you? Or are you just butthurt that someone might just naturally be stronger than you?”

Yeah, that conversation really pissed him off. All of his responses to you for that next week consisted of aggressive yelling and calling you annoying. Brotherly love, you just couldn’t get enough of it could you?

Today was a new day, it was Friday. So once the day was over you didn’t have to hear Bakugou pick fights with other students for two days. You really valued the weekends, you could shut your room door and be in your own space. Bakugou eventually came to talk to you out of boredom, but was never necessarily mean when doing so. It’s actually the only time he’s somewhat tolerable.

“Can you not be on full asshole mode today, just for me?” you ask, pleading with him.

He only huffed dramatically in response. His fingers were gripping at his backpack straps tightly. Something was wrong with him you could tell. It wasn’t even a twin thing, he was just obviously distressed about something. You had no idea what could already be up with him this early in the morning, but you never knew with Bakugou.

You take your seat, which was right next to your brother, and couldn’t help but glance at Todoroki. He had his chin propped up on his hand and seemed sleepier than usually, but he looked so cute. He felt your gaze and his eyes met yours, and you gave him a small smile. He sleepily smiled back and you felt your cheeks heat up.

When you turned back towards the front you could feel your brothers eyes burning into you with anger. You look at him with a annoyed expression and dramatically say, “What?”

He only ignores, eyes still looking at you as if you know why he’s being like this. But really you had no idea, he expected you to know the root of every single little anger issue he had.

The day went by and he continued to ignore you, and when he would speak it’d be one word laced with attitude. You’ve about had enough of him being like this, especially when you had done absolutely nothing wrong.

Your class was outside doing some training exercises when you decided enough was enough. You grabbed your twin by the ear and began pulling him away from the group, and they watched in amusement.

“Let go of me you brat!” He says with his ‘scary’ voice, but it was nothing to you. You use your quirk to heat up your fingers and that makes him shut up.

“You’re going to tell me why you’re being and extra bitch today before I embarrass you infront of this whole class!” you whisper yell at him with stern eyes and hands on your hips.

He lightly chuckles at you, “Someone sounds like Mom right now.”

Yep, your angry side is coming out right now. It was only two months into school but your classmates had yet to witness just how angry you can get. It can be way more intimidating than Bakugou, and you sometimes loose control.

Bakugou noticed the anger building up within you and can feel your classmates eyes looking from afar. He knows you’d be so ashamed to let them see you in your worst state. He moves himself so he’s standing in front of you, and the only thing prying eyes can see is his back.

“C’mon (y/n) breath, don’t go all fire bomb on me. Our class would be more scared of you than me,” he says while having his hands grip your shoulders.

Sometimes it was hard for you to come back to reality when he made you this mad, but he knew how to fix it. You took deep breaths but anger still coursed through you. Yes you were calming down and more aware, but punching your brother in the face would definitely do the trick.

“Now tell me what your problem is,” you say through gritted teeth.

You were tired of this. All of the class heard how he had been talking to you and it was stressing you out. You didn’t want to look like his weak sister who let his words walk all over her.

He lets his hold go on you and wonders his eyes around to look at anything but you. He’s acting all weird all of the sudden, hostile. As if what he’s about to say is going to make the situation even worse than it already is.

“I, uh, may or may not have read your journal,” he starts and your eyes widen, “and know that you like Todoroki.”

You can’t even stop yourself before you’re kneeing him in his groan as hard as you can. He drops to his knees and that’s when you take the opportunity to smack him in the face. You guys may fight a lot but he was your bestfriend and you were to him. And the fact he broke your guys’ privacy rule like this pissed you off.

He yells out in pain before dropping to the ground. His hands stay cupped on his center and there’s already a bright red handprint forming on his cheek. Your classmates stare in complete shock, none of them had ever seen you act this way.

Mr. Aizawa wasn’t happy with this little scene. Usually he lets you two talk it out whenever you’re bickering because you’re siblings and that’s just the best way to go. But to disrupt his class this dramatically without a care in the world pissed him off.

The black haired man was already walking towards you two. The whole class couldn’t even say anything. The fact that you just got Bakugou on the ground with two hits was beyond impressive, and you didn’t even have to use your quirk.

“You two, laps around the school until I tell you to stop, NOW!”

For the next hour and a half of school you and Bakugou ran. You lost track of how many times you’d gone around once your head started to pound. He kept trying to talk to you the entire time but you just kept telling him to, “fuck off.”

Not even once in your life had you gotten into your brothers business. If he wanted to tell you he’d do it himself, and you’d rather it go down like that. Finding out something you’re not supposed to know would make you feel like a bad sister. So you knew Bakugou felt like shit right now, and you wanted him to feel that way.

Finally you could come back to class, but the period only had thirty minutes left until the day was over. The classroom was filled with you and your brothers heavy breathing. Also, you both smelled like shit.

“Take the dynamic sibling duo as an example to not disrupt my class,” Mr. Aizawa says, and you wished you could kick him where the sun doesn’t shine.

The bell rings and Bakugou once again tries to talk to you, but you cut him off, “I already have to deal with you when I get home you dick. So the least you can do is let me walk by myself.”

He doesn’t say anything, he only walks away. Bakugou only seems to understand his limit when it comes to you. He knew he went too far reading something so personal. You’d never did anything like that to him, so why would he do it to you?

You keep your head down as you stuff your books aggressively into your backpack. Anyone watching you right now probably thought you were crazy. You feel a presence walk up to your desk and you tighten your jaw.

“Katsuki Bakugou, if you do not leave me the hell alone i’m going to-“ “Um, sorry it’s Todoroki.”

Your breath hitches as soon as you hear his voice. You halt your movements and slowly lift your head up to look at him. He had a blank expression on his face but he obviously had something to say.

“Oh my gosh Todoroki i’m so sorry. I thought you were my brother, well duh I thought that. I’m just so mad at him I assumed he came back after I told him to go away cause he always does that,” you nervously laugh and realize you’re rambling like an idiot. You gulp and quickly zip up your backpack before slinging it over your shoulder.

“Um, do you need something?” you ask as politely as you can.

It takes a lot for you to get nervous, and this boy definitely doesn’t the trick. You’ve talked to him a good amount of times, but all conversations were short lived because of Bakugou. And each time you have talked you said something stupid out of the growing nerves in your stomach. He never seemed to mind though, but you still chewed yourself out about it.

“Yeah, I was wondering if you’d mind if I walked you home?” He asks with a soft smile.

Your heartbeat increased lightening fast and your words got caught in your throat. He’d never ever asked you anything like this, the boy had never even talked to you outside of school functions.

“Of course I wouldn’t mind,” you say with a squeaky voice and your cheeks heat up. You looked like a complete idiot, but thankfully Todoroki thought you were adorable. Only if you knew.

The walk home was nerve racking but Todoroki’s easygoing self calmed you down a lot. He talked about how his dad was the number two hero, how he wanted to do better, and how life was going. He asked you questions as well, in all honesty he seemed more interested in talking about you than him.

He was awful sweet as the walk went on. You’d never met this side of him and you were enjoying it. You even made him blush a few times which blew your mind. You making Todoroki blush? That’s insane!

“Well,” you say sadly, “this is me.”

He glances at your good sized home before looking back at you. He looked as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“What is it?” You ask concerned.

“Well, I uh,” he purses his lips, “Someone may or may not have told me you had a little crush on me.”

Your mouth fell open and your face reached a full shade of red. His cheeks were red as well, but no where near as bad as yours. You were literally about to panic from how bad your nerves were swirling in your chest.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” you grunt.

It was so hard to not yell right now. You knew he was inside, probably watching tv with your bag of chips. All you wanted was to slam his face into the concrete where you stood. Obviously kneeing his jewels wasn’t enough.

“No, no. I’m glad he told me,” he waves his hands, “Cause I am interested in you too.”

“You’re what?” you ask completely unconvinced, “He put you up to this didnt he? Is this all some big joke to get back at me for embarrassing him?”

Todoroki doesn’t know what to say. You were visibly getting angry, you kinda looked like Bakugou. Of course angry Bakugou didn’t phase him at all, but a pretty girl he had a liking for was a whole other story.

“No, it’s not! I promise!”

You look into his eyes and see how concerned he is. It takes you a few seconds to remember that Todoroki isn’t a complete jerk like your brother and would never entertain you like this. And even if Bakugou was a jerk he wouldn’t go this far.

“Shit, i’m sorry,” you say while looking down, “I got too in my head.”

That’s twice today that you’ve let someone see your anger that you can barely control at times.

“It’s okay (y/n), really. I understand you’re on edge after today,” he softly smiles, “Would you wanna go get some sushi tomorrow?”

Your frown turns into a smile and you nod. At this point you could scream for joy or beat Bakugou up just for the hell of it.

“I’d like that, a lot.”

“Okay,” he says with the same soft smile that you adored, “I’ll be here tomorrow around seven in the afternoon, is that fine?”

“That’s perfect.”

You walk into you living room and there sits your brother doing exactly what you knew he would be doing. Sitting on the couch with your bag of chips in his lap while watching his dumb show.

He looks at your happy expression and sarcastically smiles with chips stuffed him his mouth. You could tell him was angry, as if he knew what state you’d ben in once you walked in the door.

“Why did you tell him I liked him?” you ask

“Cause I knew he liked you too,” he answers while chip crumbs fly out of his mouth.

You crunch your eyebrows together and sit yourself next to him on the couch. You grab his jaw and yank his head to face you, looking at him suspiciously.

“So somehow you knew he liked me,” you say and tighten your grip on his jaw, “and out of the nonexistent kindness of your heart decided to help your sister out?”

He pulls his face out of your grip and puts another chip in his mouth, “yeah, so what?”

You can’t help but smile. This was his way of apologizing, and it really was the best apology ever. He may be an asshat at times but here he was doing something for you cause he cared, even if he hated every second of it.

“Oh my gosh!” you said loudly, “You love your sister! This is insane!”

Of course you already knew this, you were just being sarcastic to bug him further. He didn’t pay you any attention and continued to watch his show. You could cry cause you were so happy. You had a date and your brother did something nice for you. It was a good day after all, even through all the bad.

You got up with a big smile, “Thank you Baku.”

He only mumbles in response, still not wanting to acknowledge that he did something nice for you. You get up and start walking to your room, but your brothers voice stops you in your tracks.

“(y/n),” he says, “if he breaks your heart i’m breaking his face, and every bone in his body.”

You only giggle at him, “It’s a deal.”

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henryandalex · 4 years

Text

***Magnus and Alec are husbands. Yes, this needed to be said because CAN YOU BELIEVE? :’) But also, yes, it’s really been that long since the latest Malec fic rec. I’m sorry. It’s... yeah. Although if you also miss Malec every second of every day, reading fanfics at least helps a little.

I tried to collect a nice mix again so I hope you will enjoy this 9th (!!!) edition of my Malec fanfic rec posts. As usual, I enjoy making them and rec’ing you fics but these posts take a looooot of time so please, please, please reblog, like and spread the word so that I see you enjoy these and these posts are helpful. It motivates to do a new one in the future if y’all are interested. Thank you

And now, have fun discovering, reading, and loving those Malec fics. And leave a kudo and comment for those authors while you’re on it. We all love appreciation and need validation. :)***

previous Malec fic recs: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

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42 NORTH 71 WEST by @lecrit [ M | AU | 62.1k | complete ]

Alec sometimes wonders why he ever decided to pursue a career in politics. Magnus sometimes questions whether pursuing his dream of becoming an actor was worth it.

Those two facts are not necessarily mutually exclusive.

THE SHOW MUST GO ON by @unrestrainedlyexcessive [ E | AU | 21.3k | complete ]

Alec pulls up to the gold intercom positioned at the enormous front gates. Like everything owned by the obscenely wealthy, they’re proportioned for both for giants and giant egos.

He’d hoped this would be easier, less gut-churning work than protecting diplomats and foreign dignitaries, some guilty of truly terrible things, but being a bodyguard for a coddled popstar who can’t even be bothered with basic safety isn’t his idea of a good time.

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Magnus is a popstar and Alec is his reluctant bodyguard. The bodyguard au in epistolary form. Image-heavy.

HIGHER THAN THE BIG TREES by @carmenlire [ E | AU | 242k | complete ]

Alec loves his job. He’s been touring since he was sixteen. He’s stayed in dozens of countries over the years, learned enough of their languages to get a beer in his hand and a man in his bed. The road is as much his home as the townhouse on the Upper West Side. He’s as comfortable in cheap hotel rooms with scratchy linens and glaring lights as he is in his penthouse that overlooks Central Park with its silk sheets and the constant hum of the city that never sleeps. Alec works hard and that hard work has paid off. He just finished his latest sold-out world tour and by all rights, he should be on top of the world. But the mental pressure of celebrity is getting to Alec and he doesn't trust his footing. He's stuck where most people would kill to be and he just wants to know what his next move should be. Enter Magnus Bane. A history professor at Columbia University, Magnus is content with his friends, his classes, and the occasional warm body in his bed. But he's been feeling stagnant, looking for the next chapter in his life to begin. If only he knew what Alec would bring his way.

THE SECRET OF THE SECRET SANTA by @notcrypticbutcoy [ T | AU | 12.7k | complete ]

As busy doctors with busy schedules, Magnus and Alec have danced around their feelings for each other for years, much to the chagrin of their friends. This Christmas, Simon decides it’s time for an intervention-in the form of a shamelessly rigged secret santa.

Or: In which Simon rigs the secret santa, Magnus and Alec flirt over nerdy doctor things, and are both a little bit oblivious.

RUMOR HAS IT by @lecrit [ M | AU | 12.9k | complete ]

Magnus widens his eyes at him, silently asking him to just give him this one. Alec simply curves one of his stupidly perfect eyebrows in response, a simple gesture that carries the weight of a call for challenge. “Looks like you’re gonna have to postpone your wedding for now,” Maia giggles next to him. Magnus huffs, flexing his jaw. “Oh, it’s on, Lightwood,” he mouths at him.

Or the one where Alec and Magnus are both after the same guy, but end up falling for each other instead.

CIGARETTE by j__writes [ T | AU | 3.1k | complete ]

His relationship with Magnus Bane had been nothing short of frustrating.

Frustrating in the worst of ways. Frustrating in the best of ways.

ABSOLUTELY ABYSMAL by @aemiliafawn [ E | 4.8k | complete ]

The first time Alec sees Magnus wearing lipstick he wants to do filthy things to him. Magnus isn't exactly opposed to this.

A ROYAL AFFAIR by j__writes [ M | AU | 38.8k | complete ]

Prince meets professor and it's love at first sight. Lucky (or maybe unlucky) for him, the beautiful professor doesn't know his boyfriend's a prince.

HEAVEN IS A TASTE ON EARTH by @alittlebriton [ T | AU | 20.7k | complete ]

Making a birthday cake for the renowned chef Magnus Bane is a hard enough task – made harder still by the fact his girlfriend doesn’t seem to know Magnus’ likes or dislikes at all. Alec Lightwood, maker of some of the finest cakes in Brooklyn, is up to the challenge, even if he can’t take his eyes off the birthday boy. But as Alec and Magnus grow closer, could it be that the missing ingredient is true love?

LOVE & OTHER DRUGS by @la-muerta [ E | AU | 2k | complete | Semi-Charmed Kind Of Life #1 ]

Rising rockstar Magnus Bane’s life is all about sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll - it's an old cliché, but sometimes the clichés are true. And Alec Lightwood, a bassist from another band, is a drug Magnus can't get enough of - even if he knows that like any drug, he's sinking deeper with every hit he takes, and that this is killing him slowly and painfully.

Because this is just about sex, and Alexander doesn't love him back.

OUR LOVE IS A HARSH CHORD by @la-muerta [ E | AU | 21.9k | complete | Semi-Charmed Kind Of Life #2 ]

Magnus lives in two worlds: one of blinding stage lights and the thunder of the adoring crowd stomping its feet to the rhythm of his music; and one of the darkness offstage, a blur of lonely hotel rooms, one-night stands, drugs, and the sting of whiskey.

Magnus lives in two worlds, both of them stark, bleak, empty - until Alec Lightwood comes along, and everything falls apart.

MELTING MOLTEN by @raininginadelaide [ E | 4k | complete ]

The training scene in the show was their second attempt. The first time, Alec showed even less restraint.

SUPPORT SYSTEM by @bytheangell [ T | AU | 122.8k | complete | Support System #1 ]

When Alec's favorite show gets cancelled and he takes to messaging customer service repeatedly to show his support, he doesn't expect to connect so well with the support representative he keeps getting paired off with.

PAGING DR. LIGHTWOOD-BANE by @carmenlire [ not rated | AU | 4.4k | complete ]

Alec scowls. “I’m not on rotation this weekend-- I’m not even on call-- and we decided to make the most out of it.”

“We,” Maia asks, brows inching towards her hair line. “Who’s we?”

“My husband and I,” he mutters and he rolls his eyes as it's like a bomb’s been detonated in the middle of the table.

Simon screeches, “What,” and even Jace and Isabelle are looking at him with wide eyes.

“You’re married?”

Or, the one where everybody finds out

TRUTH OR DARE? by @atowncalledmalec [ E | AU | 4.5k | complete ]

Two small-town cops, partners, Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane, have somehow pulled desk duty on the graveyard shift. Bored out of their minds and finding a lie detector machine, the chance of winning a $50 bet and being able to ask the questions they've always wanted to ask is too good of an opportunity to pass up. Alec gets a little more than he bargained for though when the machine betrays him at every turn. And so does Magnus.

EVERYTHING I DIDN’T KNOW I WANTED FOR CHRISTMAS by @la-muerta [ T | AU | 4.5k | complete ]

Alec got his Christmas shopping done months ago - but he should have known that Jace would mess it all up for him. Now he's out braving the crowds on Christmas Eve trying to find a toy that's sold out everywhere for his son, and as it turns out, he's not the only desperate single father out there who will stop at nothing to get his hands on that last toy in the shops.

CERTAIN PERKS by quill_and_ink [ E | 5.5k | complete ]

"You never have to prove yourself to me."

Shadowhunters are being murdered and mutilated. The Clave is getting desperate to find the culprit, but Alec has to believe there's another way. He won't let this end his relationship with Magnus - he refuses to accept that, and he'll do whatever he can to protect them.

Based on the dialogue and actions from "Shadowhunters" Episode 2x13: "Those of Demon Blood"

THE TRUTH UNTOLD by @carmenlire [ not rated | 4.4k | complete ]

Magnus closes his eyes and leans into the feelings that wrap around him. They’re two of the most powerful men in the New York shadow world. It makes his chest ache sometimes, the knowledge that they may never be able to take their relationship public, that he won’t ever be able to kiss Alec on a sunny day in the city, that they can’t hold hands as they walk through Central Park, that whenever they do see each other in public it’s always in an official capacity and they’re relegated to formal greetings while their eyes try to say everything they can’t.

He’d still take this over not having Alec, though. That Magnus knows without a doubt.

ANYTHING YOU SAY by @milominderbindered [ M | AU | 117k | complete ]

Detective Alec Lightwood likes his job. He likes the order of it, likes helping people, likes that he gets to work with Jace and that Izzy is always right downstairs in the morgue too. He's wanted to be a cop ever since he was a kid, just like his parents before him, and now he's living that dream. His life should be perfect.

There's just one problem. Their precinct has just gotten a new forensic expert -- Magnus Bane.

And honestly, he's so cute that Alec's kind of losing his mind.

EMISSARY OF SIN by @insiemes [ M | AU | 97.6k | complete ]

Alec Lightwood, the Clave's top protection agent, is called upon to guard the life of his mortal enemy - one of the world's most notorious hitmen, Magnus Bane.

SHOOT TO KISS by @dantes-wombat [ M | 5k | complete ]

As far as dates go, this one's a bit more weapons-centered than Magnus expected - but also a lot sexier.

IF YOU’VE GOT THE MONEY, I’VE GOT THE TIME by j__writes [ T | AU | 73.4k | complete ]

Alec has made plenty of questionable choices, as Izzy likes to so kindly remind him. Asking Magnus to be his fake boyfriend and then offering to pay him? That, right there, he doesn’t know what the fuck he was thinking. And he wasn’t. But Magnus is really nice and really fucking hot, and if Alec gets to pretend to be his boyfriend then… win - win, right?

ANONYMOROUS by @superficialpeasant [ E | AU | 10.6k | complete ]

When one of Clary’s art exhibition performers drops out last minute, Alec steps in to help. Unfortunately that also means he’ll be having sex with a stranger in public.

DATE NIGHT by @unrestrainedlyexcessive [ G | 562 | complete ]

“Look, it’s no big deal,” Alec says. “The angles in pool are just like archery. I have a natural advantage.”

“Pretty sure I beat you the first time we played,” Magnus says, taking a sip of his martini. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so relaxed, so at home in a relationship.

That is, until Alec started winning.

HARDER THAN THE LIQUOR I POUR by @carmenlire [ not rated | AU | 6.5k | complete ]

The bartender considers him for a moment before holding out the hand that was over his just a second before. “I’m Magnus, bartender extraordinaire. While I certainly wouldn’t mind calling you pretty boy for the rest of the evening, I think it only fair that you share your name, too. Don’t you?”

Slowly, Alec reaches out and grasps Magnus’s hand in a poor imitation of a handshake. He meets Magnus’s eyes and knows they both know that this is a mere prelude for what’s to come.

“Alec,” he says slowly and watches as Magnus’s smile deepens.

“Well, Alec, my shift ends in an hour. Wait for me?”

CREAM by @ohfreckle [ E | 3.4k | complete ]

Sometimes Magnus likes to wear panties.

“Are you kidding? You look amazing!” Alec wishes he were more eloquent, that he could miraculously find the words and praise to express how fucking hot Magnus is with his little panties on.

SAY IT by @ilovealeclightwood [ E | 4k | complete ]

“I want you,” Magnus pressed his lips to Alec’s neck, the sensation of his lips against the deflect rune making Alec shudder again.

“To admit,” Magnus continued, pausing to run his tongue over the length of the rune, sending sparks of pleasure through Alec and making him try to jerk his hips up again.

“That I was right.” Magnus pulled away from his neck to look down at him and it took a second for what he meant to click with Alec.

---

Or, Magnus and Alec solve petty arguments in a sensable, responsible manner

ALL NIGHT (OR A HUNDRED YEARS) by @hourglassmermaid [ T | 4.3k | complete ]

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Raphael,” Magnus chastises. “You know I take care of my friends.”

Friends. The word stings more than kuri venom; it lingers far longer than any demon attack ever could. It lingers in Alec’s mind when he’s tossing and turning at night imagining what they could have been if Alec hadn’t been such a coward all those years ago. It lingers in his heart whenever they’re alone, and Alec swears he sees a glimmer of those feelings Magnus must have buried long ago. And it lingers in his soul whenever they work together as allies, as leaders, as partners, because they really are compatible in all the ways that count.

But none of that matters, because they’re just friends.

---

Alec and Magnus are colleagues — maybe even friends. Definitely allies. Alec's content, with his life, his career, and even his (lack of) relationships, but sometimes when Magnus sits beside him, Alec may or may not cease to function. It's okay; he's okay.

I SAW PAPA KISSING SANTA CLAUS by j__writes [ G | AU | 3.3k | complete ]

“I heard a noise and so I snuck out. He didn’t see me but I saw him. I saw Santa and then I saw Papa and he kissed Santa, Raf.”

LIKE NOBODY ELSE by @carmenlire [ not rated | AU | 3.7k | complete ]

Simon’s been Alec’s assistant for the past three years. Alec was a hard ass, no doubt about it. He had exacting standards, a perpetually sardonic expression, and Simon had literally never seen the man smile.

Lightwood had exploded onto the scene ten years ago and in that time, he’s made a name for himself that no one else could rival. He might not be well liked but everyone-- even his enemies-- respected Lightwood.

Or, Simon is Alec's secretary and doesn't realize just how little he knows about his boss until he solves a mystery.

SEXY SNAPSHOTS by @tobythewise [ E | AU | 2.8k | complete ]

“Anything interesting on there?” Alec asks, a teasing note in his voice as he nods at the camera. “Anything sexy?" “Not at the moment.” Magnus raises his brow. “Wanna change that?” OR The one where Magnus and Alec explore what it's like to have sexy times while snapping sexy pictures of each other.

PUNDAMENTALS OF OFFICE RIVALRY by @bytheangell [ T | AU | 3.8k | complete ]

When Magnus and Alexander get off on the wrong foot at the start of their internship, Magnus takes it upon himself to annoy Alec at every turn.

WORSE THINGS THAN BEING IN LOVE by @aemiliafawn [ E | 4.6k | complete ]

Their wedding was everything they had ever dared to dream of. But perhaps their wedding night was just as special.

CRYPTIDS OF BROOKLYN by @alexanderlightweight [ M | AU | 2.3k | complete ]

For all the rather redundant and overused jokes made about lawyers and sharks, never was such a comparison or joke made concerning Alec Lightwood, as there was one glaring difference between the two ruthless predators.

Sharks smiled, Alec Lightwood didn’t.

ZERO COMPLAINTS by @aemiliafawn [ E | 3.3k | complete ]

Usually when someone wakes Magnus up before sunrise they'd have to face his wrath – however since Alec decides to make it actually worthwhile for the exhausted warlock, Magnus finds he doesn't mind making an exception just once.

HAHA JUST KIDDING... UNLESS? by @carmenlire [ not rated | AU | 2.5k | complete ]

"You know Magnus wouldn’t joke about boning his best friend just to do it. You mean too much to him and we all know how gone you’ve been over Magnus since, like, eighth grade.”

Alec sighs and it feels like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “I can’t get my hopes up, Jace. I’ve been in love with him for years but he doesn’t feel the same way.”

Groaning like they’ve gone around the block about this a thousand times-- because they have-- Jace facepalms. “How many times do I have to tell you-- Magnus feels what you feel but you’re both too stupid to get past your own hang-ups to talk about it.”

TAKE IT EASY by @la-muerta [ E | AU | 18.2k | complete ]

Alec signs up for a session with a professional male dominant, just a one-time thing to satisfy his curiosity. It most definitely doesn't end up being just a one-time thing.

THE LONELY HEARTS HOTLINE by @unrestrainedlyexcessive [ E | AU | 40.6k | complete ]

“Hey there,” Alec says in the lowest, sexiest voice he can manage. It sounds vaguely disinterested but some people get off on that.

“Hi,” the voice says.

“Ready to have some fun?”

The voice makes a small, sad noise.

“Or not?” Alec tries hastily. He gets paid regardless of what they're talking about. “We can just chat for a while.”

“What’s your name,” the voice says finally.

“Uh, Chad,” Alec says. He was drunk when he picked his name, just as he was drunk when he answered the job wanted ad. He should have picked something sexy like Tristan, but he’s forever Chad now, the douchiest phone sex operator in history. He balances his bowl of macaroni carefully on his stomach and sneaks a quick bite.

“You don’t sound like a Chad,” the voice says doubtfully.

“Why the hell not?” Alec says before he can stop himself, mouth full of pasta.

“--are you eating?”

“No,” Alec lies and swallows.

---

Alec is a bored phone sex operator. Bafflingly, Magnus just wants to talk about music.

BRIGHT LIGHTS, SMALL TOWN by @lecrit [ E | AU | 104.3k | complete | To Build A Home #1 ]

When Magnus gets to Nashville, Indiana to handle his late mother's will, he doesn't expect to be forced to stay there for six months. Six months away from New York and lost in the wildness of the countryside.

It quickly appears that he is going to go through six months of living hell.

The fact that he hates the local veterinarian on sight isn't helping.

BRIGHT LIGHTS, SMALL TOWN: EXTRAS by @lecrit [ E | AU | 12.6k | complete | To Build A Home #2 ]

A combination of extras for Bright Lights, Small Town.

EARTH’S MIGHTIEST HEROES by @lecrit [ M | AU | 141.9k | complete | Avengers Assemble #3 ]

The thing is… Their plans have a history of not going accordingly so when they finally do, maybe they build a confidence a bit too quickly. Breaking Magnus out turns out to be indeed a formality. Selling the ruby, too. So what could possibly go wrong now?

In which our team of misfits has to deal with the consequences of messing with a dangerous man and again, everything goes according to plan. Or not.

COLOR ME BLUE by @carmenlire [ not rated | AU | 18.8k | complete ]

Christmas is his favorite time of the year but Alec has barely had time to buy presents let alone enjoy the holiday season. December seems to have lasted the blink of an eye and Alec's shoulders hunch as he realizes morosely that most of this year is a blur of emergencies and rounds and consultations.

His gaze snags on a bakery display as he walks past. The window is dressed with multicolored lights and garland wrapping around the edges. The display case is full and Alec’s mouth waters just at the sight.

Without conscious thought, Alec is reaching for the door to Bane's Bakery, eager to see if the interior is just as whimsical and welcoming as the outside.

#malec #malec fic #malec fic rec #malec fanfic #shadowhunters #fic rec #fanfic #otp: look what i have waiting for me

1K notes · View notes

the-firebird69 · 7 months

Text

FOCUS ON YOUR GOAL

It's a story about groot and we think BG plays our son's granddaddy. And it's an honor of the story because it's kind of a ruse and it doesn't matter afterwards because they can't access it they went ahead and made the program on board turned it on and left the embeds on board somewhere and left Peter went to the secret chamber found the program went on board and lost possibly is life probably use the program and it initialized Dave and Carol's entire program which is what people do to stupid people and these people are mean and stupid

Thor Freya

He's watching you at the house Peter and you are not smart or wise he knew what you were up to all the time he was telling me about it where and when you're going and what you're doing to a degree just in regular talk and you are not as smart as you think you are by any means and there's machines and the thing like that and there's no way you could have tracked everything or been prepared in a suit you're more vulnerable no but you'd have to be able to run it on your power only or your or your vulnerable and you're not strong enough for long enough could have been if that's the way you did it and prepped for it

Zues Hera

I do know a bit about programming but I see what you're saying if I got it from a secret chamber and went in there I'm probably screwed if I got it from where he put it I could be screwed it could have been in hardware somewhere on the ship and activated by me activating something because it's his hardware and Preston filled me in there's a whole bunch of ways that's the way you're talking about it it's probably what happened and if I interrogated him he's a tough person to talk to and I know that so I didn't interrogate him not really and it probably didn't work out too good and then he says the things not here and if it's not your program and you used his in any way you're screwed so I do know what I did and I'm not telling people

Tommy f

This sucks and shut up Dan you know we're idiots we're making him mad all the time and they need all the stuff to conquer whatever the hell is coming I don't believe that you're right about anything Dan you're not he's right too this hardware stuff is a huge pain I've seen people struggle with it for hours and hours and hours and it's Max and I see Tommy Allen not do anything a lot of people can't figure lots of it out all these buildings are rigged and tons of them are dying by electrical shock alone and yeah they disappear we're not good at it and Tommy f is probably not that great at it so I'd like to know what the hell happened this guy had huge armies so Jagger he said that would be required down there to do that job but you have to use his own program and I don't care if we railroad rewrote or whatever and doesn't matter as program sucks one of the others would have taken it over possibly George and that makes sense to us he says he had covered I said one of the others would have taken it over if you send it up there with a program and why would you do that he asked the question so do I

Trump

I guess I'm right about something you guys have good questions I can't really answer them in any way I sort of have to I wouldn't use his computer and we searched the whole thing and I guess it was me I said when I searched with it would take years so I guess he's right there too people searched it and with a whole bunch of Jager who's asking me how big the computer is and how it accessed it and I noticed something he might know and he doesn't necessarily believe me the computer was pretty big it wasn't as big as the hall and it wasn't half the size it was huge and he says he thinks it's half the size of the ship 5000 miles wide so I guess we might be screwed cuz I think I'm lying I'll tell you what though he knows how he designed it it's very disgustingly scary that the thing so huge he knows he said to make a huge I'm starting to see what he's saying and he didn't know about me everybody's going to attack me and I don't have a way out of it and I was living with him this is going to suck very badly

Tommy f

We went over it with him he said he couldn't search it but he had all these Yeager and he had many trillions and it would have been possible but still you're right this shielding and stuff it's hard to see and there's double and triple walls and you'd have to tear the whole place apart or send micro robots everywhere and they be messed around with and I don't believe him but he might have the embeds that's true you probably wouldn't want it on the ship with the AI

Preston

This is all very true so we're going to publish

Joe

Wow. We finally get to see it this has been such a hassle and these kids don't know what they're doing and they don't know what they're covering up it's a huge emergency and yeah December 25th that's terrific

Shaquille O'Neal

Olympus our son is our boy and he loves his wife and he wants her back he knows what she is down here and he knows who Kenny is so don't say stuff about him we're going to come get you if you do

0 notes

kinglazrus · 4 years

Text

Therefore I am

Phic phight 2020

Submitted by @kili-kai-wox (kilikani on ffn): Danny is surprised when he receives an A+. I wonder what subject it could be from?

Summary: There are two things Danny never expected to get out of his philosophy class: an A+ and to be confronted about his never-ending existential crisis

Warnings: discussion of/thoughts about death and the meaning of death.

Word count: 2971

Today is a grim day for Danny Fenton. It just might be the end of him. He's backed into a corner, enemies approached from all sides. His allies have abandoned him. Friends, family, all gone. He's on his own out here and it doesn't look like he's going to make it. Rations are getting low.

Jazz slaps her hand against her forehead and groans. "Don't be so dramatic!"

Danny, pinned against the lockers by his friends and sisters, howls in outrage. "I'm almost out of gummy bears!" He shoves the near empty plastic bag in Jazz's face, shaking it furiously. "And look! It's mostly just the white ones! I might as well starve."

"Ooh, I love the white ones!" Tucker snatches the bag out of Danny's hand. Fishing a few gummies out, he pops them into his mouth and chews, a blissful smile on his lips.

Danny moans. "My rations."

Sam rolls her eyes.

Danny was on his way to the cafeteria for lunch when they cornered him. They came out of nowhere, surging out from the crowd of shuffling students, surrounding him before he could realize what was happening.

With Jazz in front of him, Sam to his left, and Tucker to his right, they block off all routes of escape. Except the ghostly ones, but too many students are milling about for him to safely use his powers.

Danny doesn't like the look in their eyes. Sam's eager glint, Tucker's grin, Jazz's stern frown. They all set him on edge.

"Can I just please go to lunch?" he begs. Thanks to Skulker, Danny didn't have time to eat breakfast this morning, except a handful of cereal. The only thing he wants right now is to go get some food, even if it's the crappy cardboard pizza they serve in the cafeteria. He needs sustenance damn it!

Tucker stealing his gummy bears is the deepest betrayal he could get right now.

"No," Jazz and Sam say at the same time.

Tucker stealing his gummy bears is the second deepest betrayal.

"Come on, man," Tucker says around a mouthful of gummies. "Just spill it."

"It wasn't my fault," Danny whines, wilting against the lockers. Jazz's frown deepens, turning from disappointment into a full-blown pout. Left with no other choice, Danny relents. "Fine! But I'm telling you, he was asking for it."

He's about to expose his plans but stops when he catches their confused faces. "What?" he asks.

"Lancer was asking for it?" Sam asks. She leans against the lockers next to Danny, eyebrow raised.

"Lancer?"

"Yeah. Mikey told us what happened in philosophy class. And we told Jazz," Tucker says. "What do you think we're talking about?"

Danny thinks about his parents' new ecto grenade—completely harmless to humans, of course—rigged up in Dash's locker, ready to explode as soon as someone opens the door. "It's not important right now. Philosophy? I got an A, yeah. Awesome, right?"

"And you didn't tell me!" Jazz says, offended.

Oh, Danny thinks. That's why she looked disappointed. He doesn't know how he was supposed to tell her, though, because this is the first time he's seen her all morning.

"Dude, you didn't just get an A," Tucker says.

"Okay, A+."

"Dude."

Sam, exasperated, grabs Danny's shoulders and forcibly turns him toward her. "Mikey told us how Lancer stood up at the front of the class and said your paper was the best he'd ever read in that class."

"Oh." Danny's cheeks burn and he ducks his head. "Yeah. That."

When he turned the paper in last week, he honestly thought he would fail the assignment. The night before it was due, Cujo managed to dig his way out of the Ghost Zone again and immediately wanted to play. Danny was happy to oblige since, for once, he had all his homework done on time and there were no ghosts to take care of that night. The real trouble came when he had to go downstairs for dinner, leaving Cujo in his room with a stern reminder not to leave it.

Miraculously, Cujo obeyed the command. But that meant there was a bored, excitable puppy in Danny's room, alone, for almost an hour, with nothing to play with. His room hadn't been neat when he left it, but it was trashed by the time he came back. His backpack was particularly mangled, and his essay ripped to shreds.

Danny hadn't thought Lancer would accept "a ghost dog ate my homework," as an excuse for not having the assignment done. But he no longer had the library books he used to write the damn thing in the first place. Which meant he had to replace his typed, carefully referenced, well-thought out essay with a rushed, handwritten mess that consisted only of Danny's personal thoughts.

Suffice to say, he wasn't too confident in the new essay. The last thing he expected was to get a passing grade for it, much less actual praise. Danny doesn't get praise, not outside hero work, at least. He gets lots of sighs and disappointed looks. Maybe a stern, "This is proof you can do better," when he pulls a grade higher than a D. But not praise. Never praise.

"It was... something," Danny says. He doesn't usually get embarrassed by attention, although that doesn't necessarily mean he likes it either. But getting called out by Lancer in front of the whole class was an entirely new experience.

Before Lancer started handing out the papers, he had stood at the front of the class and waved the stack in the air.

"I have to say, I'm very impressed by the work some of you did. Very thoughtful," he started. "But there is one paper in particular that I would like to bring up."

Lancer shuffled through the stack, shifting everything around until a bundle of loose leaf ripped from a notebook sat on top. The pages were stapled poorly, and the handwriting was borderline illegible. Danny knew instantly it was his and expected the worst.

"This paper was, perhaps, the most insightful essay I've ever read in all my time teaching this class," Lancer said. He beamed in Danny's direction. "It was speculative, introspective, and intuitive. Written purely from the student's own thoughts on life and death. This is what philosophy is about, and I hope I can see similar work from the rest of you in the future."

Danny sank into his seat as Lancer walked down the aisle, heading right for him, and held his paper out.

"Thanks," Danny muttered, taking his assignment. He couldn't bear to lift his gaze and meet the burning stares of his peers. The worst part, though was when Lancer asked to see Danny at the end of the day.

"Are you gonna go?" Tucker asks.

"I don't know." Danny's grip on his backpack tightens as he thinks about the paper stuffed inside. "I'm not in trouble or anything, and it didn't really sound like I have to go."

"I think you should." Jazz reaches out and ruffles Danny's hair, smiling proudly at him. "You did good, little brother. You're smart, and Lancer knows that. Whatever he wants to talk to about, I'm sure it's good."

Danny grumbles, shoving Jazz's hand away and fixing his hair. He doesn't make it neat, but he messes it up the way he likes it to be messed up. There's a difference.

"I guess. As long as no ghosts interrupt, I'll go," Danny says. Jazz is right—she usually is, much to his chagrin. Whatever Lancer wants, after what he said about Danny's paper, it has to be good. But he still hopes the Box Ghost shows up so that Danny doesn’t have to go.

"Can I have my gummy bears back?" Danny asks, turning to Tucker.

Tucker, cheeks puffed with gummies, looks down at the empty bag. He slowly shakes his head. "I don't think you want them back."

—

Danny hesitates outside Lancer's door. The final bell rang five minutes ago, and most students have already fled the school grounds. The football team is still here, somewhere, because they have practice in half an hour. Everyone else is out front waiting for their buses. Jazz left in the initial crowd. Sam and Tucker offered to hang around and wait for him, but Danny waved them off and told them to go ahead. They have better things to do.

It crosses Danny's mind that he can lie to them. If he skips out and only tells them he talked to Lancer, they will probably accept it and leave it at that. Jazz might probe him a little about it, but if he acts annoyed about it, she'll stop. But he's being ridiculous. There's no real reason why he can't walk through this door right now and get this over with. Jazz is right. It's probably a good thing. But something about it sets Danny on edge.

Sighing heavily, he reaches out and knocks on Lancer's door, standing on his toes to peek through the window.

Lancer, sitting at his desk, grading a pile of new assignments, looks up. He sees Danny and smiles, waving him inside.

Danny pauses for a second, then turns the handle and steps into the room.

"Please, Mr. Fenton, close the door and take a seat," Lancer says.

Danny does as told, closing the door a little too hard, and shuffles over to the desk closest to Lancer's. Swinging his backpack off his shoulder, he sets it down on the floor beside him and slides into the chair.

While Lancer makes a few more notes on the paper in front of him, Danny scans the classroom. Sometimes it feels like he spends half his day in this room. Lancer teaches a surprising number of courses. Danny's almost impressed by the range. Little hints of each course are scattered throughout the room. A poster about calculating surface area by the window, a cartoonish timeline of US history along the top of the wall, aperiodic table taking up most of the back wall.

For philosophy, there's a collage of famous philosophers taped to the front of Lancer's desk. Danny thinks a former student made it, because it's just some images cut out and glued onto a stiff piece of poster board.

Danny stares at each face in the collage, trying to recognize them. Friedrich Nietzsche is the only one he can identify by name. The only reason Danny remembers him in the first place is his wild mustache. Hard to forget something like that.

"Mr. Fenton."

Danny's head snaps up, gaze jumping to Lancer.

"I'd like to congratulate you again for writing such a wonderful paper" Lancer says. "But I had a few questions."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Are you okay, Mr. Fenton?"

Danny blinks. "I– what?"

"In your paper, you spoke a lot about death, dying, and our perceptions of life now that we know there is some form of afterlife. Some of your points were rather... personal."

Danny thinks back over his paper. The moment he realized he had to make the whole thing up, he decided to talk about the one philosophical debate he was personally invested in: the significance of life after death. He mentioned his parents' views on the matter, that ghosts are mindless monsters, but mostly spoke about his own and what questions he had about it. Thanks to his personal experience with dying, he had a lot to talk about.

Lancer reaches for an open notebook sitting on his desk. Lifting it up, he scans the page for a moment, then reads, "'Some people falsely believe ghosts are not, and never were, human, but are instead creatures from another dimension connected to our own. While some ghosts definitely aren't human, I have met countless that were. They remember living and dying, and there is evidence of their human lives left behind. What does this mean for people who are still living? If we can die and nothing changes for us, does dying matter at all?'"

Danny immediately recognizes his own words. Lancer must have written down what Danny said in his essay. It makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t want his thoughts lying around where anyone can read them. He especially doesn't want Lancer to pick and choose them at random for whatever this conversation is.

"That doesn't really sound personal," Danny mutters.

"No, it doesn't," Lancer agrees. "But the things you go on to say after this point are concerning, to say the least. Which brings me back to my original question. Are you okay?"

Danny's face scrunches as he thinks. So what if he got personal? It's a personal matter. That was the whole point when he wrote it. He doesn't understand what Lancer's getting at.

Lancer sighs and keeps going. "'Lots of people think about what happens after they die. Usually, they're talking about religion and what waits for them on the other side. Personally, I wonder about what happens to everything I leave behind, and what dying would do for me.' Would you like to expand on that?"

Danny leans away. "No?"

"What dying would do for you," Lancer repeats.

"What are you– oh." Finally, realization dawns on Danny. He squirms uncomfortably. "I'm not– I don't want to–"

He cuts himself off with a sight. How is he supposed to explain what's going on in his head without giving his secret away? Danny's not okay, but he isn't not okay, either. He's just... dead.

He died, but he lived, and it changed him. And yet, at the same time, nothing changed at all. In the grand scheme of things, Danny died and everything stayed the same. No one noticed, except his friends, who were there and are probably scarred for life.

Besides, Danny lived, in the end. So he's supposed to be fine, right? But he doesn't know how to deal with going through something that traumatic and realizing it didn't matter.

Ghosts look at life differently. They don't regret dying because once you're dead, whatever led up to that point no longer matters. They remember their lives, but they don't care about them. If Danny had died all the way that day, he wouldn't care either. Thinking about that messes him up.

Lancer watches him expectantly. Danny realizes he's been silent for too long, and he has to say something.

"It's complicated."

"We have the time, if you'd like to try," Lancer says.

Danny shakes his head. "I really don't. You don't need to be worried about me, or anything. I don’t want to die or anything. I just..."

My whole life is just one big existential crisis.

"Mr. Fenton." Lancer stands up, pushing away from his desk.

Danny keeps his eyes on the philosophy collage as Lancer approaches. Holding himself perfectly still, he doesn’t look away, even as Lancer crouches next to Danny's desk.

"Okay."

There's nothing special about the word, or the way Lancer says it. He has no clue what's going on in Danny's mind right now, but he's looking at Danny with warm eyes, offering him a comforting smile, and Danny actually feels like he could be okay.

"For whatever it's worth, Mr. Fenton, I don't think my days would be the same without you. But I understand."

He really doesn't, but Danny appreciates the effort.

"If this isn't something you'd like to talk about with me, I won't push it. Perhaps I could have approached you more delicately about the matter." Lancer pats Danny's shoulder. "I hope you will talk to someone, if you need it. And don't let this stop you from pursuing your interest in philosophy."

Danny doesn't have the heart tell Lancer he only took the class because he thought it would be easy.

"You have a knack for it."

"Um, thank you," Danny says.

Lancer pats him again, then stands. "Don't let me keep you. I'm sure, as you students would say, you have to get vibing."

Danny grimaces. "We really wouldn't."

Dismissed, he gathers up his backpack and practically sprints to the door, yanking it open. Halfway out, he pauses, looking back over his shoulder. Lancer is back at his desk already, resuming his grading.

"Thanks, Mr. Lancer," Danny says. "You're not really 'hip', but... you are kind of cool."

He runs out of the room before Lancer can respond. Lips pressed in a firm line, he contemplates whether today was good or bad after all. A+ on his essay? Good. Getting praised in front of the class? It sounded good, but it felt bad and it was awkward as hell. Tucker eating all his gummy bears? Definitely bad.

The talk he just had with Lancer? Debatable.

Danny rounds the corner, heading for the front doors, and almost barrels right into Dash. He swerves at the last second—thank you reflexes—and skitters out of Dash's way.

"Watch it, Fenfreak," Dash says.

Danny rolls his eyes. "You get more creative every day, Dash. Why are you even still here?"

"Practice tonight, duh," Dash says.

Right. Danny gives Dash a critical look. "Going to your locker?" he asks.

"My stuff's already in the gym, dweeb. Why do you care?"

"I just thought I saw Paulina put some in there early. Could have been a love letter or something." Danny shrugs.

An eager gleam enters Dash's eye. Danny almost feels sorry for the poor guy. He's probably the only person who can't tell Paulina is hopelessly in love with Star. Why else would Paulina say she can't date any boys because she's saving herself for the ghost boy? Seriously.

Dash runs for his locker, yanking it open. As a resounding bang echoes down the hall and green go splatters all over the walls, floor, ceiling, and Dash, Danny finally makes up his mind. Today is a very good day.

#phic phight #phic phight 2020 #tw discussion of death #danny phantom #danny phantom fanficion #phanfic #phicc #tumblroneshots #lancer is a good teacher #lancer bonding #sort of #dash gets pranked because why not

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electric-starburst · 4 years

Text

So there’s this fic...

So those of you who follow me know that I don’t really post my own stuff and usually just reblog whatever shit I find. And whenever I do post my own stuff it’s a short snippet or joke or something.

That’s not the case right now.

No this is not serious or anything I just want to share an amazing fic and talk about it: The Otherness Came (and I knew it’s name) by @pumpkinpaperweight

(Yes this is a School for Good and Evil fic and it’s really good)

Starting here there will be spoilers from the books (specifically from TCY) and Kate’s fic. You have been warned.

So I’m really new to this fandom and this is my first sge fic so you could say there’s some bias but I don’t think it would effect much.

(Disclaimer: I do not know @pumpkinpaperweight and have never interacted with her. I just love her fic(s) and headcanons)

So where should I begin. Ah yes. Never! Tedros

The thing I love about this is that he never really changes personalities. He’s literally the exact same Tedros but he’s got a sexy villain outfit with a chest slit (who’s idea was that? Sophie wasnt there) Its basically like if tedros didn’t always have to worry about the good rules we learned in book one. Which half the time he doesn’t listen to anyway and is the idea this entire fic is based on.

Now the thing is: this actually fits in better than the actual Camelot years. Most people who have read that know this and basically just forgo the original final two books and the ending of QFG. Honestly I kinda have too. But here’s the thing: would we enjoy it as much not knowing the actual canon version? I mean I feel like never! Tedros definitely could have happened easily but would we feel the same about it? I hope we would because it’s an amazing and interesting concept but I don’t really know. Nonetheless it’s still so enjoyable and fits with the never ever theme better.

Anyway the stakes were WAY higher in this one and a lot less deaths because let’s face it: there were way too many deaths in TCY. And yeah I get it deaths are needed but legit if you were an adult? You. Were. Not. Gonna. SURVIVE. Like im pretty sure a lot of them didn’t necessarily NEED to happen to still get to that final point. Like I’m not saying it didn’t flow but there was probably a different way. And no I’m not hating on the series. I love the series. It’s still good but I just thought of these things after seeing something like Kate’s fic. Like Robin’s and Betty’s deaths were both completely unnecessary. But in the fic, they don’t die (hell Robin isn’t ever in it). And THE STAKES. Agathas LIFE was on the line. It keeps Agatha from even having the chance of interfering after Rhian becomes king. SHES the one scim-washed instead of Sophie and it breaks them BOTH. The trial too. It’s rigged and when Rhian finds out he didn’t have a claim he SURRENDERS. It shows his pure Goodness simply manipulated.

Also did I mention Tedros’s outfit and stuff? Because yeah, that needs more attention. It’s fucking hot. Like when he’s put into the bad boy role, he will fucking play it and slay it. It’s a shame that outfit was ruined with Japeth’s blood though. I mean Sophie approved of it so what do you expect. Who knew Tedros had an eye for fashion?

Not to mention Tedros is just a bit darker with his humor. Not much where it’s not Tedros but it’s there. But what do you expect when you find out your soul is evil? It actually makes for a lot of fun jokes. My favorite one is when he breaks everyone out of prison at Rhian’s wedding and is like “hail to Rhian Pendragon, the one true king, on this glorious day of his wedding” (of course he says this sarcastically) and let’s face it: ever!tedros wouldn’t make that joke. But never!tedros? It’s free real estate!

(Of course it’s way funnier in context)

He’s also a bit more dramatic too (like the amount at the end of OTK where his head is chopped off and then he’s like BITCHES IM ALIVE) like it’s otk ending all. The. Time. Which there is NO reason to complain about that. Once again it’s just the never showing and it doesn’t really mess with the personality that much. It’s just a minor trait turned slightly more major.

Also also actually actually Tedros becomes friends with a bunch of nevers (specifically Ravan which is a friendship I think ALL of us never knew we needed). He legit gets the support of a lot of the never kingdoms which is why this is much easier for him.

Plus we have the coven being badass too in case you were wondering.

And there’s a lot more Arthurian lore in this too. Like the crest Tedros adopts (because he shouldn’t be confined to lion, eagle, or snake) is a dragon like it originally is. I mean it is the PenDRAGON line. I’m surprised Soman didn’t use pendragon in the books anyway, so seeing it here was a relief.

Anyway I think that about rounds it out (I don’t want it to be too long even though it already is) but all in all: I love this series but i love this fic more so go read it.

#sge #the school for good and evil #never! tedros #this fic is a masterpiece #agatha of woods beyond #sophie of woods beyond #tedros of camelot #agatha and tedros #hester of ravenswood #anadil of bloodbrook #dot of nottingham #rhian of foxwood #japeth of foxwood

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elysianecho · 4 years

Text

Steve Rogers is a Klutz™

Summary: Getting shot by mobsters and finding Captain America and Spiderman on a roof in the span of one week is weird.

Getting shot, meeting two Avengers, getting helped by one of those Avengers, and then meeting the rest of the gang?

"What is my life coming to?”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x cop!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, some blood, reader being stalked, mentions of gunfights, people falling off ladders. I think that’s everything? Let me know if I’ve missed something!

Word Count: 6593

A/N: This is might make it on time. This is a smidge late. I’m SOOOOO sorry, Anika! Please forgive me. Life is dumb.

Anyway! This is for @anika-ann’s 500 Celebration! You rock, girl! My prompt was:

“Say something so we know you’re okay!” “Ow.”

It will be bolded in the story.

This is a hot mess but: Enjoy!! :D

~~~~~

Why was he here again?

“Okay, so, there’s been these guys that have, like, lasers and bombs and stuff—”

Oh, yeah.

Steve watched as Peter explained what the latest baddies had been up to in Queens. Judging by the amount of arm waving Peter was doing, he was explaining through interpretive dance. He was in fact, listening to Peter, but he was also keeping an eye on their surroundings. According to Peter, the baddies were supposed to hit a bank near here tonight.

“Listen, kid, ya gotta analyze what’s going on around you before you start to jump in. Otherwise you’re gonna miss—”

“Like that door opening?” Peter said, pointing. Steve raised his shield and looked to the roof access door to see a woman step through it backward. She turned and stopped when she saw them. In all honesty, it wasn’t hard to miss Captain America and Spiderman on an empty rooftop.

She blinked at them. She held two brown glass bottles in one hand, a book and bag of chips in her arms, and her phone was lighting her shocked face.

Steve lost most of the ‘choose-your-fighter’ stance, lowered his shield, and extended a hand to show they meant no harm. Peter was muttering under his breath and looking from the woman to Steve.

“I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anything. And I don’t smell anything either,” she said, removing an earbud, “Imma sit right over there and enjoy the sunset.” She moved to a corner and set her things down. Steve noticed a wince as she stood straight and pulled a folding lawn chair from a crevice and set it up.

“What do you mean you don’t smell anything?” Steve asked, finally finding his voice in this weird situation.

She sat down slowly, wincing, twisted the cap off a bottle and took a swig before she grinned at him. He expected alcohol, but the scent of sassafras hit his nose instead.

“Here’s a tip, Spidey,” she said, looking at Peter, “a little cologne goes a long way.” She popped a chip in her mouth and swung one foot at a time on the chair to get comfortable.

Steve looked to Peter who was...smelling his armpit? He hadn’t even realized he was wearing an overabundance of cologne; the kid spent so much time at the Compound anymore it was just—. Steve sighed. It was normal. Great. A supersoldier got so used to someone wearing so much fragrance he became nose-blind to it. But a civilian? Who just happened upon them one night? No problem.

“Also, friendly tip: if you’re gonna keep your ‘secret identity’,” she said with a wide grin and exaggerated air-quotations, “a continuing secret, wear a different cologne when you’re in the suit.” Steve grabbed Peter by the shoulder and pushed him toward the far side of the roof.

“If you’ll excuse us, ma’am,” Steve said, nodding to her. She gave a two-fingered salute and an ‘aye-aye, Cap’n’ as the two moved their position.

~~~~~

It was three days later when Steve was trying to take a walk through the town that he got an odd feeling he was being followed. He and Peter had taken care of the guys they were after: low-level crooks with high-level weapons. A very bad mixture in Steve’s mind.

But now, he didn’t sense danger necessarily, he didn’t hear anything menacing, and it wasn’t like it was a flock of teenagers following him again. That he could hear a mile away over rush hour traffic. Plus, the beard and longer hair helped him blend a bit more.

He kept his stride and turned down an alley to take a couple shortcuts to see if his tag-a-long could keep up. Two minutes later, down this alley, back onto the main street, and down another alley, the feeling was still there. Turning once more, he backed up against the wall and waited. Once his follower got close enough to the corner, he snatched them, forcing them against the wall.

This was something he didn’t expect.

A gasp, the sound of boxes falling, paper crumpling, and a wry smile followed by:

"Well, hello to you, too, handsome."

Her again.

"Why are you following me?" he said, moving his hands over her sides and down her thighs. Call him paranoid, but two years on the run will do that to you.

"Gun and permit are on the waistband," she said, her hands halfheartedly raised. She spread her legs, just to see how far Captain America would go to pat down a woman carrying her groceries.

Which he finally took notice of when he had to move a bag of green beans to lift her pant leg. She bit back a groan when he brought his hands up to her sides again and around to her back.

She had to admit, of all the pat downs she's had in her career, this had to be her favorite: Exceptionally attractive man? Check. Very smooth, deep voice? Check. Warm, rough hands that weren't too rough while gliding down her thighs? Check and check.

Ever since the pardon, Steve Rogers remained a sort of enigma. He still went on missions, which she witnessed just the other night, but he had pulled so far back from the PR world that people were trying to figure out if Captain America was the same person.

Steve ran his hands along her back and found the gun on her waistband and—

"You're a cop," he said, exasperated, holding up her badge. She let her hands fall, smirk still on her face. "Why are you following me?"

"Well, I was out getting groceries, which you probably smashed the eggs, by the way, thanks for that—" she said, taking her offered badge back.

"Why is an off-duty cop getting groceries following me in broad daylight?" Steve asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Because I really just wanted to stare at your ass—I'm being followed, you doofus,"she hissed at him.

"What?" Steve was instantly on high alert, listening more closely to passersby on the main street and all around. He chanced a peek around the corner to see if anyone had followed her. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. "Why didn't you just call for back up?"

"Long story," she said looking around as well. She pulled back when she saw people round the corner, only to be caged in by tree-trunk arms from an annoyed Avenger.

"I've got time."

"I don't," she said, staring at him incredulously.

Steve Rogers was one cocky little shit. He had the nerve to lean on his forearms, prop one elbow on the wall to rest his head in his hand, and cross his legs at the ankle. His face and body just inches from her own. God, he smelled amazing.

Late June was hot. Late June plus very close proximity to a very stubborn, very attractive supersoldier? She may as well be on the surface of the sun. She took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled slowly to calm her heart rate.

"Come out, come out, Queenie. We know you're there."

The sing-song voice came just around the corner from where she and Steve were standing.

Her heart rate didn't stand a chance of slowing down.

Steve's brow furrowed, and he regained some of his earlier tension. He watched her eyes widen and flit back and forth. It almost looked like a plea for help, but her gaze hardened; she was planning something. Probably something stupid.

He pulled his phone out and set up the camera. Taking a picture— albeit blurry, sue him—he held it up for her to see. There were ten men looking around every corner, behind every doorway.

She ran a hand down her face. There had only been four when she last saw them. They were getting smarter.

She opened her eyes when the temperature dropped. Steve had moved back and was looking around the alley, formulating his escape plan. She reached for her gun, but his hand caught her arm and he shook his head, putting a finger to his lips as the men called out for her once more. They were getting closer.

He pulled her further down the alley, groceries forgotten, both of them trying to be as quiet as possible. He stopped when he reached the fire escape and cupped his hands, eyebrows raised asking: you ready?

Oh Lord, she had to put her hands on him?

If she wasn't looking at him, she never would've heard his whispered, "Hey!" She shook her head and put her foot in his hands and one hand on his shoulder.

Is this what it feels like to fly? He lifted her like she was nothing and she barely had to pull herself onto the fire escape. Though the stitches in her side still pulled and she bit her lip to stop the hiss of pain.

Steve backed up to the opposite wall and took a running jump. His foot barely touched the dumpster, and somehow he managed to not make a sound when he landed on the escape.

He just smirked and shrugged when he saw her bewildered face. She rolled her eyes.

The voices were louder now, triumphant: they found her groceries. She silently mourned her ice cream as she and her cohort climbed.

The rig was old and even though Steve wasn't making a sound, the metal was. He grabbed her elbow five stories up, making her stop. He had his finger to his lips again, then pointed below them.

"I know you're here somewhere, Queenie, I just wanna talk to ya," one man said, adjusting his cuff links. He was the best dressed of all of them but Steve could see the outline of a gun in his suit jacket.

"C'mon, ya don't wanna play with me anymore?" he said, as his men were still searching below and further on.

This guy was starting to creep Steve out. He still had no idea what this woman had gotten herself into, but the saccharine tone of his voice made him sick.

"I'm real sorry, I hurt ya, sweetheart. I promise, I won't do it again," he was finally moving on from the alley along with his posse.

They stayed still for another moment while he was still in view at the mouth of the alley. He stood looking out at the main street with his hands in his pockets.

Steve motioned for her to continue. They were one flight away from the roof when Back in Black started blaring from Steve's phone.

He scrambled to turn it off, but when he pulled it out of his pocket with such panicked force, it slipped. Right out of his hands and down. Clanging on the rail and singing all the way down to shatter on the unforgiving concrete below.

He heard her move up the last flight, while he just cringed staring down at the broken pieces. Tony was going to kill him.

Great.

The suit had walked over to investigate. And he looked straight up at Steve.

Great.

"Hey! Sorry 'bout that! Butterfingers, ya know?" he said, waving, "Can ya do me a favor and just toss it in the nearest can? The wife's gonna kill me if I don't finish dinner."

The suit just stared at him, disgusted. He reached in his jacket and Steve prayed that his companion had made it to the roof. He brought a pack of cigarettes out and lit one, walking away from the broken pieces.

"Hey, thanks, pal!" Steve said, turning and taking the last flight two stairs at a time. He hopped over the ledge and found her on her back, hands on her face in annoyance, and a red spot on her side.

"Are you bleeding?!" he asked, rushing to her and landing on his knees. He scanned the rooftop and the adjacent buildings looking for a sniper. What kind of trouble was she in, anyway?

"Am I?" she moved her hands and sat up. Her breath hitched and she laid back down. "Ah, yup, stitches probably ripped."

"Can I?" he said, gesturing to her shirt. She waved a dismissive hand and he slowly pulled her shirt up. She was right: the stitches under her breast had ripped and what he could safely assume was a bullet wound, was bleeding again.

"There goes the bra…" she muttered, rubbing her temple, "and it was a cute one too."

Steve shrugged a shoulder as he reached in his back pocket for a handkerchief. He glanced around at the nearby roofs once more before turning back to apply the cloth to the wound. She was staring at him. Smirking.

"Did you just...agree that my bra was cute?" she asked, her smirk turning into a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners.

His gaze dropped to her wound again, brow furrowed, as he put pressure on the wound. A low hiss escaped her, but it was quickly replaced by the same grin.

"Hmm. The eyebrow quirk and head tilt said you did. Name's Y/N, by the way," she said, getting him to glance at her. His hair was falling in his face and she couldn't help but think it just made him look extra handsome. "Figured you should know mine since I already know yours."

"Thought it was 'Queenie'," he said, a small grin playing on his face. The grin fell when her gaze hardened.

"He shouldn't know it," she shook her head and ran a hand down her face. Before Steve could question, she waved his hand away from her side. She tucked part of the cloth under her bra and sat up with the help of Steve's large hand on her back.

Steve moved back to give her some room before he asked, "What do you mean he shouldn't know it?"

"I dressed up one Halloween as a character named 'Queenie' and now that's what my whole precinct calls me. No one else calls me Queenie," she said.

Steve listened as she explained that she had been assigned to this particular precinct. Apparently due to suspicion that one or many of its members had close mob ties. Now she had proof, but no clue who to look for.

They sat in silence for a moment before Y/N squinted and pointed over Steve's shoulder.

"Hey, isn't that your buddy Iron Man?"

Sure enough, it was. Steve turned back to face Y/N and just raised a hand in a lazy wave and sighed like an exasperated teenager about to get scolded.

Y/N grimaced at the loud sound of the Iron Man's repulsors. He dropped down at the edge and walked over, his helmet disappearing to reveal his face. It was a very annoyed face.

"So you're just gonna ignore me now?" he said, stopping next to Steve and crossing his arms.

"Tony, this is Y/N. Y/N, Tony," Steve said, gesturing one to the other.

"Yeah, hi," Tony waved in Y/N's direction, then turned to Steve again, then back to Y/N, "Are you aware—you're bleeding."

The drastic tone change made Y/N blink. He spun his around to her so fast she thought his neck broke. She looked to Steve who had a hand over his face, but she could see his brows knit together as he shook his head. His shoulders shook in a silent chuckle.

"Wow, it is true," Y/N said, looking at Tony, "You really are a genius."

Between the baffled look on Tony's face and the strangled laugh-turned-cough from Steve, her day was a whole lot better.

"Yes, we're both aware I'm bleeding. Captain Handsome over here was helping me avoid some trouble. This is a few days old, the stitches just ripped," she explained. Tony just quirked an eyebrow and a wide grin spread on his face.

"'Captain Handsome'? Oh that's definitely gonna be a thing, now," Steve's groan of disapproval cut through, but Tony paid him no mind, "Anyway, we need to get you patched up, and you were supposed to help set up-"

"Wanda's birthday, ah, shit!" was muffled as he ran both hands over his face and back into his hair. Y/N blinked.

"Captain America swears?" she said, looking at Tony who just shook his head in blatant disappointment.

"Like a sailor. Romanoff's bringing the car around, so grab our invalid and bring her to the Compound. Romanoff, can you bring the car around?" Tony said, walking to the edge of the roof. Y/N tried to deny being taken with them, but Tony closed his helmet and blasted off.

She looked to Steve who stood and held out a hand to help her up. Reluctantly (or not, he had very nice hands) she took it.

"Seriously, just drop me off at my apartment and I'll be fine. You've already helped enough," she said.

Steve just shook his head and started leading her towards the roof access. "Not happening. I was already thinking about it, anyway. Dr. Cho should have you patched up in no time."

Y/N groaned. How was she supposed to fight Avengers exactly?

~~~~~

Dr. Helen Cho has very kind eyes. But when she says 'go', even Steve Rogers moves. Y/N was introduced to her and then immediately directed (read forced) onto a table after her shirt and bra were (forcibly) removed and replaced with a hospital gown so fast the embarrassment didn't hit her until after Dr. Cho's machine was stitching her up.

Or whatever it did.

Y/N looked at her wound in the bathroom mirror. There was no scar, no trace of the bullet hole or the stitches. Still amazed at the technology, she lowered the borrowed hoodie and made her way back into the lab. Black Widow, or Natasha, was waiting with a small smile.

"I really want to thank you guys for everything, and I don't want to sound ungrateful, because I am! But I should probably be getting home…"

Her smile tightened and her nose scrunched. "Mm, about that."

Y/N blinked. "Please tell me that doesn't mean what I think it means."

Her smile twisted up a little more before she grabbed Y/N's hand and began pulling her back to where Y/N thought was the living room.

This week was just getting weirder and weirder by the second. Natasha pulled her by the hand the whole way and Y/N made no move to let go either; it was oddly comforting, and Y/N didn't even realize she needed it. She briefly wondered what it would be like to hold Steve's hand.

She immediately grabbed that thought, stuffed it in a box, put that box in another box, duct taped the whole thing, and buried it.

Crushes on celebrities were fine. If you've met them, cool, good for you. If you've been as close as Y/N had, you should be commended and given 'The World's Luckiest Bitch' medal.

But she didn't want to get her hopes up. Chances are they'd just be crushed. Probably under a star-spangled shield or something much more terrifying. Nope, she may as well crush those feelings now before they got out of hand.

Natasha took her down several halls to see a lounge room where several were gathered watching what seemed to be Lord of the Rings. Y/N didn’t recognize any of them, but judging by all the lab coats strewn all over the chairs and various snacks, they were probably just on a break.

A couple turns and an elevator ride up a few floors, Natasha's hand still holding hers, and down more hallways Natasha finally stopped and opened the door to a conference room.

Y/N was completely lost as to where they were in the building, but she wouldn't really need to know. She'd be going home soon anyway.

"Is that my apartment?!"

Steve, Tony, and Bucky Barnes turned at the sound of her voice, but her eyes were locked on the screen behind them.

Most of it was nonsensical gibberish to her, but the main picture was her apartment building. On fire. Specifically her apartment. And the one next to it, too, where she knew the couple next door. They had just had a baby.

"Tell me no one was in there," she whispered, her voice starting to shake, "Tell me no one was home, Steve, they had a baby. You tell me no one was home!"

She had moved around the table, volume rising with every step. Steve put his hands on her shoulders when she grabbed him by the shirt.

"Mom and baby are fine, they weren't home," he said, voice quiet and calm, "Dad's in the hospital with a few broken bones and scrapes, but he'll be fine, Y/N."

Steve thought he would get lost in her eyes earlier, now it felt like she stared into his soul. She took a shaky breath in and out, closed her eyes, and breathed again. It was when she was finally able to release his shirt that Tony spoke.

"Looks like you didn’t make it out, though," he said, turning the volume up. She turned to him and saw some blonde news reporter stating that one person had been killed in the explosion ("Ex- explosion?" was whispered as Steve helped her to a chair and sat her down.)

Her own face stared back at her. Her name was on the news.

Blood rushed in her ears and drowned out whatever was being said, whether on tv or in the room. Mind racing, she tried to figure out what her next step should be: who does she call? Does she call anyone? Can she? Not knowing which of her supposed brothers and sisters she could trust. The proverbial brakes came screeching to halt when she heard—

“Hydra?”

Natasha had joined Bucky in looking at a file on the table and Tony was sitting on its edge; they all turned to look at her. When she stayed silent, Steve moved from behind her chair and leaned his hip against the table. He said her name, snapping her attention back to reality.

“Did you say Hydra?” she asked. Bucky nodded. “No, no, no. We’re talkin’ Clair Vitali, yeah, he’s no small fry, but he’s not Hydra. That’s crazy! Sure he’s a megalomaniac, but he’s not that smart. He shot me in broad daylight and had the balls to follow me in broad daylight, but then again, he had the balls to follow me in broad daylight and he does have some pull up on high. I wonder if that’s how he got Roca’s territory…”

Steve thought she was going to burn a hole into the table with how she stared at it. Bucky chuckled and looked at Steve.

“She talked herself into it,” he grinned, “Didn’t even have to show her evidence. But it does look like the explosives they used were from Hydra. Not just with your house, but multiple others.” Y/N looked up as the screen changed to show five other bombings. Ones she didn’t even know were connected to Vitali. “And I remember seeing him around Rumlow a lot.”

Rumlow.

Something about that name rang a bell. A gruff laugh, dark hair, an easy smile, and honey colored eyes filled her mind.

"Brock Rumlow?"she asked. They all nodded. She grimaced and muttered, “Glad I didn’t go on that date with him, then. Oh-kay! So. Now what? Hydra is way out of my league. How do we handle this?”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot almost to his hairline and Steve let out a strangled “Date?!” as Tony just turned back to the screen and started talking to the air. To her surprise the air spoke back. Oh, yeah. He’s Tony Stark. AI’s are a thing here.

She heard Natasha’s chuckle and chanced a glance at Bucky, his expression was locked on Steve who she did not glance at. She was far too invested on the screen; her eyes locked on a familiar face, she stood slowly. Steve said her name and she blinked.

“Bottom right,” she said, pointing, “That’s Charlie and, Houser, our captain.”

Tony brought it up front and center showing the captain standing straight, and her partner behind him, hands clasped and shoulders slumped. He looked truly dejected. Angry. He kept his eyes low while the captain gave his statement on her supposed murder. No, he didn’t say murder. He said death. Death. Like an accident. Like her home spontaneously combusted. Like she wasn’t hunted like a wild animal, beaten, shot, and thrown into the river. The blood in her veins boiled watching him give his speech.

“This is a day of grieving for us all. This is such a tragic loss for this precinct, for this city. Officer L/N was a treasure; a hardworking—”

“That’s detective, you monumental bastard,” she spat. Tony turned with a raised brow and a smirk. “We don’t really get along.”

“—shows no sign of tampering, but we will dig further to get to the truth of this atrocity—”

She wondered who gave him this false information and thought about what she was going to do to them. If the police had been in her apartment, they should know whether or not it had been a bomb or some sort of malfunction.

And then her fire was extinguished.

He sniffed.

She watched as Charlie’s brow furrowed and for the first time he looked up at the captain. His hands clenched into fists before he moved them behind his back. The captain continued his speech, sniffing again.

“That sorry, low-down, pig-headed—” she shoved the chair and stepped away from the table, taking deep breaths, almost panting.

“Hey, easy,” came from Steve who put a hand on her shoulder, “What’s wrong?” She took another breath and held it for a beat, then two, sure he could feel her pulse racing. Her fists clenching and releasing, she let the breath go, slowly, controlled, before she turned to him.

“He’s in on it. He’s the connection to Vitali. That sniff?” she pointed back to the screen, “That’s his tell. The man can’t play poker to save his life! And that bullshit story about me being, what’d he say? ‘A treasure?’ Ha!” She shook her head and ran a hand through her hair, trying not to think about how Steve seemed to be subconsciously rubbing his thumb in small circles on her shoulder. Taking another deep breath, she looked up at him once more.

“And now that I know who the connection is, I have a good idea about who else is on Vitali’s payroll.”

~~~~~

Hello, Queenie.

You wanna play?

Her eyes snapped open and her heart hammered in her chest. She sat up, gun raised, and looked around the room. This wasn’t her house. This wasn’t her house.

Breathing became harder for her and her hand started shaking. But when the faint smell of a musky cologne reached her nose, she remembered blue eyes staring into her own. Her next breath was shaky, but she put the gun beside her on the bed. She’ll have to thank Natasha for giving her one of Steve’s shirts.

Throwing back the covers, she swung her legs off the bed and made sure her legs weren’t wobbly before standing and walking out of the room. Ice cream was much needed. Now.

Where the hell was the kitchen?

She tried to get a map in her mind, but, instead of directing her to her destination, it throbbed and refused to do any work. Forcing her feet to walk ten steps to her left, she faced her next obstacle. Waking the beast.

She knocked three times. Silence. Three times more.

“Fuckin— hang on!”

Captain America swears like a sailor. She couldn’t stop the grin creeping on her face. Judging by the thudding and even more swearing, he was having some difficulty. Thirty seconds later the door disappeared and she flinched, stepping back.

Steve Rogers sleeps nude.

In her peripheral, she could just barely see that he was holding a sheet around his waist. She didn’t dare to actually look, but tilted her head to see his face instead.

This was possibly the best decision she’d ever made.

Steve Rogers with bed head. ‘World’s Luckiest Bitch’ indeed.

She pursed her lips to keep the giggles from escaping. Sleepy, grumpy Steve was so cute. As she committed it to her long-term memory, he rubbed his face and let out a muted ‘shit’.

“I thought you were gonna be Bucky,” he said, leaning on the doorframe. “What’s up? You okay?”

Oh, Lord, his voice. Abort mission. Abort.

“I— uh, was gonna get some ice cream, but um, I’ll— I’ll just let you get back to sleep,” she said. Her cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling too much. Gesturing to his attire, she couldn’t help but giggle, “Obviously you’re waiting for Bucky, so…”

Confused even more by her laughter, the dolt looked down at himself, let out a louder ‘Fuck!’ and slammed the door shut. Steve continued his stream of obscenities as they both realized his sheet had gotten shut in the door. A short burst of laughter rang in the hall before she clapped both hands over her mouth.

“Shut the fuck up, Queenie.”

Removing her hands and breathing, she took a moment to actually appreciate him. He now had on dark jeans and an unzipped jacket baring his broad chest to the world. He was really trying to kill her. And she would let him.

But when he ran a hand through his hair, she was done.

Giggle-drunk and trying not to be a thirsty hoe, she started towards the kitchen. Until Steve called to her again. When she turned, he was sporting that ridiculous smirk and pointing in the opposite direction. She threw her hands in the air, the shirt raising just enough to draw Steve’s eyes down to her bare legs.

“Come on, Rogers, why are you keeping me from my ice cream? You owe like two gallons anyway,” she said, grabbing him the jacket and pulling him along.

They finally made it to their destination after he had to grab her by the shirt and redirect her twice; he damn near strutted to the freezer and began naming off the flavors they had stashed away.

“Seriously?” she asked, looking at his choice of butter pecan in disgust.

“I already told you once, Queens, shut the fuck up,” he said, jabbing a finger in her direction. Ignoring the swarm of butterflies and heat rising in her face, she waved a dismissive hand and let loose an ‘aha!’ when she found the bowls. She frowned and stood on her toes because seriously, who puts the bowls on the top shelf? Fine.

She did what needed to be done. She climbed onto the counter. Just being on her knees gave her the necessary boost to reach her goal. A shiver ran through her when a deep chuckle came from behind her.

“Enjoying yourself?” Steve asked, leaning against the island.

“Immensely,” she said, smirking, “Is the counter the only thing holding you up right now?”

“At the moment, yes.”

She giggled and handed him two bowls and hopped down, ready to devour the sweet, cold, goodness that was ice cream.

Somehow this was right. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she felt...safe. Sitting in nothing but a borrowed shirt and her underwear with a barely-dressed supersoldier eating ice cream at God-only-knows-what time in the morning.

“What is my life coming to?”

Steve looked up at her. They sat at the table, and for a long time were swapping funny stories about their teams. Her mind swirled with the new facts she’d learned just a few hours before, and even though she knew that the people she’d worked with for two years were not all they appeared, it still hurt.

“Thanks, Steve. For everything.”

As if she needed another reason to swoon over this beast of a man, he looked at her with such sincerity and gave a crooked smile. She swallowed.

“Anytime.”

Well that just won’t do.

“Even at 3 o’clock in the morning?”

“Now wait a damn minute—”

~~~~~

With the Avengers on the case, it only took a day to gather enough information on her captain and several others that were in league with Vitali and Hydra.

Now their plan was going into action.

Despite her nerves about walking back into this building, she stood strong. Not to mention she had back up this time.

Clair Vitali owned several hotels in New York. His reach spread much further than other mob families, and one by one, he seemed to swallow them up. She had very little knowledge of the layout of this building, but again, with the Avengers, impossible was simply not in their vocabulary.

She and Steve were parked across the street in one of Tony’s mustangs. When she told him what hotel he usually frequented, he agreed that using a more high-profile car would be acceptable.

“You sure about this, Y/N?” Steve asked. His gaze shifted from the hotel doors to her in the passenger seat.

“A smidge,” she looked at him, “I just want this over with.”

Steve nodded and looked back to the hotel. Vitali was here. She took a deep breath and got out of the car, but leaned back down to the window.

“Besides, after being in a car with you driving, this’ll be a cake-walk,” she said, grinning. Steve opened his mouth to defend his driving skills when Bucky’s voice cut through their earpieces.

“Punk, you wreck every vehicle you go into a fight with. Don’t start.”

Four other voices agreed with him. Tony was going into his threat about Steve wrecking this car as Y/N started to cross the street.

Blood pounding in her ears, she threw open the door and walked up to the front desk. The young man politely asked how he could be of service, despite his look of distaste at her attire. She flashed him a smile.

“Actually, I was hoping to speak with Mr. Vitali,” she said. The look on this poor kid’s face almost made her laugh. He started to sputter and say that her request wouldn’t be possible; he was in a very important meeting and she might be able to schedule something in the future. She hummed and shook her head.

“Unfortunately, it has to be now. I’m sure he’s missed me the past couple days and I just can’t leave him waiting any longer, sir.”

“Miss, I’m very sorry, but he doesn’t want to be disturbed—”

She sighed.

“Alright. I didn’t want to play this card, but…” she laid her badge on the counter, pushing it towards the man. Whether or not he knew what his boss was really into, the color drained from his face.

“You tell him Queenie’s here to play.”

As he made a frantic phone call, she hopped up on the counter and sat, swinging her legs, making a call of her own. The voice that answered was hesitant.

“...Y/N?”

She smiled.

“Hey, Chuckles. Listen, you’re gonna get a call about the Foundry Hotel in a few minutes. Bring back up. Don’t be surprised.”

“On it.”

She put her phone back in her pocket and waited. It didn’t take three minutes before grunts with guns surrounded the desk. Some actual patrons screamed and started to scatter, fleeing the building. Clair came swooping in and stood, behind his troops, grinning from ear to ear.

“I knew you’d come back to me, Queenie,” he said, “I was really hoping we’d have this little reunion at your funeral, but we can make this work—”

“Cut the bullshit, Clair, where’s Houser? I know he’s here.” She looked around the vast entry hall and into the restaurant where more people were huddled, being contained by more of the brute squad. “It’d be a cryin’ shame to kill me off and not celebrate your victory!”

“You’re looking pretty good, sugar, you get all healed up?” Clair asked, chuckling. She nodded, still swinging her legs as if it was just another day at the park.

“I did. I found friends in high places. But you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” she asked, jumping down. Some of the men shifted. “Being in league with Hydra and all.”

Something glinted in his eye. She had him.

Everything after that happened fast: bullets flew, glass shattered, people screamed.

The next thing she knew her ears were ringing. Everything was too bright, too loud. Too blurry. She couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t breathe. The only thing she saw clearly were piercing blue eyes. A voice cut through the fog.

Queens! C’mon, just say something!

~~~~~

Wanda and Vision were due to be home from their island getaway in just a few minutes and everyone was running rampant around the living room. Streamers were hung from all over. A giant cake was being shielded by Bucky from Clint’s wandering hands.

And some idiot put Steve Rogers on a ladder to hang the banner.

“Hey, Queens, can ya tell me if it’s straight?”

She walked away from the ladder and next to Tony to get a better view. And, boy, did she. Steve’s ass looked great in jeans. She hummed appreciatively.

“Looks, great, Stevie. Now please get down, my blood pressure’s out the roof,” she said. She turned to Tony. “Don’t you have, like, robots or something to do this?”

“I do, but this is payback for not helping sooner,” Tony said, sipping a lemonade. She nodded.

“Really, Tony?” Steve started, “I told you, I dropped my phone! I was not ignoring you!”

The two started to throw snark between them and Y/N just rolled her eyes. Steve tried to stop on the ladder and turn to look at Tony. He missed about two steps and got his leg caught between rungs.

To say the look of horror on his face wasn’t funny would be an outright lie.

The crashing and clanging drew everyone’s attention. Others asked if everything was okay and what happened. The two closest ran over and moved the ladder off Steve.

“Stevie,” Y/N said, lightly tapping his face, “hey, say something so we know you’re okay!”

Steve just groaned and cracked an eye open to look at her.

“Ow.”

Bucky called out, “Eh, he’s fine.”

Tony just laughed and walked away. An exasperated sigh made her slump onto his chest. He chuckled and leaned up to press a kiss on her hair. She raised her head.

“I think I’ve got a new nickname for you,” she said. His smirk just grew.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Captain Klutz.”

#challenge500ann #steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #I have no excuses lol #I'm gonna go crawl in a hole now #here goes nothing

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