#what am i gonna do with all these faceplates. maybe i should just put like a bunch of weird expressions on em. i have like 8

[bmpmp3]

oh god i have so many projects (explodes)

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

The Eclipses Show

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,485 Words

Summary: The Backup wakes up a day after his death and Solar makes a deal with him.

Warnings: Injury, Eye Trauma, Limb Loss, Head Trauma, Cursing, Blood Loss (Oil), Surgery (kinda), Dead Bodies (mentioned only), let me know if I should add anything else.

Chapter 2: The Bitch Came Back

Eclipse gave a pained groan as he woke up, turning onto his side and his claws dug into the padded floor under them, eyes cracking open. Well, one of them opened. His right eye was there, the other was nowhere to be found and the wires were fizzling with sparks of violently disconnected machinery.

His left arm. He couldn’t feel it, but he could see it there. He tried to flex its fingers but, ultimately, it didn’t move. He looked at his body and found he was missing from his right thigh down and his back felt like a train had run him over.

“Oh Jesus fuck.” He heard a voice and looked up at a copy of himself. Wait…the other Eclipse? The nice one? He groaned and pressed his face into the padded floor to wince at the way his rays were bent at uneven angles and some broken off.

He tried to retract his rays to show he was in pain, that he wasn’t going to do anything. God, it was a migraine. Some were broken off and the warped metal slid into his faceplate with a high scratching sound like nails on a chalkboard. Others simply didn’t pull in at all, too warped to do so without breaking his faceplate off entirely.

“Okay. Alright. How the fuck did you survive even?” The other Eclipse asked.

“Dunno.” He answered honestly. “Put me down. Please.” Eclipse told him. He had made it easy, all the other had to do was yank out his wires from the back of his head, which was exposed to him. Maybe step on and crush his circuit board and take out and break his personality chip.

It would be so easy to just kill him and get it over with, but-

“No. Sit up.” The other demanded. Eclipse gave a look back at him and slowly sat up with his right arm as support, shaking with effort that just sitting up was for him right now.

His head pounded and his back throbbed with exposed internal workings, his right leg was stinging with pain and oil loss. He was woozy from the effects his body gave. Loosing oil was like losing blood and warnings were flashing in his eyes that he was within critical damage and his oil was at past critical low levels. He would die if he tried to move one more time probably.

“Look me in my eyes and tell me why I should let you live.” The other demanded of him.

“You shouldn’t.” He immediately told him. This seemed to take the other by surprise a bit.

“Alright. Then you sit still until I give you an oil transfusion.” The other knelt with him, moving his right stump, clamping the oil lines there with a piece of twine, probably what he had on him that would do the job. But it did stop the oil loss.

Eclipse did as the other asked, stayed where he was. Though he was questioning why he was being helped instead of killed and his dead body thrown into the portal to his old dimension for Moon to torment and destroy.

Solar came back with a machine full of a gallon of oil, which he put into an oil line in his right arm with tape over it so the needle wouldn’t simply fall out and leave an extra wound where he was leaking oil.

“Why are you helping me?” Eclipse asked.

“Look. I don’t give a fuck if you’re evil or whatever. I can’t kill you. I physically can’t. I’ll have a nervous breakdown over it and I know it. It would be like killing myself. I am not putting my mental state into that place. So you are gonna fuckin sit here, take your oil replacement, let me fix you, and you are going to be a good person after. Got that? I will fix you and you will behave. Or I will ship you to Moon otherwise. Then you get to beg for mercy he doesn’t have for you.” The other told him.

“Th-Thank you.” Eclipse sat letting the oil fix the detrimental levels in his systems. He simply let the other, maybe he could call him Solar?, look at his injuries and begin to get the parts together to go to Parts & Service.

By the time the oil was in his system, Eclipse felt less deathly sick, less trembly and dizzy with oil loss. Solar? had looked over his exposed internal machinery in his back and had thankfully not found anything damaged. Solar had also replaced his back casing already and calibrated it while the oil was transfusion was running into his system.

“Alright, up you go, hobbles.” Solar demanded him, unhooking the oil transfusion machine and took Eclipse’s right hand, hooking his other hand under Eclipse’s left ribs. Oh…his left arm was a goner of Solar wouldn’t even touch it to support him. So he was losing two limbs today.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna drop ya.” Solar told him, putting Eclipse’s arm over his shoulders and letting himself be used as a can on Eclipse’s right side for his lost right leg. Eclipse winced with walking but Solar must be proving he could still use his left leg on the wait down to Parts & Service.

Eclipse gave a groan as Solar set him into the tube’s chair and put the new white and blue full right leg and a whole black and purple arm into the part machine. He also could see a new green and black faceplate and a pink left eye.

“This might be a little painful, it has to take off the remains of your right leg and left arm to attach the new ones and it’s going to take your rays out.” Solar told him.

“Solar?” Eclipse asked.

“Is that what you’re gonna call me?” Solar asked with a chuckle. “Yeah, what?” Solar asked.

“Can…Can you hold my hand?” Eclipse asked.

“Yeah, fine.” Solar stepped into the tube with him and shut the door, slipping his left hand to hold Eclipse’s right hand in his own. It made Eclipse relax to have someone with him when this process was absolutely terrifying.

He saw the machine begin to do its work, disconnecting his right leg at the hip joint and his left arm at his shoulder joint. He shut his eye tight and tried to focus on the feeling of Solar holding his hand, anything but the searing pain of disconnected limbs.

The tube connected the new limbs and started instantaneous calibration. Eclipse opened his right eye to see the machine descending an arm and taking off his remaining faceplate and rays and he squeezed Solar’s hand as it put his new left eye in and replaced faceplate.

“It’s over. Breathe.” Solar assured him and Eclipse nodded softly, taking a big breath to assure Solar.

“Alright. Let’s get back to the daycare and get you new clothes. You can’t go around with half your clothes basically.” Solar told him.

“Thank you.” Eclipse was a bit shaky on his new leg but he held to Solar’s hand still, letting Solar lead him to the daycare.

Once there, Solar threw a pair of black pants and a night cap with white constellations on them and a black shirt and new black and white ruffles. An entirely new outfit. It looked like it was a moon model’s kind of outfit.

“Yeah, we almost had a Star and Sky model here. Turns out Fazbear didn’t like their AIs and wanted to just scrap them. I kept their base models and outfits because I figured maybe I might need em. I’ll probably replace your casing for Star’s later so you match or whatever. Just so they don’t question why you’re here. I can say you just activated for some reason.” Eclipse looked at him with a cringe.

“You really kept two basically dead bodies?” Eclipse scrunched his nose at that.

“It’s not like we don’t already.” Solar gestured upstairs meaning his brothers.

“Oh…” Eclipse realized Solar must not have had an easy separation from that. He decided not to pick at it and simply went to get changed into the outfit.

When Eclipse came back, he saw Solar and his Moon. A temporary panic came over him as he saw Solar’s Moon.

“Eclipse, this is Crescent.” Solar introduced him.

“Hi, extra parasite.” Crescent greeted him.

“Be nice. Please.” Solar sighed.

“What? He is.” Crescent growled. Solar gave a bigger sigh and pinched his nose in annoyance.

There was suddenly a rustling in the ball pit and Solar and Eclipse looked up to see a third Eclipse in the ball pit looking panicked and confused as he looked at Solar and Eclipse.

“And now you have fucking two friends here! Worthless parasite, come get your little child!” Crescent announced angrily.

“Oh fuck.” Solar breathed out.

[palialaina]

(This is gonna get diary-like because why not RP like a goofy goober? Also, I really do miss the ingame screengrabber they had in earlier versions.)

Jina gave me a journal today. That was sweet of her. I'm honestly pretty lucky that she was the first person I met in the world. It feels weird to write in what she and all the other Majiri call 'ancient Human' but...

I dunno, that's just confusing. Bright pink void to suddenly new life? I still can't wrap my head around it.

But I've been here for a while now, so I guess it's not as bad as it could have been. Wish I could remember where I was before this, but like...

Ugh.

So, I finished building my hallway earlier. It's... well, I need to get another couple blueprints for it because that really is a *short* hallway and not really condusive to what I was wanting it for. Good thing I have a big garden and lots of seed makers. Veggies might take a while to grow, but they're easier than trying to hunt or go gathering for my coin.

I do think I finally got my yard set up near-perfect. I want more garden plots, but I also want to expand my house and stop sleeping in the front room, so like. Choices. Maybe I'll go see Uncle B in a couple days and get another plot to make what I've currently got more even? Not sure.

The kitchen finally feels set up right. Turning between stations is easy, and I didn't almost throw the butter in the oven again! I think I'm getting the hang of this cooking thing. (Though Reth doesn't need to worry. I don't plan on putting him out of business.)

Jel seemed happy to see me today, and was thrilled with the crystal lake lotus I found for him. I worry about him some; when does he sleep, I swear? I mean, I don't really have an excuse for staying up as late as I do either, but Jel gets like... four hours of sleep per day? I don't remember much, but I swear that can't be healthy.

I feel like him and Reth should have an Insomniacs Club or something.

Oh, Reth told me about the whole Majiri Path thing, and man. I thought Eshe and Calari could be strict, but the whole society seems really rigid. I don't know how it worked when humans were around in great number (we're coming back in great number though, I do worry about that...) but I don't think it was as inflexible as "if you step off your Path, you're an untrustworthy person." like..

Ugh. I feel like if you realize something's not working for you, then you should be allowed to pick a different job. Lettuce soup aside, Reth is a really good cook! People should be *proud* of him for figuring out something he likes!

...I really do wanna know what Zeki's got on him though. He does day shift at the inn, and then works Zeki's night market? What the heck? I am amazed he hasn't faceplanted into one of his own soup pots.

Um... Hm. Oh, I made a new tent for the loom and the glass maker, though I think I might put that in storage again. Tish's faith in my ability to make lamps and things is a *bit* misplaced... The worm farm will be handier right now.

I also finally made Dad's iron axe recipe.

....whoops.

*Ashura's* iron axe recipe. (Man, I have almost called him dad to his face like... five times this week. He just feels like a dad, the way Barduu is Uncle B! But like... Uncle B found it hilarious and told me to keep it up. I feel like Ashura would just get sad...)

Anyways, I made an iron axe, and I can finally get down thos ebig trees on my property. Now I just need to convince Hodari I've earned the right to make an iron pickaxe and then those big stone can go away too!

....well, I need to go get more stone any iron, so maybe that's what I'll be able to manage tomorrow. I can pop by and say hi to Najuma on the way, maybe she'll let me know what's bugging her? I need to bring her something to say thanks for helping me get Chanye the stuff he needs for his telescope anyways.

Okay. Plan for tomorrow! Mine all the stone and iron I can find over in Bahari (and hunt that stupid snail. Why are stripeshell snails so damn hard to find????), bring Najuma a copper bar? and see about finishing my second hallway piece, getting a third, and then saving up for more rooms. And more garden plots.

[silversatoru]

Hi love! ❤️

Mkay so like.... Suguru walks in and finds out his gf has a cam acc- and just like straight up ruins her online

This has been on my mind all day but idfk how to write it

a/n: AHAH hey babe!!! this concept is 😌👌 so i hope i did you proud w this. also if ur really into the whole getting-ruined-online concept and you fuck w dabi may i recommended @katslutski ‘s smile for the camera series; it is one of my favs

getou suguru x f!reader

tags/warnings: masturbation, degradation, humiliation, dumbification, filming, facial, mild bondage, mild overstimulation

w/c: 1.4k

you rubbed your clit in rushed circles, projecting a cluster of fake high-pitched moans and arching your back for the camera. it really didn’t feel that great, but you were damn good at pretending it did — and the cash was flowing in as a result. 

you could see the notifications of donations and new patrons popping up on the side of your screen and you let a soft sigh of satisfaction leave your lips. these fuckers were so horny that they’d send you stacks of their income just to see you fondle your cunt — pigs.

between the blood rushing to your ears from your approaching orgasm and the soft music playing through you room you didn’t even notice the sound of your front door opening. you were completely unaware of your boyfriend’s presence in your home until he was standing in your bedroom doorway — a confused but amused expression across his face. 

“am i interrupting something?” he cocked an eyebrow at you. 

“suguru! i thought you were busy today, i-” you scrambled to explain yourself and grab a sheet from your bed to pull over your exposed body. 

“plans changed,” he shrugged and cut you off, entering your bedroom, “maybe you should start locking your front door when you’re doing shit like this”. 

you stared at him with horrified eyes, worried that he might break up with you for this kind of thing — he didn’t seem mad but he definitely wasn’t happy either. you quickly lunged for your laptop/camera set-up, attempting to end your livestream, but suguru moved quicker. he grasped your wrist in his strong fingers and looked at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 

“leave it on, doll,” he purred at you, releasing your wrist and pushing you back towards the bed, “go ahead and finish the show for them”. 

completely stunned, you fell back onto your elbows and gave him a hesitant look. it’s not like you were embarrassed or anything— shit, you did this like every day, but you were severely confused by his reaction.

he nodded at the computer screen with hazy eyes, “they’re waiting. why are you so shy all of the sudden? you should be used to having an audience”. 

after a final moment of hesitation you leaned back, fingers returning down to your clit to resume where you’d left off. it was a little more awkward with suguru watching, but the way he was ordering you around was kind of hot, so your stiffness quickly faded.

and you knew your body well, what worked and what didn’t, so it was only a matter of minutes before you were rocking your hips into your hand and letting exaggerated whimpers slide between your teeth. the orgasm was mediocre at best, but you had to dress it up and wrap it in a bow for your precious patrons.

at some point during your little show suguru had rid himself of his clothing and was now climbing into the messy sheets with you. 

“let me see your hands,” he stated blankly, his fingers gripped around the belt that had been looped through his pants just a few minutes ago. 

“this is live you know,” you gave him a concerned look — you were confused but not opposed, holding your hands out behind your back.

“oh, i know,” he took care in gently wrapping your wrists together as tight as the belt would go and then helped you onto you knees.

the duskiness of his eyes filled you with a splendid mix of fear and excitement, but before you could even get a good look you were being shoved into the bed.

“put your face in the pillows, doll,” he ordered lazily as you faceplanted into one of the several pillows at the head of your bed.

his strong hands were quickly gripped around your hips, the tip of his rock-hard member brushing teasingly against your entrance. you were already practically dripping, the sticky liquids from your earlier orgasm still glistening around your edges. it made his access easy, his aching cock sliding with little effort.

“let’s show all of your fans how much of a dumb cock-whore you become when i’m inside you,” he thrusted using hard, firm strokes right from the start.

and of course he was absolutely right — you lost any inkling of a coherent thought once you were stuffed full with his length. you moaned, whimpered, and squirmed underneath him like the pathetic little cam girl you were. but with suguru, none of your performance was a façade — he truly knew how to make you melt under his touch. and melted and useless was exactly how he liked you, so he had every intention of fucking you dumb in front of your audience today.

and that’s exactly what he did. it was his own foul way of punishing you; turning you into a drooling cum-slut who had completely forgotten she was being broadcasted live. if you wanted to be a whore for a living, he’d show everyone just how much of a whore you were — but only for him. 

you’re not even sure how long it’s been — all you know is that you’re orgasming for the fourth time; or was it the fifth? sixth? you’d lost count somewhere along the way.

dull waves of pleasure racked through your body and sent quivers under your skin. you whined and wriggled, murmuring incoherent babbles as you rocked your hips back and forth on his cock to milk the most out of your climax.

“that’s five times, baby,” suguru’s voice sounded miles away, “my dick feels good inside you, doesn’t it?”

you thrashed your head up and down against the pillow, mumbling the word yes over and over as your body twitched from overstimulation. glistening mixtures of fluids were squelching out as he continued thrusting into your cunt, some dripping all the way down your legs.

and he didn’t let you take any breaks — nonstop fucking you even while your pussy was throbbing with sensitivity. the overstimulation was excruciating, and you were a complete mess of trembles and whimpers.

“so pitiful,” you heard a dark laugh rumble from his throat, “there’s thousands and thousands of people watching you be my disgusting little fuck-toy right now, and you’re just gonna keep taking it, aren’t you?”

you weren’t even sure what he was saying, honestly. your brain had short circuited a while ago, and you were just absent mindedly nodding your head and mumbling agreements to everything he said. the pillowcase beneath your head was nearly soaked in saliva now too, your feeble mouth hanging open while drool continued to seep from the corners of your lips. 

“i think i want you to finish me with your mouth, doll, how does that sound?” he slowed his pace, pushing lazy thrusts into your hips while you mindlessly nodded your head again. 

“pathetic little baby; you have no idea what i’m even saying to you right now, do you?” you heard suguru laughing from behind you; but all you could manage in response was a few scattered whimpers. 

he abruptly unsheathed himself from inside you, and strangled whines escaped your throat at his sudden absence. no! more, please, please, suguru please, you murmured with an embarrassing lack of control and your boyfriend couldn’t do anything but laugh at you in your shameful state.

“turn around and open those pretty lips,” he reached down and helped you to flip over before straddling your chest and pressing his hot, sticky member against your lips. 

you opened them graciously, too braindead to even notice the bitter taste of his precum mixed with your own fluids. he mouth-fucked you with obscene force, the walls of your throat painfully expanding every time he thrusted in. you choked and sputtered, drool leaking down your lips and all over your chin. 

when suguru’s own orgasm was right on the cusp he removed himself from your mouth and sprayed his seed all over your face. from your forehead to your chest you were coated in sticky globs of semen, and you sucked down the drips that made it into your mouth like they were liquid gold. 

“lets see how many of your precious viewers come back after this — now that they saw you disintegrate into the helpless little cum slut that you are, now that they know you’re mine”. 

[yournameoneverypage]

Confessions

Shawn x reader.

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: Drinking/drunkenness, blink and you'll miss it angst.

// * // * //

You rested your head back against the front passenger seat of Shawn’s Tesla and closed your eyes. “I drank too much.” He had picked you up from a girls' night out with your friends. You had been ready to go home before the others and Shawn had told you to never hesitate to call him if ever you should need to.

“Just don’t puke in my car,” he snickered. “We’ll be home in ten.”

You rolled your head to the side and met his eyes as he glanced at you. “You really didn’ have to come,” you said softly.

“Of course I did. I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

“But your friends...”

Shawn had had a few of his friends over at his place that evening. He had chosen to not drink much himself, anticipating a possible call from you.

“It’s just Brian left. He crashes there all the time.”

“When am I gonna meet ’em?”

“When I’m ready to share you with them,” he smirked.

“’m yours,” you whispered, small smile on your lips, and closed your eyes again.

The thought of you being his made his heart skip.

// * // * //

Once in the elevator, you placed your hand on Shawn’s shoulder for balance and slipped off your heels. You exhaled in relief. “That’s better.”

He took your shoes in his own hand and when the elevator door opened, he said, “Hold on to me, honey.”

You bubbled, “’m not so drunk I can’t walk!”

“I beg to differ. You almost bit it getting out of the car,” he teased.

“You have good reflexes,” you said, wrapping both of your arms around his bicep as you started down the hall.

Stopping in front of your door, Shawn asked, “Where are your keys, Sweetheart?”

“In here. Somewhere,” you mumbled, letting go of him to dig through your clutch.

“Give it here. I’ll find them.” Cell, cash, credit card, dark pink tinted cherry lip balm, a-ha, keys, and, “Condoms? I didn’t think you were that kind of girl.” He smirked, trying to conceal the disappointment in his voice.

“’m not but the twins are,” you giggled.

It shouldn’t have mattered if the condoms had belonged to you. Still, Shawn found himself profoundly relieved.

Unlocking the door and stepping inside, he set your heels on the shoe rack and hung your clutch from a wall hook.

He led you to the kitchen and made you sit on one of the stools at the island. “Let’s get some food in you. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

You watched intently as Shawn cut an avocado, removed the pit, and scooped out the flesh. He mashed it and added small pinches of garlic, sea salt, and pepper and then put two slices of whole grain bread in the toaster.

“I haven’ been drunk since college... "I do stupid things when I’m drunk.”

“We all do stupid things when we’re drunk,” he chuckled, taking a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water.

He was about to pass it to you when you said, abruptly, “I kissed some guy at the club.”

He lost his grip on the glass. It hit the ground with a crash and shattered.

“Shit.”

“Lemme help,” you said, starting to move from the stool.

“No, you need to stay right there while I clean up. I don’t want you to get hurt.” He laid a dishtowel over the mess before retrieving a new glass and trying again. This time he successfully placed it before you, followed by a slice of avocado toast. “Eat.”

You ate dutifully while Shawn sopped up the water and swept up the glass. He found a post-it and wrote:

No bare feet in the kitchen!

He stuck it right where you would see it in the morning. He wasn’t sure if he’d gotten all the slivers.

Shawn polished off the second piece of avocado toast himself while leaning elbows and forearms on the kitchen island across from you. “Finish your water too, angel.”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whispered.

He smiled tenderly. “You would do the same for me. Now, come on. Time for bed.”

He followed closely behind you as you made your way to the master bedroom. It would be the first time he had been in your room; he was undeniably curious. He slipped his slides off just outside the bedroom door and crossed the threshold.

It was a stunning space. King-sized, hard maple, canopy bed, likely custom made, with matching bedroom furniture. The bed rested on a large rug which felt ridiculously plush beneath his bare feet. Above the low-rise dresser hung a 50” flat screen television.

Shawn was pulled from his perusal when he heard you apologize. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I feel guilty.”

“For what?”

“For kissing someone else.”

“You can kiss whoever you want, babe.”

“’cept you,” you sighed. “He wasn’ even a good kisser. Too sloppy. Too eager.”

“Of course he was eager. You are gorgeous. And darling, in this dress...”

“Which I can’t wait to get outta.” You reached behind you and started to unzip it.

“Whoa,” Shawn said, spinning away, flushing.

You giggled and hiccupped. “I’m not gonna get naked in fron’a you! I just need outta this damn dress! Help me!”

He stepped up behind you and moved your hair to the side.

While he slid the zipper all the way down to where it stopped at the dimples above the swell of your bottom, you confessed, "He coulda been your twin. Or maybe I jus’ saw your face in his ’cause you’re always in my head.”

Before Shawn could even digest that, your dress fell from your body to the floor. He groaned softly. You were wearing a blush colored, lace, strapless bra and matching thong panties. He looked up at the ceiling and breathed deeply. This would be an inappropriate time to get aroused, but damn if you didn’t have the most amazing body he had ever seen.

Suddenly unsteady, you swayed on your feet. You reached out to grab the bedpost, almost missing it, but Shawn was there to catch you, again.

He chuckled. “I need you to sit down so I can find you something to wear to bed without worrying about you faceplanting.”

“I should take a shower.”

“In the morning, love. I’m afraid you’ll stumble in the tub and hurt yourself.”

“I gotta’least wash my face an’ brush my teeth.”

Shawn stood beside you, holding your hair back, while you scrubbed your face pink and brushed your teeth. He then had you sit on the chair at your small vanity while he went to choose something from your dresser drawers.

He returned with a pair of white boy short underwear with rainbow hearts all over them and a white racerback tank top.

“I like these,” you said about the boy shorts. “But I don’ want this.” You handed the top back to him.

“What do you want instead?”

“Can I wear your shirt? It’ll smell like you an’ I’d really love that.” He was wearing a simple white button-down.

“You’re lucky I’m wearing a tank top underneath, and that I have a hard time saying no to you,” he chuckled, undoing the only three buttons that were fastened, slipping it from his shoulders, and handing it to you. He then waited on the other side of the door to give you privacy to change.

You exited the bathroom, thankfully seeming to be a little more stable on your feet. He bit softly on his bottom lip; he liked how you looked in his shirt.

“Come on, babe. Into bed.”

You crawled to the very middle of the mattress. He retrieved the brush from your dresser and positioned himself behind you. He gently brushed your hair out before loosely braiding it. That way, should you wake up sick, at least your hair would be out of the way.

When he had finished, you glanced back at him over your shoulder. “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known,” he said softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then why don’t you want me?” you whispered.

He kissed your shoulder and breathed in the scent of your soft, warm skin mingling with the smell of himself from his shirt. His heart began thumping in his ears. You probably wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning, which made him braver than he would be otherwise.

“I want you, more than you can imagine, and that scares me,” he murmured. “You were…unexpected. You walked into my life and turned my world upside down so quickly; it’s making me question everything. I feel unbalanced around you.”

“’m sorry, I didn’mean to.”

“I wouldn’t wish it any different,” he smiled tenderly.

Shawn helped you settle under the covers and retrieved a glass of water and two ibuprofens to set on the nightstand beside the bed. He also moved a small wastebasket to within arms’ reach.

He crouched down to level himself with you and gently asked, “Do you really want to kiss me?”

You exhaled, your words almost imperceptible, “Every damn day.”

He took a deep breath. “If you remember any part of our conversation tomorrow, I’ll let you,” he promised. “Damn the consequences.”

// * // * //

@mendesblurb @benito-mi-vida

[latetaektalk]

(he)art thief | jjk [i, preview]

“jungkook is charming, kind, smart, and funny. jungkook is the guy to fall in love with. he is perfect in every sense, except that he is also a member of a notorious heist group and only getting close to you to steal from you. but what does he do when he starts to fall for you? who does he choose? his brothers or you?

genre: heist! AU, thief! jungkook, art curator daughter! oc, ocean’s! AU, fluff, angst, sexual themes/implied smut (in later chapters)

pairing: jungkook x female reader

estimated word count: 35 to 40k

warnings: cursing/swearing, a bit of alcohol consumption

a/n: this is loosely based off the ocean’s film! to be added to the taglist, shoot me an ask/message! also, gureum is jungkook’s dog! and thank you to movie club for helping me come up with this amazing title!!

coming sunday, may 30th 2021  

Jungkook avoids playgrounds.

Does so because when he was at the tender age of just seven, he fell off a swing. He ended up in the hospital (his first but not last visit); seven stitches, his mother told him, but he could swear it was a million.

Needless to say, Jungkook has been avoiding playgrounds like the plague ever since.

But here he is, in the middle of one, dog leash in his hand, and heart pounding in his chest so violently it might just explode.

A mob of boys runs past him, all of them no older than six—which means that, for the most part at least, they’re harmless—but still, Jungkook flinches. It’s embarrassing, even more so because Gureum turns and stares at him. If one of them should flinch, it should be Gureum, with him being a dog and Jungkook a full grown adult, but God, today is just not his day. He’s stressed! Out of it! Nervous! A wreck-

“Did you just flinch?”

Jungkook feels his heart drop. Fuck, he thought he walked out of sight!

“No, I didn’t, Tae,” he hisses, pressing the earpiece further into his ear.

“You flinched! We can still see you- ah, okay, not anymore. But we saw that-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I definitely did not flinch-”

“Denying it is pointless. We all saw it. Back me up here, Jimin.”

“You definitely flinched.”

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks, is about to walk back to the car and tell them that they must be hallucinating because he definitely did not flinch when-

“Can you see her already, Kook?” Namjoon asks and for a moment, Jungkook forgot why he is here, you.

He looks around himself, and it doesn’t take him long to find you, sitting on a bench, under a big tree, soft shadows dancing on your skin.

“Yeah, I-I see her,” Jungkook says under his breath.

“Okay, good. I’m gonna need you to focus up then,” Namjoon continues, and Jungkook nods like Namjoon could see him.

“Yeah, if you screw this up, it’s your fault if we end up in jail-”

“Tae!” Namjoon warns, and judging from the ‘ow’ that follows, someone punched him. Jungkook’s guess is Jimin.

“What? I’m just saying-”

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you come,” Namjoon mumbles and runs a hand down his face. “Hey, Kook, don’t listen to Tae, yeah? He’s just messing with you.”

“Yeah… I know,” Jungkook mutters, and he means it. He really does know that Taehyung is messing with him, but there’s a part of him that takes it to heart, that is worried sick about how he’s going to fuck this up and be the reason for why they all end up in jail.

“Don’t worry, Kook,” Jimin cuts in, taking the phone from Namjoon. “We’ve got your back. All you have to do is repeat after me, say what I say. You’ve got this. Remember what I taught you?”

“Always smile and laugh and never talk about yourself. Keep the conversation about the other person because people love talking about themselves,” Jungkook repeats, and looks at you again, heart heavy in his chest.

He shouldn’t feel like this, wishes he wouldn’t. But he can’t help it. This isn’t how he imagined he’d meet you. Jungkook thought he’d meet you at some fancy event, sipping expensive champagne, or at some luxury clothing store maxing out your parents’ credit card—after all, your mother is a world famous art curator. But instead you spend your time at playgrounds, babysitting.

There’s actually no reason for Jungkook to be this nervous. Jimin did practise with him this exact scenario, but he can’t help but think that with a flute in his hands and some alcohol buzzing through his system, he’d feel more comfortable. But here he is, in the middle of a sea of children.

“Kook, do you copy?”

“What? Sorry, I wasn’t…” Jungkook pauses. He shouldn’t admit that he wasn’t listening.

“Get your head in the game, please,” Namjoon tells him over the earpiece.

“Sorry, you’re right. I’m here,” Jungkook says and starts to walk again even though he still feels fucking lost as a goddamn adult at a playground. Gureum follows him when he tugs on the dog leash.

“Okay, good. Just- just try your best,” Namjoon says, voice a bit muffled. “You’ve got this.”

Jungkook could swear that there’s a waiver to his words.

“Don’t worry. We’re here,” Taehyung tells him before Jungkook can think about it too much, distracting him from the quiver he heard.

He stops behind a tree, close enough for Gureum to spot you, but not close enough for you to spot them. His knees crack when he kneels down to stroke Gureum’s ear.

“Hey, Gureum? I’m gonna unleash you in a second and then I’m gonna need you to run towards,” Jungkook points as discreetly as possible to you, “her, yeah? Just like we practised? Remember? Remember how you ran towards Seok and Yoongi? Do it exactly like that again, okay? If you do, I’ll get you your favourite treat.”

Gureum doesn’t run away instantly when Jungkook unclips him because he’s trained, but when he points at you and whistles, he’s gone.

You react surprisingly calm to a dog barreling towards you, barely flinching. You lean down and greet Gureum.

“Approaching target now,” Jungkook mumbles quietly and can only faintly register how Namjoon tells Taehyung to be quiet from now on, all of his attention on the mission now.

With the leash in his hand, Jungkook jogs towards you, heaving extra hard to sell the act of a dog-owner-who-has-been-chasing-his-dog-for-the-last-ten-minutes to you.

You look up to him when he stops in front of you, eyeing him. Jungkook stands there, bend over, his hands on his knees, breathing like he’s struggling to catch his breath.

“Uh…. hi,” you start, brows pinched together.

Jungkook puts on his most charming smile, ignoring his thumping heart to the best of his abilities.

“Hi.”

“Oh, we’re starting- okay, showtime: I’m sorry, are you okay? My dog- he just ran and I couldn’t stop him. I’m so sorry,” Jimin says in his ear.

“I-I’m so sorry.” There’s a quiver to Jungkook’s voice, and it isn’t on purpose. “Are you okay? He just ran and I-”

“It’s fine,” you tell him with a small smile, still petting Gureum who has clearly taken a liking to you. During practise with Seokjin and Yoongi, Gureum always ran back to Jungkook, but now he’s staying at your feet, relishing in your pets. “Is that your dog?”

“Yes, yes, it is. I’m so sorry. I just unleashed him for a second, but then he ran away and I couldn’t catch up with him. Are you okay?”

“Yes, and I’m so sorry. I just unleashed him for a moment, thinking it was okay, but-”

“Can you prove it?” you interrupt and Jungkook pauses. “I mean that it’s your dog. It’s just that he isn’t really reacting to you, you know?”

Jimin’s response comes a bit late. “Oh, yes, I can. His name’s Gureum and he is- what’s the breed of your dog again? I don’t remember. If you look at his collar, you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

“Oh, yeah, I can,” Jungkook smiles, wiping the non existent sweat from his temple. “His name’s Gureum and he’s a white Maltese dog. If you look at his collar, you’ll see that I’m not lying.”

You actually look at the collar and part of Jungkook is offended that you don’t just believe him. Does he look like a liar to you? “Actually, I have pictures too-”

“No, no, it’s fine. I believe you,” you say before gesturing for Gureum to go back to Jungkook. He does, but somewhat reluctantly and Jungkook doesn’t know how to interpret this.

“Ask her if she’s okay again.”

“Are you really okay?” Jungkook says and offers you a smile the way Jimin taught him to. “I really am sorry about-”

“It’s fine,” you tell him and wave him off. “Nothing happened. Don’t worry about it. Just leash your dog.”

And then, you turn away from him. Jungkook stands there awkwardly for another moment before kneeling down to Gureum, absentmindedly petting him, mind filled with questions because what now? How does he communicate to the others that you turned away from him? That the conversation has ended and he has no idea how to start it again?

“What’s going on Kook? Is she smiling-”

“Ah, Gureum, no,” Jungkook cuts in. “Don’t turn away- I can’t leash you if you do that. Don’t turn away.”

“Oh, shit, she turned away, huh?”

“What now, Jimin?”

“Shush, Joon. Let me think, yeah?”

Jungkook fiddles with the leash like he has a problem clipping it, hoping that maybe you’re going to offer him your help. You don’t. And why would you? He’s an adult after all.

Before Jimin can come up with anything though, the solution to the problem presents itself. It comes in the form of a girl running and tripping right next to Jungkook and him catching her just in time before she can faceplant in the dirt and scrape her knees open.

“Oh, hey, careful here!” Jungkook brings the girl back up on her two feet. She stares at him with big eyes, and he recognises her from the pictures. It’s Siyeon, the seven year old girl you babysit regularly, the reason why you’re spending your afternoon at a playground today. ”You okay?”

“Kook, what’s happening right now?” Namjoon asks.

Siyeon looks at you, and you’re already kneeling beside her, fixing her hair.

“Siyeon, I told you not to run. See, you almost fell now!” You say it the same way a mother would, less strict though. “If he hadn’t caught you, you would have hurt yourself, wouldn’t you have? Now, what do you say?”

“T-thank you,” Siyeon mumbles, and Jungkook isn’t sure if she’s staring at her hands because she’s embarrassed or just about to cry.

“Who’s that? Who are you talking to? Who’s he talking to?”

“Was that a kid?”

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks Siyeon, ignoring Namjoon and Taehyung to the best of his abilities.

“Y-yes, thank you.” She won’t look at him.

Jungkook smiles. “Well, I’m happy that you didn’t get hurt there.”

“Kook, answer please. Do you need help?”

“Should we interfere?”

Jungkook’s about to snap. Does it seriously sound like he needs help? He’s talking to a seven year old, for fuck’s sake! Sure, he didn’t practise this scenario, but God, he was capable of improvising!

“Thank you. She’s really clumsy,” you say to Jungkook.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m like that too. After all, I let,” he looks down at Gureum and finishes his sentence by gesturing to him and then you. You laugh.

And that’s when Siyeon seems to notice Gureum for the first time, eyes growing big at his sight like she has never seen a dog before. A chance.

“His name’s Gureum. You wanna-”

“Do you think we should go over there? See if he’s okay?”

And with that, Jungkook snaps. Yoongi is going to give him an earful for destroying his oh so precious equipment, but he can’t do this any longer with Jimin, Namjoon and Taehyung in his ear. So in one smooth movement, Jungkook digs out the earpiece and crushes it between his fingers, hiding it in his hand.

“Sorry, a fly, I think,” Jungkook says, swatting at his ear, and before you can think about it, he moves on. “Do you wanna pet Gureum, S- Is it okay if I call you Siyeon?”

Siyeon stares at Jungkook like he can’t believe he just asked her that. It’s probably the first time an adult has asked her for permission to call her by her name, and she seems to appreciate it immensely because she beams at him and gives him a huge nod.

“Okay, Siyeon, do you maybe wanna pet Gureum? He doesn’t bite, I promise.” Jungkook can feel your eyes on him. He’s doing it, charming you!

Siyeon turns to you.

“Can I-?”

You hum. “If Gureum is okay with it-”

Siyeon kneels down. “Hello, Mr Gureum. Sir, can I please pet you?”

Jungkook melts, and so do you.

Receiving no response from Gureum, Siyeon looks back up to you. Jungkook quickly takes his paw and waves. “Hello, Mrs Siyeon, if you promise not to hurt me, you can pet me. I like it especially if humans pet me at the back of my head. Just, please, be nice to me.”

In all of the years he has had Gureum, Jungkook has never tried to imagine what his voice would sound like, but he knows for a fact that he doesn’t sound like a chain smoker. It’s a questionable choice, but he doesn’t regret it. Because not only does it make Siyeon laugh, it also elicits a chuckle from you.

You look at him with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet, have I?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Jungkook says, and you two rise to your feet when Siyeon starts to pet Gureum and he doesn’t bite her.

“Well,” you stretch out your hand, “I’m Y/N.”

Jungkook swallows the ‘I know’ that wants to slip him and takes your hand. He has to stop himself from bursting with pride, only allowing his smile to grow into a blinding grin.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, and he means it. It’s really nice to meet you. “I’m Jungkook.”

coming sunday, may 30th 2021

[no-gorms]

Have a snippet of a robot!Tony thing that might stay a ficlet or might become a prologue for a thing, I don’t know yet:

(Steve & Tony, but also pre-Steve/Tony, 1000+ words, canon divergent, alternate Avengers 2012 setting)

The new suit fits well. Too well. It barely feels like a combat suit at all, settling lighter and easier against Steve’s skin than his recent wardrobe acquisitions of plaid and leather jackets.

Steve’s alone in this hellicarrier holding room, so he stretches his arms and mimes throwing the shield, noting the way the material pulls on the inside of his arms when he does so.

It’ll do, he supposes. It’s flexible enough, Coulson seems the kind of guy who knows what he’s doing, and all of SHIELD’s agents wear similar form-fitting suits, so they must offer decent enough protection. Though they get away with a less eye-catching color combination. The Captain America colors may have been the point back in the day – it made sure that Steve was the main target and allowed the others more freedom of movement – he’s not sure that’s relevant today.

Everything’s brighter, louder, faster in the twenty-first century.

Maybe that’s why his new suit’s been brightened up, making it almost as striking as those old posters. It’s another way that they’re catching him up with the world, on top of everything else – all the files, the briefings, the awkward conversations that have been trying to get him out of his SHIELD-assigned accommodations.

Steve’s so deep in thought that he barely hears the door opening. It’s only the clang of metal boots in approach that has him looking up.

“Iron Man,” Steve says. “Fury didn’t say you were coming.”

“Fury only acts like he knows everything.” Iron Man’s voice isn’t as deep as Steve thought it would be. The files didn’t capture the startling sheen of the metal armor, either, with its red and gold glinting like burnished mirrors with every step he takes into the room.

Suddenly Steve doesn’t feel so self-conscious about his own suit.

“I admit, I was curious,” Iron Man says. “Wanted to see if it was really you that they pried out of the ice.”

“You want to gawk, do it to my face,” Steve snaps.

“I am, champ.” The armor’s face plate pops up, like the lid of a tin can. Inside, there’s more metal – wires, gears, bits of machinery that Steve doesn’t have the word for, even if he might have known their equivalent back in the day. All of the helmet’s innards are moving, clicking, and flashing like small lightbulbs – an engine.

Steve stares. This is a world in which exist town-sized vehicles that can fly, written messages travel instantaneously across the globe, and where playback recordings appear almost as real as the real thing. What’s a walking, talking, fighting robot on top of all that? Nothing, really. Iron Man, the mysterious hero who saved Malibu from Obadiah Stane’s terrorist attack, and a potential Avenger on top of that, is a machine. Why not.

“Oh,” Steve says. “That wasn’t in the files.”

The faceplate comes back down, and Steve looks at it again with fresh eyes. Iron Man’s face – gold with red accents to mark the cheekbones, jaw and forehead. That’s his actual face, with stylized eyes and a mouth, giving just enough detail for the human eye to focus on when conversing with him.

“It’s not,” Iron Man agrees. “Easier for people to believe there’s a human being in here.”

“Romanoff called you Tony, so I thought that, too.”

“That is my name,” Iron Man says. “Well, an acronym. Well, a short-form of an acronym.”

“Anthony?” Steve says, startled. Obadiah Stane worked for Stark Industries, didn’t he? “As in Artificial Neural Technology Haptics—do you remember me?”

“What?”

“Howard Stark,” Steve presses. “He showed me this computing machine he was working on, ANTHONY, it could only do some basic mathematical projections at the time, I barely understood it, but he spoke so much about the dreams he had for it. That it would be able to read and answer and react – an electro-mechanical intelligence.”

“Yes,” Iron Man says slowly, as though bewildered by the turn of the conversation. “That was me. But that was long before I became self-aware. I don’t remember much of that time.”

“Oh.”

“He used me to search for you, though,” Iron Man says. “Those were some of my first proper algorithms, but I didn’t have enough computing power at the time to do it properly, and then I got pulled for other tasks. In the end Fury beat me, I guess.”

Steve has the brief, unnecessary thought that maybe they should’ve just left him in the ice with the Tesseract. He quickly chases the thought away, hoping that it isn’t visible on his face, not that he knows the first damn thing about how well futuristic robots like Iron Man can read people who interact with them. Probably best to assume the worst, and recover from it the best he can.

“Right.” Steve puts on a smile and offers a hand. “Steve, nice to meet you.”

Iron Man looks at Steve’s hand.

Steve has another flash of panicked dismay – do people still shake hands in the future? Is it too invasive now, or too old-fashioned? He knows he shook Fury’s hand the other day, but Fury might’ve just been indulging him and let it slide.

“Tony.” Iron Man accepts Steve’s hand and shakes it once, firm and humanlike. The metal glove is cool and the palm strongly convex, but it’s not unpleasant to the touch. “Back at you.”

“I suppose we should see Fury now?” Steve asks.

“Sure, yeah.” Iron Man watches as Steve collects the shield from its casing and then says, almost in a rush: “Sorry, I really don’t remember ‘meeting’ you. I only have the files Howard fed me.”

“That’s fine,” Steve says, shaking his head. “It’s nice to see that you’ve come a long way from a warehouse of cables.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Iron Man falls into step next to Steve as they leave the hold. “You’re a long way from data on a page, too, uh… Cap. Do I call you Cap?”

“If you want to. But Steve’s fine.”

“I’m gonna call you Cap.”

Steve slants a look at Iron Man’s face. There’s nothing to read off of it, but it just makes the nuances of the accompanying voice all the more pronounced. The teasing curiosity feels pointed, as though he’s trying to read Steve, too, and any conclusions to be had can be found in what Steve only does here and now, as opposed to what he might have read in files.

“Like I said,” Steve says easily, “if you want to.”

[blazingparker]

What’s Up, Danger?

**so this is the fic that the lovely @snowstark allowed me to run by them to make sure it made sense to other people and not just my own brain. i really, really hope you enjoy it!

read it on ao3!

Summary: When Peter Parker gets bitten by a radioactive spider in his college’s lab, he doesn’t expect anything that comes next. Not becoming Spider-Man, not being hunted down by the Avengers, and definitely not a secret friendship with Tony Stark.

--

“So, let me get this straight. You want us to hunt down the one superhero in New York City that’s not mooching off my bank account, force him to tell us who he is, and then try and get him to join the team?” Tony could not believe what he was hearing. He sat back in his seat at the head of the table and stared straight ahead at Nick Fury.

“We don’t know that he’s a superhero,” Fury drawled, relaxing in his chair at the other end of the table. “He could be more evil than we know.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the guy plucking kittens out of trees and helping lost old Dominican ladies with directions is a supervillain in the making,” Tony deadpanned, clearly not impressed.

“Tony, orders are orders.” God, Steve was infuriating.

“Tell me, do you ever question anything or are you a walking lapdog?” Tony and Steve glared at each other until Natasha cleared her throat, breaking the tension in the room.

“Look, we’ll bring him in.” At Tony’s look of indignance, she raised a hand. “There’s no reason to go out there guns blazing, though. He hasn’t done anything to warrant that. If we show up looking ready to fight, he’ll avoid us. We will handle this professionally. With tact.” On the last word she stared pointedly at Tony, who pretended not to notice.

“So long as this ends with us knowing who’s behind the mask, I don’t care how you get it done,” Fury said as he stood. “I’ll let Pierce know you’re on board. That should get the prick off my back for a while.” With that, he left the room to the six Avengers sitting around the table.

“What is it with you and going along with whatever SHIELD wants?” Tony barked out, and Steve crossed his arms.

“SHIELD knows what’s best to keep this world safe. We should trust them to give us missions that are important and best left unquestioned.”

“Yeah, I don’t think telling us to beat up the guy who saved the owner of that deli that got blown up last week qualifies.” Tony huffed out an irritated sigh.

“Look, let’s just try and approach him one-on-one,” Natasha suggested. “That way no one feels threatened. Maybe one of us can form a relationship with the guy, get him to trust us.” When no one voiced an objection, she continued. “Tony, you can go first since you’re so protective of the guy.”

“Protective?! I am not-” Natasha left the room before Tony could finish.

---

The first thing Tony noticed when observing Spider-Man was that the guy had absolutely no self-preservation instincts. He literally flung himself off the top of a building, whooping and hollering all the way down until he almost made a little spider puddle on the ground before finally shooting out a web and swinging away. The guy ran into a burning building without a second thought and came back out with a kid in his arms.

That last incident was how Tony finally had the chance to speak with him. By tracking him with JARVIS, he saw that Spider-Man had stopped at a local playground. It looked like he was taking a breather, and was even more likely given the guy had just inhaled massive amounts of smoke. He suited up and flew over to the spot, clearly catching Spider-Man by surprise.

“Hey there, Spider-Man. Or should I call you Danger-Man, since you seem to have a knack for running right towards it?” Tony landed a respectable distance from where Spider-Man was perched on top of the jungle gym.

“What can I do for you?” Okay, so Spider-Man was young. His voice told Tony that much.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie to you. Nick Fury sent me. Us. The Avengers. But it’s just me for now.” Already, Spider-Man had visibly tensed. If Tony could see his eyes behind those pathetic goggles, he’d bet good money that they had narrowed considerably.

“What do you want.” Spider-Man said, his tone conveying it was a demand that Tony tell him now, not a question anymore.

“We want to know who you are. What makes you tick. What made you put on that god awful excuse for a suit and run into a burning building today.”

“Not all of us are billionaires, Stark. Some of us have to work with what we’ve got, and I haven’t really got much.” Tony’s mouth quirked up in a half-smile at that and he huffed out a laugh. Spider-Man’s quips were infamous, and now he could see why. The guy was good.

“Look,” Tony allowed his faceplate to flip up. Maybe that would help relax the agitated vigilante in front of him. Being able to look at his eyes had to be better than a titanium-alloy mask. “For the record, I was against this plan. I told Mr. Eyepatch up there that we should leave you alone.”

“Then why aren’t you?” Spider-Man sounded a little surprised at that admission.

“I got outvoted. The Avengers are a democracy, apparently. Cap’s a real bitch about it. I preferred the authoritarian model.” Tony sniffed, glancing away before looking back at Spider-Man when he chuckled quietly.

“Good to know you really are the big happy family that they show on the news,” Spider-Man shot back. Tony couldn’t help a real grin from forming that time.

“Oh yeah, big time. Ever seen Annie? It’s like that. Except Annie is actually the entire team and I’m Daddy Warbucks for all of them.” After a moment of shared laughter, things grew quiet again. Tony took a step forward, counting it as a win when Spider-Man didn’t scramble to get away.

“I’ll leave you alone from now on, since that’s clearly what you want. On one condition.”

“What’s that?” Spider-Man sounded wary but intrigued.

“Gimme your number.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Just because I’m gonna leave you alone doesn’t mean the others will. If they pull some stupid shit while trying to convince you to tell them who you are, I wanna know. Give me your number.”

“How would I call you if you have my number?”

“I’ll call you first.” Tony was surprised to find he actually truly did mean it. Spider-Man just stared at him for a second before rattling off a phone number and disappearing into the night.

This definitely wasn’t ideal. Tony knew that. But at least this way he had a way of knowing if the team went too far in their attempts to complete the mission.

Grinning, Tony plugged the number into his phone before hesitating over the space left for the contact’s name. He didn’t know Spider-Man’s identity, and definitely couldn’t plug in Spider-Man in case anyone ever saw. Remembering his very first quip to the vigilante, his thumbs flew over the screen.

Danger.

---

Over the course of the next few weeks, Tony and Spider-Man struck up a routine. After each encounter with the Avengers, Spider-Man would give him a call and let him know how it went down. Luckily, things hadn’t gotten violent yet.

Tony was also finding himself...attached. To this masked vigilante from Queens. Something that made absolutely no sense and was probably going to end in disaster for them both. This guy clearly wanted nothing to do with the Avengers - no matter how friendly the two of them had become.

A ringtone disrupted Tony from his thoughts and he grabbed his phone, smiling a little when he read the screen.

Incoming call from: Danger

“What’s up, Danger?” Tony asked as he answered, pushing back from the lab table he was stationed at and walking to the window.

“Are you ever not going to answer the phone that way?” An exasperated voice came from the other end of the line. Tony grinned. He’d taken to always answering with the same “what’s up, danger?” First, it had been because he didn’t want anyone to walk in and hear him greeting Spider-Man. But slowly, it was becoming an inside joke with the two of them.

“Not a chance. But c’mon, gimme the rundown,” Tony said, gazing out over the New York City skyline as though he might see Spider-Man if he looked hard enough.

“Cap and Widow came this time. Gave me the same rundown, telling me they were running out of options and didn’t want to have to resort to other measures,” Spider-Man informed him. His voice dipped lower on the last few words in an imitation of Steve’s voice. Tony’s blood ran cold at that, and he quickly sat down on the nearest chair.

Why was he so afraid for Spider-Man all of a sudden? They were just pals. The guy was a vigilante that clearly had enhanced strength and other powers and could take care of himself.

“What the hell does that mean?” Tony asked, clenching his jaw.

“I didn’t exactly stick around to find out,” Spider-Man said with a laugh. “You could ask him though.”

“And risk him finding out exactly how I knew of this threat? Not a chance. Then things would just get worse,” Tony explained with a sigh.

“You really don’t need to be so worried. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not worried.” The words came out just a little bit too fast, and Spider-Man chuckled.

“Sure, Tones.” The nickname sent..something through Tony. Not affection. It was not affection. Nothing like that. “Anyway, I gotta hang up. Got readings to get done.”

“So you’re in college!” Tony cried triumphantly, waving a hand in the air to try and tell JARVIS to add that to the file he had on Spider-Man. When there was silence on the other end of the line, he sobered up a bit. “I’m not gonna look into it. Promise.”

Another beat of silence.

“Alright. Talk to you later, Tony.”

---

The next time Tony’s phone rang, he was eating dinner with Natasha and Rhodey after being dragged out of his lab. When he saw Danger flash across the screen, he quickly excused himself and walked out of hearing range.

“What’s up, Danger?”

“Would you tell Hawkeye over there to quit it with the arrow-fest?” Tony’s eyebrows just about disappeared into his hairline and he clutched the phone a little tighter. He could hear Spider-Man’s breath coming fast, like he’d just finished swinging. He probably had.

“The what?” He asked, voice edging on a growl.

“He and Thor showed up, tried to ask me again. When I made it clear I wasn’t interested in joining the Brady Bunch and tried to leave, he took a shot at me. Without my danger sense, I definitely would’ve been hit.” Another interesting fact about Spider-Man, but Tony couldn’t pay attention to that now.

“He-fuck, I’m so sorry. That was never-I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Tony ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly.

“It’s fine, Tony. You didn’t take the shot at me,” Spider-Man insisted. “I can handle a few pissed-off Avengers. Really.” After a moment of Tony trying to come up with a response, the vigilante spoke again with a softer voice. “Tony, I’m okay. It’s not your fault. I’m not hurt, I’m safe at home.”

Somehow, the knot that had been growing in Tony’s chest eased at hearing Spider-Man was safe at home. He nodded before realizing he was on the phone and that response wouldn’t really work. “Alright, as long as you’re safe.” Where the hell did that come from? “I-I hate to cut this short but I walked out on Rhodey and Nat and-”

“-and if you’re gone too long, the jig is up. No worries, I get it. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Tony couldn’t stop a smile at the understanding in the man’s voice.

“Talk tomorrow.”

---

After that phone call, Spider-Man’s run-ins with the Avengers got increasingly volatile. While Clint had admitted to losing his cool when he shot the arrow and acknowledged it had been a mistake, they’d lost whatever trust they’d built up with Spider-Man.

Well, the others had. Not Tony.

Each encounter had more biting remarks than the last, and their duration was getting shorter and shorter. The Avengers had even tried catching up to him multiple times in one night. All that resulted in was an exhausted, irritated Spider-Man - Tony could hear it in his voice when they spoke on the phone.

Tony was working on a new suit in the lab when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was nearly two in the morning. His crooked heart started beating a little faster at that - only one person would call him so late.

“What’s up, Danger?” Tony asked cheerfully as he picked up the phone. The cheer dissipated immediately when he didn’t get a response. All he could hear was labored breathing and a groan of pain. “Hey. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Hey, Tony,” Spider-Man answered, words slurring together. Tony immediately moved to his closest functional suit, letting JARVIS transfer the call over as he got into it.

“What happened?” Tony tried his best to keep the panic from edging into his voice. The faceplate closed and he could see JARVIS running a tracking program, trying to find out where Spider-Man had last been seen.

“No big deal. ‘S just a guy. He had a big knife. Huge. ‘S not safe for the neighborhood,” Spider-Man answered. Tony felt a chill run through him - Spider-Man had been stabbed ? His danger sense never allowed anyone to land a blow.

“Apparently not so safe for neighborhood Spider-Men either,” he quipped with a shaky voice. “Are you doing okay? Have something to stop the bleeding?”

“Does pavement count?” Even in an injured state, the guy was still churning out one-liners like it was nothing.

“I have located Spider-Man, sir,” JARVIS piped up. “Plotting the fastest course.” Tony whirled around, blasting the nearest window and watching it shatter before shooting out of it at top speed.

“Why didn’t you dodge it?” Tony asked, desperate to keep Spider-Man talking to him until he could get there.

“Danger sense isn’t workin’.” Spider-Man’s voice was significantly quieter at that, like he was ashamed.

“Faster, JARVIS! Why not?” Tony barked the command at his AI but softened his voice for the injured vigilante.

“Tired.” The one-word answer was enough. Even if the Avengers hadn’t struck Spider-Man directly since the incident with Clint, they’d caused this. Their persistence had worn down a decent man to the point where he couldn’t defend himself against the common criminals of Queens. That wasn’t what they were supposed to be about, and Tony felt disgusted just thinking about it.

Luckily, he didn’t have to for much longer. The suit began to descend towards a rooftop in a sketchier area of Queens, and Tony spotted the red and blue jumpsuit the guy insisted on wearing. The faceplate flipped up as he landed and knelt next to the form lying on the ground.

“What’s up, Danger?” Tony asked, trying to tease as he gently pushed away the blood-soaked fabric to get a look at the wound.

“Oh my god, this again? Just leave me to die.” Spider-Man groaned, but didn’t push Tony away. The older man laughed, shaking his head. He then pointed his index and middle fingers at the wound, allowing a healing gel to spray out of the suit and onto the injury. It was a new creation of Tony’s - it would stop the bleeding and keep the wound stable until they reached a medbay and could get real medical attention.

“There we go, Spider-Man. We do need to get you properly fixed up, though. This is a temporary solution.” Tony said, leaning over the man still lying there limply. Slowly, Spider-Man brought a hand up to his head. Tony thought he was feeling for blood, and watched in shock as the hand gripped the hood of his mask and tugged it off.

Of course he’s hot, was the first thing that went through Tony’s mind. Floppy brown hair, soft pink lips, and those big eyes that reminded him of a certain deer from an animated Disney movie. Spider-Man shifted slightly, trying to sit up with a quiet groan, and Tony rushed to support him and help hold him up. Spider-Man looked up at him and gave him a crooked grin.

“It’s Peter,” he said. His name. Tony smiled brightly in return.

“What’s up, Peter?”

[kaistarus]

Mistexting Mayhem

Pairing: Nishinoya X Reader

Words: 1.6K

Summary: You accidentally send Nishinoya a text that was meant for Yachi and now he’s knows secrets you were hoping he never found out

A/N: If you think this fic is anything but crack you’re wrong lmao I’ve always wanted to write a fic with this style and Noya is great for the chaos i needed. It was fun

Masterlist

[6:40pm] idiot⚡: look y/n without adhd id be too powerful

                         i could beet god himself in handtohand combat

                         god was afraid of my raw fuckin awesomeness wen i bursted from the woom

[6:41pm] y/n: there is so much wrong with what u just said

[6:41pm] idiot⚡: i have absoltly no clue wat

[6:43pm] y/n: put those 3 brain cells to work. I believe in you

[6:43pm] idiot⚡: but theyve reached their daily quota

                          plz there so tired and overworked

You snorted, a dopey smile on your lips as you laid surrounded by textbooks and homework, swinging your feet in the air behind you. You focused intently on the cell phone in your hand doing everything you could to procrastinate the schoolwork around you.

[6:44pm] y/n: noyas so stupid

[6:44pm] yachi❤: i thought you liked him?

[6:45pm] y/n: jeez Yachi. dont come for my throat

                       i cant help that i have bad taste 🙄

[6:46pm] yachi❤: if it helps he tripped over a stray ball today

                               maybe think of that till you don’t like him??

Unfortunately, the image of Nishinoya waving to everyone then biffing it only had you smiling like a dork. How you’d gotten to a point that Nishinoya being an idiot made you swoon, you’ll never know.

You raised your eyebrow suspiciously at the new notification on Snapchat from ‘Tanaka’ and after swiping it open you nearly dropped your phone. Looking back at you was Nishinoya, his head tilted and eyebrow quirked in confusion with a gari-gari kun shoved halfway down his throat. The caption at the bottom reading ‘daaaammn look at your prince charming go 😩’.

You frowned at the picture, letting out a frustrated groan at how your heart accelerated against your ribcage. You quickly tapped out of it and reopened the messenger app.

[6:57pm] y/n: we have to kill Noya

[6:57pm] idiot⚡: we??? what kind of mission is this??? 😤

[6:58pm] y/n: i like him too much. he has to die. its for my own good

You waited impatiently for her response and almost debated doing your homework since it took longer than you felt necessary. You supposed you had suggested murder to Yachi, but still…

When you finally received a response your entire body froze.

[7:11pm] idiot⚡: U LIKE ME?!?!? 😍

                          UR KILLING ME?!?! 😢

                          IM SO CONFUSED......

                          and a lil turned on ngl👀

Your hand covered your mouth in horror as you processed what the hell you had just done. This didn’t happen to people in real life. Mistexting was stuff people made up when they created fake texts for social media to get likes. You didn’t think people actually went through this.

You opened new notifications to escape the hell that stared you straight in the face.

[7:15pm] Tanaka💪: Yo, whatd u do. Whys Noya having a panic attak

[7:16pm] y/n: I accidently texted him instead of Yachi and told him i liked him 😣

[7:16pm] Tanaka💪: O wtf thats hilarious 😂

[7:17pm] y/n: ITS NOT HILArIOUS

[7:18pm] Tanaka💪: Hes askin if its a prank. Wat do i do?

[7:19pm] y/n:I DONT KNOW SDKFHJN IM THE IDIOT WHO STSRTED IT

He stopped responding and you banged your head against your pillow anxiously.

[7:23pm] y/n: YACHI ITOLD NoYA I LKED HIM AND NOU HE NOS WAY DO JI DO!?!????! 😭😭😭

[7:23pm] idiot⚡: THIS ISNT YACHI!!!!

                           HOLY FUKC U DO LIEK ME!!!

You screamed into your pillow. Were you fucking kidding? This could not be happening.

[7:25pm] Tanaka💪: dude, twice? i cant save u now 🤪

[7:25pm] y/n: betraying me in my time of fucking need? i’ll remember this asshole

[7:26pm] Tanaka💪: so vulgar 👀

You growled at Tanaka’s uselessness and bravely peeked through one eye as you went back to your conversation with Nishinoya.

[7:24pm] idiot⚡: STOP IGNORING ME I KNO UR TEXTING RYU

[7:26pm] idiot: IM GONNA KEEP SPAMMING U TILL U ANSWE RME😤

[7:26pm] idiot⚡: 1

                          2

                          3

                          4

                          5

                           6

                           7

                           8

                           9

[7:27pm] y/n: what is this twitch chat? fuck 

[7:28pm] idiot⚡: your heeeeererererreee 🥰

[7:29pm] y/n: soooooo………..

                        clearly there has been a misunderstanding

[7:29pm] idiot⚡: oh nonono. I understand PERFETCLY. u LOVE me

                         its ok. this is a safe space. we can discuss feelings 😌

[7:31pm] y/n: there are zero feelings to discuss

[7:31pm] idiot⚡: then y did u say u like me too much so i have to die?

[7:34pm] y/n: i am filled with rage 🤬

[7:34pm] idiot⚡: rage over how much u liiike me???🥰🥰🥰

[7:36pm] y/n: definitely not

You racked your brain for some kind of reasonable sounding excuse, eventually landing on:

[7:36pm] y/n: It was autocorrect

[7:36pm] idiot⚡: HAH????? FROM?????

[7:38pm] y/n: HAH???

                       ....Nora?

[7:38pm] idiot⚡: Who TF is nora???? 😡

[7:39pm] y/n: someoe i like obviously 😏

[7:40pm] idiot⚡: so u like them but u use my name so much it autocorrected to me? 🤔

[7:44pm] y/n: OK MR DETEcTIVE WHERE TF ARE THES BRAIN CELS COMIN GFROM?

[7:45pm] idiot⚡: i pull them out for special ocasions 😌

[7:45pm] y/n: well how bout you pack those up and put em away

[7:46pm] idiot⚡: how bout two people who LIKE each other SAY something so they can DOOOOOOOO something bout IT 🙄

You began typing a frantic message about how it was none of his business until you processed the message. Then you read it over several times before letting out an audible, “what the fuck.”

[7:50pm] y/n: YOU LIKE ME

[7:50pm] idiot⚡: I FLIRT WITH U ALL THE TIME WAT DO U MEAN yOu LiKe Me!?!

                          FUCKING OBVIOSLY

[7:51pm] y/n: literally when. name one time.

[7:52pm] idiot⚡: I WALK WITH U EVERY MORNING!!!

[7:53pm] y/n: I thought that was a coincidence???

[7:54pm] idiot⚡: I BRNIG U SNACKS DURING LUNCH!!!

[7:54pm] y/n: I thought they were leftovers??

[7:55pm] idiot⚡: …....I call you cute and invite you to my games.

[7:56pm] y/n: you call everyone attractive and i thought there was like a audience quota or something........?

[7:57pm] idiot⚡: ….i cant tell who i should be upset with rn but i think its u 😑

[7:58pm] y/n: WAT WHY!?!

[8:00pm] Idiot⚡: I LIKE U+U LIKE ME=WE LIKE EACH OTHER

[8:01pm] y/n: whoa. slow down. I hate math 😣

[8:02pm] Idiot⚡: ===WE SHUD GO ON A DATE!!!

[8:02pm] y/n: HAH!? i think you started multiplying that addition problem buddy 🤨

Your cheeks were beginning to ache from how wide your dopey grin was. You couldn’t help but tease Nishinoya-it was second nature at this point-even if you now knew your feelings were mutual.

[8:04pm] idiot⚡: i suk at math but thats NOT the point

                         point iiissss i think deep down u want to hang out and cuddle and fall in love

                        maybe even..... 😏 kiiisssss

[8:04pm] y/n: WHOA WHOA WHOA

                        WARN ME BEFORE YOU GET NSFW

                        i would never premarital eye-contact. let alone k🤢ki-🤢🤢kiss🤢🤮🤮

[8:05pm] idiot⚡: well we would have socks on 🙄

[8:06pm] y/n: oh. well if there’s protection

[8:06pm] idiot⚡: Im not a maniac

[8:07pm] y/n: i suppose as long as you dont do something stoopid

                        like faceplant in public

                        that would be humiliating

[8:08pm] idiot⚡: I-

                          who told you that 😠

[8:08pm] y/n: i have spies everywhere noya

                        youre never safe

[8:09pm] Idiot⚡: kinda hot 👀

                         makin me fear for my life like that👀

[8:10pm] y/n: i hate that i like you

                        It kills me inside 

                        i feel braincels leaving with every conversation

[8:12pm] Idiot⚡: fan behavior 😏

                          so am i taking u to eat tomorow or wat?

[8:14pm] y/n: if I HAVE to 🙄

[8:14pm] Idiot⚡: No u GET to

                          I am a fucking delite 😤

[8:15pm] y/n: whatever helps you sleep at night

[8:15pm] Idiot⚡: nothing helps me sleep at night. this mind never rests

[8:16pm] y/n: thinking 24/7 and still not a smart thing comes out of that mouth 👀

[8:17pm] Idiot⚡: yas, bully me more 😫

[8:19pm] y/n: ok thats as much as i can handle for one day......

                       im gonna pretend to do homework

[8:20pm] idiot⚡: okie... good luck my sweet baby pogchamp 🥰

[8:20pm] y/n: no

[8:20pm] Idiot⚡: 😘😘😘

[8:22pm] y/n: 🙄✋

[8:23pm] Idiot⚡: oh FUCK yas 🥵 shut me UP

[8:25pm] y/n: suddenly all i feel is endless regret

[8:26pm] Idiot⚡: i have that effect on people

                          See you tomorrow 🥰🥰🥰

[8:27pm] y/n: unfortunately 😘

[8:27pm] idiot⚡: 🥵

You flung an arm over your eyes and let a small giggle bubble up from your chest. Nishinoya was probably the biggest idiot you’d ever met, but you couldn’t help that thinking of spending time with him had you kicking your feet with excitement.

You supposed you should actually get started on your homework. You reached forward when a notification popped up from Yachi, asking if her idea worked and you had stopped liking Nishinoya.

...you should probably break the news, huh?

[julies-butterflies]

“One of us is starting to fall asleep.”-jukebox?

cuddle dialogue prompts  ( no longer accepting )                         ( read on ao3 )

By now, Julie knows that  Luke  and  sleep  don’t exactly get along.

Like... peanut butter and coleslaw. Studying and roller coasters. Alex and high school athletics. Luke and sleep are polar opposites, and flat-out don’t have time for each other. Whatever fundamental sequence of Luke’s DNA, whatever weird criss-cross firing of neurons in his head looks at a good night’s sleep, and decides, “nope, not for me...”

Well, Julie doesn’t  get it, but that’s how Luke’s made. Apparently, it’s how he’s always been, even when he was alive. Everyone else just has to deal with it.

“You’re keeping me up,” she announces, drawing her fuzzy blanket tighter around her shoulders.

Luke’s head shoots up, surprised — and sure, he’s got a right to be, considering it’s almost two in the morning. No sane person would be up this late. Not by choice, anyways... and Julie isn’t  choosing  to be awake herself. Something inside of her — one of those lightbulbs in her chest that blaze bright whenever the boys are near, that can feel them like a low, humming frequency even when they’re out of sight — is still awake, and buzzing. Late nights are like this. Whenever Luke can’t put himself to sleep — whether his brain is too loud, or his body too charged with energy — Julie feels it. She doesn’t want to, and definitely doesn’t enjoy it... but this is what her life has become. Being kept awake half the night by cute, insomniac ghosts.

He lowers his pencil slowly, and pulls his notebook against his chest. Luke sucks his cheeks, looking sheepish. 

“Sorry. I, uhh, I was just —“ He gestures vaguely around the darkened studio. A few faint snores echo from the loft, where Alex has set up a private space for himself. Reggie is face down on the sofa in a pile of blankets, hugging them to his chest like a kangaroo protecting its baby. (Julie’s going to have to get him a stuffed animal to snuggle one of these days; half the reason Luke doesn’t sleep, she suspects, is because Reggie’s such a blanket hog.)

The studio is dark except for a single light, glowing in the corner of the room. Luke is curled up there, with his notebook against his knees… but he wasn’t writing when Julie slipped in. He was glaring down at the page like it personally offended him. Now, he sets the notebook aside without a second glance, turning his full attention on her.

“Just felt like there was a song in my head, and I had to get it out. But it’s, uhh…” He gives his shaggy head a shake. “Not coming.”

“Maybe ‘cause you’re exhausted.” Julie crosses her arms. “It’s way past bedtime, Luke.”

“I’m a ghost, though.” He spreads his arms wide and leans back in his seat, like that’s something to be proud of. “Ghosts don’t  have  bedtimes.”

Without blinking, Julie crosses over to the couch and gives it a firm kick.

“Reggie? When’s your bedtime?”

Reggie snorts, popping his head up. “Ten-thirty,” he mutters… before faceplanting in the blankets again.

Luke rolls his eyes. “Reggie can have a bedtime if he wants to. I’m a free agent.”

“You’re an insomniac, and should probably talk to someone.”

“You know any good ghost doctors?”

Julie’s eye twitches. “We’ll  find  one.”

Tipping his head back towards the ceiling, Luke clicks his tongue. “I dunno, Jules, it’s been a while since my last checkup… I don’t got time for all the bells and whistles, you know? They’re gonna take that little hammer to my knee, and it’s gonna go right through me… they're gonna look for my heartbeat and be real confused... probably try to give me some spooky X-rays…” He gasps, and bolts upright. “Julie, they’re gonna find out I don’t have a skeleton!”

Okay, thinks Julie, the late hour is definitely getting to his head.

“Is that your excuse?”

The unexpected voice from the darkness sends them both jumping out of their skin. Luke flails, nearly falling out of his chair; blinking up at the loft, Julie’s eyes widen as a  phenomenal  mess of bedhead peeks out over the railing.

“We all know you’re afraid of needles. You haven’t had a booster shot in thirty years, Luke.” Alex glares down at them both. “Now, either shut up or go away, some of us are trying to sleep!”

Reggie holds up a hand, and mumbles something like “agreed,” into his pillow.

Clapping her palm over her mouth, Julie exchanges a sheepish glance with Luke. It takes every ounce of her self-control not to burst out laughing — Alex might actually start throwing things at them — but from the way Luke’s shoulders shake, she doesn’t trust him to hold out.

“Okay, sorry, we’re leaving,” she says in an hushed rush… and, before Luke can say another word, she snags him by the arm and pulls him with her.

They slip out the doors of the studio, and break into the humid night air. May in Los Angeles is just beginning to get hot -hot; warm enough to justify tank tops instead of sweatshirts, flip-flops instead of monster slippers. Julie’s pajamas aren’t anything interesting — Luke’s seen her in worse — but under the cool moonlight, his eyes still drink her in as if seeing her for the first time.

“You sleep with all those necklaces on?” he asks.

Okay, maybe he is seeing her for the first time, because Julie’s slept with her jewelry on since, like… sixth grade.

“You’re just noticing?”

“They’re pretty in the moonlight,” he replies, like it’s a foregone conclusion; then his brows furrow. “What if they choke you?”

“That’s not how it works, Luke.”

“Sure it is! All they need to do is get a little tangled up —“ He mimes, presumably, Julie doing acrobatics in her sleep. “And  wham,  you end up all strangled to death! I know we’ve got a gimmick, Julie, but we don’t gotta make it a full-phantom band so soon.”

“You say that like you’ve got plans for my death.”

“I mean…” He shrugs, the picture of innocence. “Not in the near future, but, y’know, we can't have you out-aging us…”

“Oh,” she says, beginning the long trek up the pathway to the house. “So I’ve got… two years before you guys decide to kill me. That’s reassuring.”

Luke follows after her, their footsteps echoing together. “Eh, we could stretch it to five. Six, tops. You’re tiny, you’ve still got a few good years left in you. Not like you’re gonna go all grandma on us  too  soon.”

Julie gasps, and swats at him. Luke accepts the hit to the chest with dignity, biting back a grin. He looks unfairly handsome in the moonlight… and Julie refuses to think about that, because it opens up a wole Pandora’s Box of issues, ranging from the obvious  (he’s a ghost eternally trapped at seventeen and, unless he somehow comes back to life through the power of music, I  am  going to get older than him someday)  to the serious  (he’s keeping me up at two in the morning).

Luke isn’t handsome. He’s a sleepless menace, and Julie shouldn’t entertain him a second longer.

They reach her door. Somehow, they come to a stop at exactly the same time, turning towards each other. Julie tugs her blanket tighter around her bare shoulders. Luke reaches out, and pulls the door open for her.

“I guess —“ he says.

“Yeah,” Julie agrees quickly. “Sounds good.”

“Great.”

“Great.”

“Goodnight, then?”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

They smile at each other for a second, close-lipped and quiet… before something in Julie breaks, and she lays a hand on his arm. Somehow, he’s always so warm under her touch, so solid. He feels like a promise always kept… a steadiness, a certainty. A comfort.

“Come on,” she says softly, taking them both by surprise. “My bed has room for two.”

---------

He’s still so very warm, in bed next to her, with their legs tangled and bodies brushing whenever they move. It’s too humid for covers, so Julie’s got her favorite sheet, instead. As soon as Luke sees it, he billows it up into the air, and lets it fall down on top of them both like a parachute. Julie claps a hand over her mouth to hide her giggles. Even in the darkness of her bedroom — lit by the dimly glowing fairylights she only put on to keep Luke from tripping over her carpet — his grin is blinding. As the sheet flutters down over them both, she stretches her arms up to welcome it; he laughs so loudly, it’s a good thing her dad and brother can’t hear.

“This,” she huffs, once they’re both hiding under the covers, “this isn’t what we should be doing. It’s two in the morning.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Totally right.” Luke’s quiet for a moment — before shaking the covers again, causing a wave of air to roll over them. He makes a ridiculous whoosh! noise, and Julie snorts.

“Stop!” She swats at his shoulder again; the sound is harsher than the impact. Luke yelps and curls in on himself, feigning a mortal injury. Over his groans and moans and  “Julie, how could you”s,  Julie can’t restrain another fit of giggles.

Oh god, she’s gone for this boy. She really is.

It’s two in the morning, and she’s in hysterics in her bedroom over a boy no one else in the world can see… and he’s smiling at her like she’s the brightest star blazing in the sky, and his legs are brushing hers, and she can feel the pulse of his heartbeat, the warmth of his breath… which shouldn’t be possible, because he’s  dead.

Luke reaches up. Gently, he brushes a stray curl from Julie’s temple. His hand lingers, and Julie feels dizzy.

“This feels like heaven,” he says softly.

Julie’s breath catches.

“I… thought you said you’d never get there.”

“Yeah, well…” When he chuckles, his breath ruffles her hair. “I’m not much of a believer in the ‘all rockstars go to heaven’ kinda thing… I don’t even know if I buy into that stuff, period.” He shrugs, and glances down, at the bare inches of space in between them. “But this… is what it’d feel like, I think. Right here, with you. This kind of forever.”

“With...” She swallows past a throat that is suddenly too dry, forcing words together in a head that reverberates with  heaven  and  you. Forever. God, can they make this last forever?

Instead of speaking, her hand finds Luke’s in the darkness. Their palms press; their fingers intertwine. He is restless beneath her touch, all calluses and carelessness and nervous energy… but Julie holds him until she feels him relax, then slowly raises their hands up between them.

“I’d like that,” she whispers. “To stay here forever.”

His eyes shine bright. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She swallows. “As long as it’s with you.”

These are exactly the sort of confessions that could not be made any time other than late in the night, or early in the morning — that funny liminal space of existence, the hours where nothing is really real, and everything feels like it matters too much. Julie is floating, and Luke is right here with her. He’s smiling inches away from her face… and if she wanted to lean over, to close the distance between them, it would be as easy as breathing.

She doesn’t, though, because this moment feels sacred. She won’t claim it selfishly for herself — won’t turn it into something it’s not. This moment is shared, between her and Luke... secrets whispered in the dark for their ears alone. It should stay that way.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes softly, like it’s all he knows for sure.

“You’re amazing,” she replies, in the same voice.

“You’re a star.”

“You’re inspiring.”

“You make me feel alive again.”

“So do you.”

They exhale in the silence, the words floating through the air around them. Julie imagines she can see them glowing in the darkness. If she wanted, she could pluck them out of thin air, tuck them away in her dream box and save them forever. This feels like the sort of moment that belongs there — halfway between dream and waking, almost too good to be true.

For a while, they don’t talk at all. Luke plays with her hair, and Julie twines their fingers. Their breaths match each other’s in the silence. It feels like floating down a lazy river, and slowly, Julie can feel herself being carried away.

She’s only aware of her eyes getting heavier when Luke’s fingers graze her brow, and she can’t force her lids open to look at him.

“Looks like one of us is starting to fall asleep,” Luke teases, his voice soft.

Julie humms, and feels herself smile. “You.”

“Not me.” His voice is smiling, too. “You.”

“You need t’ sleep.” She exhales, and sees it ruffle his hair like leaves on a tree. His nose scrunches up. He doesn’t look drowsy — not like he’s drowning in it, like she is — but he’s not wide awake, either. His head is quiet, his soul is calm; the hive of bees buzzing in Julie’s chest has given up the ghost for tonight. (Little Luke-shaped bees, with beanies and guitars, who keep flying into everything because they’ve got too much energy…)

She bursts into giggles again at the thought. They spill from her lips like honey; she’s too tired to silence them, nevermind hide her grin. Instead, she slumps against Luke, muffling herself against his shoulder. He smells like pine needles and sunshine. His arms wrap around her back to steady her, and she can feel him smiling against her, and Julie thinks…

Julie thinks…

Forever.

“What’s so funny?” he murmurs into the crown of her head.

“Bees,” she replies, and giggles again.

“Oh yeah?” He hums, like this makes perfect sense. “I mean, yeah, they’re pretty hilarious.”

“Mmm.” She presses her face against his shoulder, and decides to stay there. “Mmm.”

For a long moment, he’s completely still — like the world’s most realistic stuffed animal, the coziest pillow ever made — before his hand tentatively begins to massage between her shoulder blades, running up and down her spine.

“You good, Julie?” he murmurs softly, and Julie humms again.

“Stay with me,” she manages to say.  Forever. “Sleep here… with me.”

Luke’s caress feels like a lullaby. The lips that graze her temple are a promise.

“Don’t worry, Julie,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Somehow,  forever feels good enough for tonight.

[sagamemes]

quotes from tabletop games, part i.   thank you to whomever decided in the first game i was in to start collecting quotes being said during the table—here’s a sentence meme featuring 100 sentences that have been said out loud or written down during various tabletop roleplaying games i’ve acted as a game master for, or in conversations surrounding it. sentences edited to fit written roleplay better. it’s a mixed bag, y’all. tw:  implied sexual content and jokes, death and violence mentions.

❝  holy shit, /i'm/ the professional in this situation.  ❞

❝  i don't think there's a lot of water in her birth chart.  ❞

❝  you know how much I love goading you into bad decisions.  ❞

❝  [i/you] did faceplant.  ❞

❝  i hope you know this is all your fault, [name].  ❞

❝  wouldn't it be nice if you could bite it back?  ❞

❝  [person] could've bonked the knob to death.  ❞

❝  a little bit of making out in the cupboard is not a security threat.  ❞

❝  no-one else can see it, but [person] is definitely being haunted by an ex-girlfriend.  ❞

❝  she's a new yorker, leave her alone  ❞

❝  we've all known each other for about four hours and we're making goblins of ourselves.  ❞

❝  you’re laughing!  [name] is dead and you’re laughing!  ❞

❝  god, what a weird little man!  ❞

❝  i don't speak [fandom/media].  ❞

❝  because, of course, you don't immediately run out of blood in your head—  ❞

❝  technically shoes are skin without feet.  ❞

❝  if it helps, she does have a youtube channel.  ❞

❝  should we even play d&d, maybe we just do therapy instead.  ❞

❝  oh great, what can i do with a dead body?  ❞

❝  the man with no face is just a raccoon.  ❞

❝  or whatever the victorian equivalent of reaching into the fridge and grabbing a block of cheese.  ❞

❝  i do not acknowledge more men than i need to.  ❞

❝  he footless because he got paws.  ❞

❝  [i am/they are] intrigued by the bundle of scarves.  ❞

❝  i thought she landed on her wrists?  ❞

❝  i'm glad i didn't faceplant, at least.  ❞

❝  it is not resistant to bonk damage.  ❞

❝  my interpersonal skills are shit!  ❞

❝  is he made of bees?  ❞

❝  oh well, she's got one of those as well.  ❞

❝  —which is objectively the wrong way to eat books.  ❞

❝  no teeth, no feet. simply vibes.  ❞

❝  we're going to have to listen to soft ballet while we fight this thing.  ❞

❝  that was my third frowny face.  ❞

❝  puff puff pass but instead of getting high you have a coherent thought  ❞

❝  oh yeah, i killed your neighbour, didn't i?  ❞

❝  we're city kids, we know what traffic is.  ❞

❝  give me a gay vibe check.  ❞

❝  THE QUEEN IS MICE.  ❞

❝  doesn't matter which of us die because i'll see you all again on hell.  ❞

❝  you know how when a person's decapitated—  ❞

❝  i don't even have my eyebrows on.  ❞

❝  we will create chaos.  ❞

❝  i heard g-string.  ❞

❝  i have a masters degree in library science and i googled  ‘ feetless man ’ !  ❞

❝  am sad. want ham.  ❞

❝  you are the most powerful person in the room with that cheese tray.  ❞

❝  you'll wake up to something you don't wanna see  ❞

❝  buff mice.  ❞

❝  —but it would've been a sexy thing to do.  ❞

❝  THE GAME'S OVER! THE GAME'S OVER! WHY ARE YOU STILL DOING THIS TO ME?  ❞

❝  it’s mice mentality.  ❞

❝  i know the implication was not that we were little beans but shh...  ❞

❝  it's your turn!  ❞

❝  charlie's angels, more like [name]'s headaches  ❞

❝  it's me, the bitch who failed  ❞

❝  i'm really good at that! ... no, i'm not.  ❞

❝  i love this absolutely doomed party.  ❞

❝  unless someone wants to try to overpower two peasants.  ❞

❝  we don't make good leather.  ❞

❝  you could definitely be mistaken for a respectable person now.  ❞

❝  unfortunately, my alibi is dead  ❞

❝  you would not think that english was my first, and frankly my only, language.  ❞

❝  what the fuck happened to my music?  ❞

❝  [name], that's gay behaviour.  ❞

❝  i truly just want u to imagine putting a hand on a titty and feeling a sack of dust through the skin.  ❞

❝  we've conspiracy theory'd this ghost and now it's a feral raccoon.  ❞

❝  does the number of heads you have factor into how easy you are to hit?  ❞

❝  i wanna do something weird.  ❞

❝  are you trying to reason with a drugged cat?  ❞

❝  what die do i roll? the one with numbers?  ❞

❝  i'd avoid plants if i were you.  ❞

❝  i want to be the burger king of a ruined world.  ❞

❝  just because i can be charming doesn't mean i will initiate conversation.  ❞

❝  that scream didn't have an american accent.  ❞

❝  i guess he was just two horses in a trench coat in the end  ❞

❝  make meth, i dare you!  ❞

❝  holy shit, you read french?!  ❞

❝  i've already put down two frowny faces on my notes.  ❞

❝  [person/animal] doesn't have good stamina, actually.  ❞

❝  we've established that the bees are trustworthy, [name]!  ❞

❝  i can't find the fucking d!  ❞

❝  frostbite'll do that to you too. you're not so special.  ❞

❝  we laugh in the face of a vengeful god  ❞

❝  sorry, but for the sake of the mission, i gotta drown everyone.  ❞

❝  i don't know anything about... men.  ❞

❝  i didn't consider all the emotional implications!  ❞

❝  it's a little known fact, but the h in  ‘ goth ’  stands for hrt.  ❞

❝  thank you for giving me an opportunity to murder you.  ❞

❝  don't worry, i'm a very gentle dom  ❞

❝  i'm gonna stay riding it, then.  ❞

❝  just two dudes who may or may not have done a murder  ❞

❝  you can't even count on [name] for numbers.  ❞

❝  'twas the night before christmas and all through the house not a person was stirring, because they were all dead.  ❞

❝  how is that rat bastard looking?  ❞

❝  maybe [name], because he has rights  ❞

❝  maybe [name], because he has no brain  ❞

❝  i'm cruel but i'm not an asshole.  ❞

❝  we're just two cartoon dogs vibing in the fire.  ❞

❝  in the spanish dub, [person a] and [person b] kissed before [person a] left  ❞

[ladyanaconda]

Helluva Dad Vol. 4: Spring Broken

Bombproof just had to get a cold; it was nothing serious, but he'd need to rest for a few days, meaning that Striker and Jake would have to ride the I.M.P. van to get to work. It might have been a more-or-less intriguing experience if not for the radio music playing at full volume and Blitzo's careless driving. Striker spent most of the ride covering his ears while Jake was peering through the window alongside Millie.

This is why he'd rather ride Bombproof to work.

"Daaad! Can we ride the van with uncle Blitzo more often?!"

"Over my corpse!" Striker shouted over the noise. "Get away from the window, boy! The last thing I want is you losing your head!"

"But it's so fresh out here, dad!"

"Now!"

Jake groaned and went to sit next to his father with an unhappy scowl on his face. "Killjoy."

"Is this your first time riding a van?" Millie asked curiously.

"No, it's my first time riding a van with a crazy driver!" Striker banged on the wall separating the back with the driver's seat. "Hey, Blitz, can't you go any faster?!" he snapped sarcastically.

Jake's face had gained a somewhat greenish hue and his arms were clutching his stomach. "Dad, I think I'm gonna hurl!" he groaned.

"Kiddo, whatever you do, don't hurl on the carpet or Blitzo will deduct it from this month's paycheck! If anything, hurl on Moxxie's fanny pouch!"

"Hey!"

The van making an abrupt turn to get into the parking lot was the last straw for Jake. As he rushed towards the window, the vehicle came to a sudden stop and skidded. Jake would have flown out of the window if Striker hadn't grabbed him by the tail, but the vomit went up to Jake's stomach, all the way to his throat, and flew out of his mouth.

"Are you okay, my boy?" Striker asked, concerned, as he cradled the impling in his arms.

"I hate vans," Jake grumbled, earning a hair ruffling from his father.

"Listen up, you unoriginal pink cum dump! You have three goddamn seconds to get your tampon race car out of my parking spot…!"

Blitzo's voice brought the stunned group out of their daze. Striker stomped out of the van, intending to pummel Blitzo for the awful experience, but stopped in his tracks as he saw the cause of the problem. A pink car had parked on I.M.P.'s only parking spot. And the owner of the car was none other than…

"Oh shit! Verosika!"

The succubus didn't seem to hear him or didn't care. She was seething with rage, her face dripping with vomit. Jake flinched when her eyes fixed on him.

"I should have known you'd be here. I could smell fish for miles, which is odd because I believe the nearest ocean is…" Blitzo fell off the van's cabin, faceplanting on the ground. "Three rings down!"

Verosika outright ignored Blitzo this time and stomped her way towards the van. Jake hid behind his father.

"You little brat-!"

"Whoa, whoa, hold your horses, miss!" Striker stood to his full height. The succubus was taller than him, but he never faltered. "My boy didn't to… Well, throw up in your face."

"You should be grateful! You got a facial treatment for free!" Blitzo sneered. Verosika looked like she'd snap at any moment, but she merely huffed and wiped the vomit from her face with a napkin, which she then threw at Blitzo's face.

"I suppose you're the fella who spawned that brat, am I right?" She asked, uninterested.

"I'm the boy's father, that's right." Striker nodded. Is it just him or is the succubus eyeing him eye to toe behind her sunglasses?

"You ought to teach that little spawn of yours some manners, cowboy." Verosika purred the last word in a seductive manner, running her hand down Striker's chest, leaning a bit too close for his liking.

Thankfully, Blitzo got in between them. "I'm surprised they let your fat ass out of rehab," he growled. "I can see you're still a drunken whore, clutching unto that beelze juice bottle like it's the last cock in Hell!"

"They let me out because I'm still famous, and rehab is for sad, loser wash-ups." Verosika took a sip from her flash, sneering as she wiped some drops left on her lips. "So, your sister says hi." Jake made a 'burned' hiss. Striker gave him a stern frown.

"Why are you parking here?! This is the only parking spot my company has, so take your tampon race car somewhere else!"

"Um, Blitz…" Jake pointed at the ground. I.M.P.'s name was crossed out in purple spray paint while Verosika's was written in cursive letters.

The succubus smirked. "I'm doing a bit of freelance for one of the infinitely more successful companies in the building…"

"Dad, who's that nasty woman?" Jake asked.

Loona gasped as if the impling has just spoken blasphemy. "Wait, you don't know about Verosika Mayday?"

"Not exactly. I mean, I've seen her in dad's porno magazines, but-" Jake quickly covered his mouth, but it was too late. He laughed nervously when his father stared at him in shock. "Just to clarify, dad, I didn't read. I skipped!"

"I'll talk with you about this later." Striker hissed.

Thankfully, an angry yell from Blitzo distracted them from the argument. "I wasted so much time with a bag of holes like that."

"You know Verosika Mayday?!" Loona asked, incredulously.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, her. Yeah, we dated."

"That explains a lot of things." Striker murmured as Millie and Moxxie stepped out of the van.

"Was it before or after she became a pop star?"

"You dated a pop star?!"

Blitzo frowned. "Okay, why are you all acting like that's such a shock?"

"Hello, it's Verosika Mayday?" Loona pointed out.

"It's you?" Jake added dryly.

"I just… Is she blind? Suffering some form of brain damage? I mean, it'd make sense if she had dated Striker."

The cowboy rolled his eyes. "Gee, thank you, Moxxie, but she's not my type."

"Okay, look, you are all making this into a way bigger deal than it needs to be." Blitzo crossed his arms. "I don't pry into your stupid personal lives."

"You do that all the time, sir!"

"Come on, you kinda do that."

"You totally do that."

"Do I have to remind you all the times I've nearly shot you for sneaking into my house at two in the morning?!" Striker snapped.

"So…" Jake grinned mischievously. "What was sex with her like?" He yelped in pain when his father gave him a smack in the back of the head.

*HB*

Jake didn't quite understand what the fuss was about. From what Millie and Loona said, Verosika Mayday was a musical pop star, but dad wouldn't let him listen to her music; when questioned as to why he couldn't, all dad said was that it was for 'adults'.

In the end, Striker managed to distract his son via target practice. Millie would place an apple on her head so Jake could shoot it with the crossbow; Striker was quite surprised that she wasn't frightened in the least.

"Hey, Blitz, what did you do to Verosika Mayday for her to hate your guts like that?" Striker questioned casually.

"It was nothing, really! I merely borrowed her credit card when she was still sleeping and went to Wrath to take horse riding lessons!"

"Well, no wonder she's so mad."

"Hey, you're supposed to be on my side."

Striker shrugged. "Sorry, but you're on your own when it comes to relationships."

The door slammed open, startling Jake into shooting the arrow a few inches down, but Millie caught it with a hand. Moxxie looked disheveled, and his face was covered in lipstick marks. All he said was that he needed to lay down as he dropped to the floor. Millie went to check on him.

"What happened to Moxxie?" Jake asked. Striker shifted uncomfortably.

"Let's say that he received too much love," he murmured.

"But it wasn't from Millie, she's right here."

"Oh, Strikeeer!" Blitzo sang as he leaned in closer to the cowboy with a wide, exaggerated smile. "Do you know what's the best part of being the employee of the month?"

"Let me guess: to do you personal favors so you won't have to face your shitty issues yourself?"

"Bingo! I was wondering if you could use your… natural charm," Blitzo quirked his eyebrows coyly. "To have that bitch give back our parking spot."

Striker dropped Moxxie's cup of coffee. "What?"

"You know, a little bit of sweet-talking, flirting. Maybe some oral sex-"

"I know what you mean, Blitz! What I mean is why me."

"Well, you're a ladies' magnet. I don't think you'd have trouble convincing a drunken slut to give you all of her assets."

Striker wasn't sure of how Blitzo always, always, manages to convince him to do that kind of stuff, but in the end, he agreed to try 'without' having to recur to sex. He didn't need to go far, as the band of succubus had taken the vacant offices right in front of I.M.P. Well, no wonder Blitzo was so mad! Meeting up with your ex and finding out you'd have to be in the same building for a bloody week wasn't pleasant.

Striker took a deep breath and stepped into the room. Apparently, the succubus band was still making fun of Moxxie's probably tiny dick. They went silent as soon as he came in.

"Well, look who it is."

"Greetings, miss Mayday." Striker tipped his hat for the sake of courtesy. "I suppose I don't need to explain why I'm here."

"Want a kiss, cowboy?" one of the incubi got a little too close to his liking, prompting Striker to point the barrel of his pistol right at the demon's face.

"Put a hand on me and I'll put a bullet in-between your eyes." the imp hissed, tail rattling.

"Oh, look! His tail is like a baby rattle!"

"Hey, did that cute little impling come with you? I want to eat him with kisses!"

This time, Striker pulled out his angelic pistol. "Leave the boy out of this," he growled, expression dark. The sight of the weapon scared the succubi into silence, all but one.

"Well, well, you certainly have more balls than the little guy with the bowtie." Verosika purred, hips swaying as she approached him. "Too bad I already got a bodyguard, 'cause you look like you'd be good at that." she gently pushed the barrel of the pistol aside with a finger, leaning dangerously close to Striker's face. "I suppose Blitzo is still throwing a tantrum over the parking spot, right?"

"That's right, ma'am." Striker stepped back warily, putting his pistol away. "Perhaps we could reach an agreement, considering that…"

He's dealt with succubi before, but never in such a personal manner. Not ever since… Striker knew what was happening when he realized he had been cornered against the wall. Verosika's hands lay on his chest as she leaned in close to his face. His tail rattled uncontrollably. His bottom tightened at the she-devil's enticing aura.

"An agreement, you say?"

"Y-Yes…" Striker cursed himself for stuttering.

Verosika pulled him closer by the waist, licking her lips. "You have such alluring eyes, cowboy. Reminds me of an anaconda hypnotizing her prey…" Striker grabbed her wrist before she could reach for the zipper of his pants. Verosika laughed, running her other hand down the line of his neck. "Let me kiss you…"

Her lips were inches away from Striker's when she heard a click and something pressing against her stomach: the blessed pistol, firmly held in the imp's hand.

"Nice try, sugar, but my heart already belongs to someone else." Striker sneered. Impressed, Verosika stepped back, smirking.

"Not bad, cowboy. Not everyone can resist my charms. Just for that, I'm offering you a deal."

"A deal?"

"A demon duel. I bet you and Vlitzo's sorry company can't off as many people as we can fuck by the end of the day. If you win, I'll return your parking spot. If I win," Verosika whispered into Striker's ear. Whatever she told him sent shivers down his spine.

Reluctantly, Striker looked up at the succubus, fists clenched. "Game on, bitch."

*HB*

"Alright, shut your assholes, here's how we're going to do this shit. First, we find a fuck ton of clients, we portal up, we have our fun murder time as per usual, we pill all the bodies into a big fucking canoe…" Striker didn't pay attention to the rest of Blitzo's ranting, instead distracting himself by polishing his angelic rifle. "Do you have any questions?"

Jake raised a hand. "What does orgy mean?"

Striker spat his mouthful of coffee right into Moxxie's face while the others exchanged nervous glances. Blitzo cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Let's say it's something you aren't supposed to know about for at least ten years. Now-"

"Where did you learn that word?!" Striker all but yelled, grabbing the impling by the shoulders.

"One of Verosika Mayday's songs is called 'Orgy' and I got curious."

"And where did you hear the song?"

"Loona was listening to it." Striker glared at the hellhound, but she merely shrugged.

"What? It's just a song. By the way, think I can come with you guys this time?"

"Absolutely not," Blitzo said, crossing his arms disapprovingly. "I forbid it. Not gonna happen. Sorry, sweetie. Spring break is no place for vulnerable goth girls. You know the kind of freaks yup there who'd drool all over you!"

"Well, I can blend in with humans easily enough. Just let me tag along."

Blitzo blinked. "Wait, say that again?"

"I can blend in…?"

"Do you have a human disguise?" Millie inquired.

"Yeah. Don't you?" Loona widened her eyes in realization. "Wait, you five have been screwing around on Earth this whole fucking time without human disguises?!"

"What if we did?" Jake asked.

"Let's say it's against the rules to be seen by humans in our real forms."

"Okay, new plan!" Blitzo made a new, crudely-made scribble. "Loonie can help lure the humans to us and we'll take care of the rest. Okay, how about that?"

"Flawless logic."

"There's one little detail. We need enough client killing demands to win this bet so I won't have to-" Striker trailed off as he recalled that Jake was listening. He cleared his throat. "How will we get so many clients in such little time?"

Blitzo grinned. "I got that covered, Strike."

*HB*

Basically, Loona just lured the people on the list to a secluded spot so they could kill them without anyone noticing. Jake still couldn't believe how hot Loona looked in human form.

Jake was sure that something was bothering his father. Ever since he returned from talking with Miss Mayday, Dad acted a bit… edgier than usual. He didn't tease Moxxie as often and focused more on killing the targets. But what gave him away was the fact that he was using the blessing-tipped rifle rather than the regular one. He only uses it when there's something on his mind.

By evening, they had killed twelve people, two offed by Jake with a broken bottle.

"That's twelve kills in the back!" Blitzo laughed as they continued to put the bodies into bags. "I'd like to see that waily snatch orgasm that many…"

"All right, spring breakers! Ya'll ready to get fucked up and make some bitchin' bad choices?!"

The group glanced in the direction of the nearby stage adorned in black and pink just as Verosika stepped out of the smoke in her own human disguise. All the humans on the beach roared in excitement as the concert began. Jake noticed something odd in their behavior. Once Verosika started to sing, they-

Something covered his eyes. "Hey!"

"You're not supposed to watch this, Jakey!" Millie cried out hurriedly. Striker gave her a thankful look.

"Goddammit! That bitch started her goadish mating call! Now she's gonna win all those sex maniacs! We gotta pick things up, guys! He's on the list, Loonie?"

"Huh? Y-Yeah… I-I think so." Striker realized that Loona hadn't even looked at the supposed target. Her attention was focused on Verosika's own hellhound.

"Blitz, I don't think-" Too late. Blitzo had already sliced through the human's skull.

"All right, next one, Loonie, come on." No reply. "Loonie? Wait, where-" Blitzo panicked once he realized Loona was nowhere to be seen. "Where's my baby?!" Striker merely pointed towards Verosika's hellhound. There she was.

"And… We've lost him." Moxxie sighed as Blitzo stomped his way towards the hellhounds.

"Can't blame him. I wouldn't like any guys sniffing 'round my daughter either." Striker murmured. "Anyhow, looks like we'll have to handle the rest of the list."

Millie laughed in excitement. "Hell yeah! Team MMSJ getting shit down!"

Jake wanted to help with the killing spree, but his father put him on a table behind some beer barrels, blindfolded him with his red scarf, and firmly told him to wait for him there. So the impling sat there with a big pout on his face, arms crossed. What's up with dad today?!

"Yeah, party!"

The table was knocked over without warning. Jake fell face flat onto the ground. "Ow! What the…?!"

"Eeww! Oh my god! Fucking possums!"

"Wait, what?" Jake lifted the blindfold and realized the humans had seen him. Before he could try to escape, he was grabbed by the tail and shoved into a barrel of beer.

"Ow! Jake?!"

"Moxxie?! What's going on?!"

"I don't know, I think the humans mistook us for opossums!"

The two imps were thrown about within that confined space, sometimes getting submerged under the beer. They accidentally ended up taking big gulps of the alcoholic beverage.

*HB*

"That boy is in so much trouble!"

He gives him one simple instruction: wait at the table. Then he returns ten minutes later to find Jake and the table gone.

"Hey, Mildred! Have you seen Jake 'round here?" Striker asked Millie as soon as he saw per peering into a barrel.

"He and Moxxie are inside one of these barrels!"

"What? What the fuck are they doing in there?!"

One of the nearby barrels wobbled. Striker tipped it over with a kick, spilling out the remaining beer as well as two familiar imps.

"Moxxie!"

"Jake!"

"Millieee!" Moxxie blurted out in a drunken state. "Hey, when did you get four heads? I wanna kiss 'em!"

"Jake? Are you okay, kiddo? Striker grabbed his son by the shoulders. "Answer me, boy!"

"Hey, daddy! The impling said in-between hiccups." "This water's soo tasty! Can I have more?"

Striker rubbed his temple. "Wonderful. My kiddo's drunk and he's only nine."

"Chill out, cowboy! Just don't tell Striker 'cause he'll make a fuss!" Moxxie giggled.

Striker would have made a fuss if not for the massive sea monster that emerged from the ocean. A loud roar sent most of the humans running away from the beach, but Moxie and Jake were completely unfazed.

"Oooh, fishy! Can I keep it, daddy?"

A long, slippery tongue wrapped around Moxxie and Jake as they were pulled into the monster's mouth.

Striker and Milli exchanged determined nods. The former shot a nearby human to take his bottle and make a molotov cocktail, which he threw at the monster. The explosion was enough to make the creature fall. The imps swam towards the mutant fish, digging their respective knives into its hide just as it got back on its feet. They managed to climb towards the mouth and pry the jaws open; Moxxie and Jake, still in the tongue's grasp, were clumsily punching the monster's uvula. Millie reached out for their hands, but instead of clasping it, the drunken imps merely gave her a high-five.

"Oh, for the love of…!" Losing his patience, Striker went into the mouth and sliced the tongue off. The fish shrieked in pain and spat out the severed organ, and its two captives, with it.

However, the abrupt movement slipped the angelic rifle off Striker's shoulder and sent it down the beast's throat. "Oh, no, you don't! Mildred, think you could keep this thing busy?!"

"Striker, what are you doing?!"

The cowboy took out his knife. "I'm gonna retrieve my weapon."

*HB*

Millie and Striker swam back to the beach, both panting heavily. The latter was covered in the creature's blood after slicing open its entrails, his rifle held tightly in one hand and the bloodied knife in the other. They reunited with Blitzo, Moxxie, and Jake on the shore.

"Oh, yeah, way to show off, guys!· Blitzo cheered.

"Are Mox and Jakey okay?" Millie asked.

"Oh, yeah. They're fine." Blitzo looked down at the still-drunken imps in his arms and dropped only Moxxie to the ground.

Thankfully, Jake had fallen asleep; his young age made him less tolerant of the heavy alcoholized state. Striker carefully took the boy in his arms.

"Aww, they grow up so fast!" Blitzo chirped, teary-eyed, as he watched Jake snuggle in his father's embrace.

Sadly, the relief didn't last long as Verosika and her crew approached.

"That was handled rather… Obvious, don't you think?" Verosika sneered.

"You know, I found this," Striker held up a black and silver flask decorated with hearts. "While slicing through that creature's entrails," he smirked. "And I know for certain that it doesn't belong to any of us." That said, he tossed the flask back to its owner.

"Would be a shame if anyone found out you guys were behind a giant monster fish in the human world." Millie sneered.

"Oh satan! You all be so… fucked! Haha…!" Moxxie laughed in his drunken stupor.

Verosika was taken aback by the realization that they were right. "Yeah, well, you five nasty ass gremlins will be in shit for not being in disguises." she countered.

"A human called me a possum. I'm not a possum!" Moxxie collapsed face-first into the ground.

"And given that the humans who saw us were in a deep alcoholic intoxication state, they'll probably think it was a product of their imagination." Striker added with a sneer of his own.

Blitzo chuckled. "You know, we could keep this little Bee movie scene on the down-low if you agree to let us use that parking space." Striker nearly laughed at the sour, almost childish scowl on the succubus's face. She was against the ropes and she knew it.

·...Fine."

While the others cheered at their victory, Striker merely sighed in deep relief.

"Hey, Strike, now that we're on it, what did that bitch say you'd have to do if we lost?" Blitzo asked later that day.

Striker's only response was a loud slurping sound with a straw as he enjoyed a well-deserved meatshake.

[perksofhs]

‘So... the weather?’

This is a little AU piece that was requested! The prompt: Hey could you do a one shot where harry and famous reader are in a talk show and he has a crush on her. Maybe he accidentally hurts her while playing a game and he feels awful about it orrr maybe the host put a video where harry says that the reader is his crush and he gets nervous and embarrassed.

Promoting a movie was all but glamourous. It was a constant string of 14 hour days, 5am wake up calls and repetitive questions about working with this person or that person with very little time spent discussing the actual plot of the film. The savior of press tours was any interview where you werent alone, whether it was a joint interview with cast mates or a full couch talk show.

You’d been on the Late Late Show once in the past and you had to be honest, it was so much fun. Your first appearance included a 7 minute long musical medley involving fifteen quick changes and you very nearly faceplanting the floor.

By this point you were sitting in the dressing room, your hair being tugged one way or another by David your hairdresser, with your make up artist Cam working his magic on your noticabley exhausted face. “Who am I on with tonight Maggie?” you ask your manager, realising no one had actually told you. Maggie looked up from her laptop, a smirk on her lips. “James told me not to tell you so you’ll have to wait!” she said smugly. You rolled your eyes, “Of course he said that, that man has to stop trying to set me up”. James was a good friend, the two of you having met a number of times through industry parties award shows. He’d always try and find the mosyty eligible bachelor in the room and push you towards them just to shit you. Suffice to say none of them worked out.

Once your hair and makeup were done and you were dressed in a cute but entirely impractical and kind of uncortable outfit, a crew member came to get you and walk you down to the stage. “Ok so once we get to the stage, you’ll hear James announce your name, walk down the steps through the audience, wave or high five whatever you feel like. Then greet James and take a seat, then he’ll then announce the next guest”. You nodded along politely, already knowing the drill. “By chance, do you know who the other guest is?” you say shooting Maggie a smug look. “Yeah its Harry Styles” with that your heart skipped a beat, you’d always found him attractive and incredibly charming which is something you had stupidly mentioned to James once or twice. “That bastard” you say under your breath, you didnt have much time to think about it though because not even 30 seconds later you rounded a corner and there he was.

He was a gorgeous as ever, wearing what you could only assume with a gucci knitted jumper with a delicate lacy collared shirt beneath it, his signature pearls hanging perfectly around his neck, and a pair of cream flared pants. The outfit was quintessentially Harry. He was chatting to another random crew member who seemed to be giving him the same speech. You could hear James wrapping up whatever he was talking about, you were too distracted to follow it, you couldnt look away from the man 8 feet away from you. “You good?” Maggie says, pulls you from your bewildered state, Maggie’s words also caught the attention of Harry who finally looked in your direction.

Harry’s eyes landed on you and unbeknownst to you he was just as taken by the sight of you. Realising his gaze was lingering, Harry snapped himself out of it “Hey i’m Harry, nice to meet you” he said, taking a few steps towards you, his hand awkwardly out for a hand shake, something Harry was already kicking himself for doing. You took his ring clad hand in yours briefly “Hey I’m-” before you could finish you could hear James announce your name, you let out a laugh “that’s my queue”. It was probably a good thing that James has inadvertently introduced you, who knows whether you could have actually remebered your own name in that moment.

You descend the stairs, meeting James at the bottom with a friendly hug before taking your place on the couch. “Can you also put your hands together for the incredible Harry Styles!” James proclaims, the audience erupting once more, you watch Harry interact with the audience effortlessly as he makes his way down the stairs, having a bromance moment with James before he plops down next to you, sitting closer than you had expected him to. “So have you guys met before?” James says, knowing full well the answer is “No we haven’t, we met briefly backstage” Harry says. He couldnt stop thinking about how awkward he’d made the initial encounter but he couldnt help it.

Throughout the interview it was all too clear that sparks were flying bewteen the two of you. Harry had talked about his new music, you’d talked about your new film, an anecdote or two thrown in from the both of you. all was going smoothly until about 15 minutes in when James began to look very smug. “Now Harry, I know you two hadn’t met before but from what I hear you have quite the crush huh?” Harry’s cheek went bright red knowing exactly what was about to happen. You on the other hand had zero idea what was going on. “And how would you know that James?” Harry says trying to pretend he has no clue what James was referring to. “Funny you should ask my friend, this clip might just answer that for you!”

Your eyes darted to the nearest screen as the clip rolled, it was an interview from the press tour of the movie Harry had been in last year. The interviewer had asked the cast who they’d love to work with on future projects and to your surprise, Harry’s pick was you. The interviewer then asked why you were his choice, Harry’s response was “she’s just so talented, every time I watch her in something I’m just profoundly captivated. Her on screen presence is incredible.” One of his castmates laughed, playfully poking Harry in the shoulder adding "If it wasn’t already obvious he’s got quite the crush! He made us watch like 4 of her films during our set downtime” before the clip ended.

Harry dramtically buried his head in his hands out of sheer embarrassment as the audience let out a series of ‘oooohs’ and whistles and James burst out laughing. You let out an laugh as you awkwardly fiddled with your fingers, not entirely sure what you were menat to say or do in that moment. "Well then Harold, go on, ask her out. Nows your chance!” James goaded. Harry was utterly mortified but wasnt the least bit surprised. “So... the weather?” the audience laughed at Harry’s miserable attempt at changing the subject. “Alright alright i’l drop it but you can’t say I didnt try! Just remember this moment when you get married ok?” James said, throwing his hands up in defeat as he got in one last playful jab.

The rest of the interview went awkwardly by, although you were a little distracted. Did he really have a crush on you? How could he have a crush on you? You’re the one who had the crush on him, surely he didn’t feel the same?  James wrapped up the interview and once the cameras had cut both you and Harry made your way backstage.

“Well that was sufficiently awkward and I apologise for how uncomfortable I’m sure that made you. I’m honestly gonna fucking kill James for that” Harry said, you could only giggle in response. “He has no idea what’s coming the next time we catch up. In all fairness, despite how uncomfortable that whole ordeal was, it was lovely to meet you” the two of you smiled at each other. “It was lovely meeting you too Harry, no need to apologise, I bloody knew he was up to something. anyway, I have to head back to my dressing room, I’ll see you around” you say before starting to walk away. You only make it a few steps before Harry stops you “Hey wait! What are you doing this afternoon? This was my last interview for the day and I was gonna head from here to get some food. Wanna come along?” You pause for a moment to think about what the rest your day looked like before smiling back at him “Well, I had planned to go home and eat some left over chinese in front of a film... but I like your idea better. Swing by my dressing room on your way out?” Harry could conseal his happiness with your response, a giddy grin now plastered on his face “It’s a date, but we have to make a deal that neither of us tell James ok? You know how smug he’d be. Deal?” Harry said with a wink, reaching his hand out to seal the deal. You laughed as you shook his hand once more, this time a little less awkard than the first encounter. “My lips are sealed. Now you better not take too long, I’m starving!” you say as you walk away with a smirk and as they say, the rest was history.

Hey lovelies, I hope you enjoyed this one! And I hope the anon who requested it thinks I did an ok job! I havent done many request pieces. Also I know its not super long but I still think its pretty adorable.  Requests are open, just shoot me a message and I’ll see what I can do! xx

[marvelyningreen]

Gone Fishin’

Father’s Day 2/2

Peter Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

-🎣-

Even Peter could barely believe how long he’d sat still – like, actually sat still without zipping off to get something else done while he waited – in the garden behind the school. Sure, it’d only been about twenty minutes, but that was an eternity for him.

Oh, looked like the waiting was over. Peter caught sight of Erik walking down the back stairs. Perfect.

“Hey!” he called out.

As Erik glanced in his direction, Peter decided to be polite and walk over to him and a normal pace.

“Not going on that mission with the others?” Peter asked.

“Several world powers would rather prefer that I didn’t,” Erik said dryly, “So, no. I remain in retirement.”

Peter grinned. “Great! That means you’ve got the morning free, then, right?”

A suspicious look crossed Erik’s face.

“I suppose I do,” he said, and it almost sounded like a question.

“Well, come on! We’re burning daylight here.”

Peter grabbed Erik’s arm with one hand, bracing his neck with the other.

“Peter, I don’t-”

He took off without giving Erik a chance to finish his thought. This was only sorta kidnapping, considering this guy was one of the most powerful mutants on the planet. If he absolutely wanted to leave, Peter would take him back to the school before he could, who knows, yank out all the iron in his bloodstream or something.

Peter came to a halt where he’d left the gear earlier that morning. Thankfully, it was all still there. He wasn’t sure somebody would want to steal a bunch of borrowed old fishing gear, but dumber things had happened. He slowed back down to normal speed, making sure Erik didn’t faceplant before releasing his hold.

“- know what you’re getting at,” Erik finished, just a little dazed. “Where on earth are we?”

The little lake was a few miles outside of town, just below a dam. When he was running errands one day, Peter heard a couple of older locals discussing it as a good fishing spot. It was secluded enough – just a little access road leading to a small boat launch, without even a fishing dock. Peter kinda figured that, for as much time as Erik spent at the Xavier mansion years ago, he’d probably never been down this way.

“I heard it’s a good spot for fishing,” Peter said. “And it’s boring to go alone, so…”

“Fishing,” Erik repeated flatly.

“Yeah.” Peter paused. “Unless… you’ve got something else going on?”

He held Erik’s gaze for a second, certain he was going to demand to be taken back to the school rather than be forced into a trivial outing.

But Erik just sighed. “Alright, then. What do you fish for?”

“Me? Validation, mostly.” Peter laughed, then broke off, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Right, sorry. The professor said I should stop using self-deprecating humor as a defense mechanism.”

“That… certainly sounds like something Charles would say.”

Welp, that couldn’t have gone worse if he’d tried. Peter busied himself with checking over the fishing poles, and took a second shot at answering Erik’s question.

“Bass, I think,” he said. “At least, that’s what people say. I’ve never actually caught anything. I get bored after five minutes, y’know?”

He grinned, handing Erik one of the poles. Erik took it with an expression of complete exasperation.

“Why on earth did you drag me all the way out here if you don’t catch any fish?” he asked, massaging his forehead.

“Wha-? What kind of a question is that? Fishing is fun! That’s the sort of thing that people do on… on days like today, right?” Nearly blew it again right there. Peter turned away. “Where did I leave those worms?”

“You didn’t bring any,” Erik said flatly.

“I… oh.”

Shit. At a loss, Peter stood motionless for a second, staring down at the now-useless assortment of fishing gear. He’d made a mess of things, like usual. Well, nothing else for it now. He straightened up, turning back to face Erik with a smile.

“That’s fine!” he said cheerily. “I’ll just run back and-”

“Peter, wait,” said Erik, grabbing his arm as he went to turn away again. “I know.”

Erik released his arm and regarded him in silence. Panic was setting in. Was this the plan? Peter couldn’t remember how he’d wanted this conversation to go. He shifted his weight, rubbing at the back of his neck in a desperate attempt to appear casual.

“You, uh… You know?” he floundered. “What, exactly, is it? That you know?”

“I know that you’re my son.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. Erik was hard to read to start with, and Peter couldn’t begin to figure out what he was thinking. Every chaotic conflicted feeling Peter had had since he was a kid washed over him at once, and sent him reeling inwardly.

“You, uh… Huh.” Peter’s mouth felt as dry as chalk. “I didn’t think you… did.”

“Of course I know,” said Erik. “How could I not? Do you think I can look at you and not see your mother in your face?”

Peter suddenly found it very hard to meet Erik’s gaze.

Ever since he’d put two and two together himself, Peter had worried that he reminded his mom too much of Erik, that even looking at him would bring up painful memories for her. So hearing that Erik saw something of his mom in him, too… It made him happy, honestly – but it was hard to know how Erik meant it.

“I kinda figured, uh…” Peter frowned for a moment, struggling to find the right words. “When I was a kid, at least, I kinda figured that you knew about me, and you just didn’t want anything to do with me because I was always such a screw-up. But I wanted you to care, I guess.”

With a flick of his wrist, Peter sent the stone sailing across the water. It didn’t skip even once, just hit the water with a dull plunk and sank to the bottom. Wow. What appropriate imagery.

“But then Cairo happened,” he went on, “And when they told me everything that’d happened to you, I just… I knew it was the wrong time. With everything you’d lost, I couldn’t. I’m sorry for bringing it up. I’m making a mess out of this, I know. It’s just… maybe there won’t ever be a right time. I didn’t want to wait too long and be too late, y’know?”

A breeze, barely cooler than the hot June sun, skated across the lake. Ever since Peter hit his late twenties, it’d gotten so much easier to match the pace of the rest of the world without getting impatient. Not now, though. The seconds he waited for Erik to reply passed at an agonizing crawl.

“You’re right, you know.”

Peter’s gaze snapped back to Erik as he finally spoke. Erik watched him for a second more, smiling sadly.

“I wouldn’t have been ready to hear it then,” Erik went on. “I want to thank you – for giving me time to grieve.”

“If you need more time, that’s okay,” Peter said hurriedly. “I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, I just-”

Erik shook his head. “I think I’ve made you wait long enough. You’re already a better man than I’ve ever been, Peter. Please understand that I don’t say this lightly. Your unflinching courage, the hope you bring to those around you – these are things to be proud of.”

Peter looked away again, falling back on his usual self-deprecation.

“I don’t… I mean-” He broke off suddenly as he felt Erik grip his shoulder.

“I know that I’ve hardly been a father to you, and for that, I am sorry. But I’d be proud to call you my son, Peter.”

Dammit, he didn’t think he was gonna get choked up over this. But whenever he’d thought through how this conversation would play out, it always seemed to end in rejection or indifference. That Erik might actually, honestly be proud of him was something Peter had never really considered.

Peter sped up for just a second – just long enough to wipe at his eyes without Erik seeing – and then cleared his throat to steady his voice before answering.

“I’d like that,” he said. “If, y’know, if you’re okay with it.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.” Erik smiled, releasing his shoulder and taking a step back. “Now, run off and get us some worms. It sounds like you’ve got more fishing experience than I do, so you’ll have to teach me.”

With a grin, Peter sped off. Part of him still kinda expected to find the shoreline empty when he got back, but no – Erik was still there waiting for him.

Him and his dad having their first ever fishing trip. Huh. Peter couldn’t think of a better way to spend Fathers Day.

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 16

oh gosh, i'm so sorry for the late update!! i promise i'm still working on this, little by little. i am on vacation next week, so maybe i'll get the chance to really put some work in.

in any case, enjoy today's update c:

okay, so who the hell was gonna tell me that CBG’s designed a whole-ass album cover for my favorite artist of all time?

scratch that. who was gonna tell me she designed my FAVORITE album cover for my FAVORITE artist of all time?

Bubbles, as it turns out, has known Marinette Dupain-Cheng since he was four years old. Went to school with her and everything. So that’s another scoop to the shit Luka’s landed himself in. He still isn’t sure what gave him greater whiplash: finding out about that connection, or finding her name in the fine print of Jagged stone’s album credits. He also isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing that Nino mentions little else, and especially dodges the question of if it’s even cool to actually admit to having a gigantic crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, or whether he’s just wasting his time.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool.

(Luka is most definitely not cool.)

Especially for those freeze-frames of time that he wonders, to his own horror, if Bubbles has been Adrien Agreste all this time.

It takes him the better part of an hour of pacing and fidgeting with his guitar pick to realize that no, he hasn’t been casually messaging a fashion mogul’s son who also just so happened to be Marinette’s own gigantic crush. He doesn’t seem like the type to use “dude” in everyday conversation, and for another thing, it didn't exactly like up with what Marinette had said about them knowing each other in middle school.

One day, Luka swears, he’s going to take this anxiety thing out back and have it meet its maker.

Even if, maybe, he sort of is its maker.

(Okay, maybe he's going to take his brain out back, because he's definitely not responsible for that.)

But he figures, once that initial panic and urge to scream into his pillow wear off, that it might be a cool talking point between him and Marinette. One that, for once, doesn’t have much to do with either of their jobs. Or with how tongue-tied he gets around her because she just won’t stop being so pretty. Not that that’s a problem; both his sister and his mother would have his head for ever thinking that way, and even then, Rose would tell them to get in line. Something about how they didn’t raise him this way, even if two of them didn’t even raise him at all.

Luka waits a couple of days before stopping by the bakery again; it gives them both some breathing room and the time for those postcards to be finished and printed. He thinks about it a lot. The postcards. The effort. Marinette, too, but in his quietly flustered opinion, he thinks that’s a given. He doesn’t get the chance to come until close to closing time again because of his delivery shift; he just hopes they don’t mind too much. He braces himself the whole ride over for whatever may be coming: another friendly crack about napoleons and pear tarts, the beauty of the postcards, maybe even another offer of kindness if Marinette’s pattern is anything to go by.

The one thing Luka doesn’t brace himself for—which, of course, is the one thing that ends up happening—is the door propped open, and the music drifting out through the crack. And he can’t even revel in the fact that it’s one of his favorite songs playing, because…

Because Marinette is dancing. Rag in one hand, spray bottle in the other. No, it’s not like, a flawlessly choreographed routine or anything. It’s more like a mix of what Rose does during their down time when she has too much energy and nowhere to put it, and what Juleka does when she’s trying to find the rhythm of a new song. It’s blissfully unaware, and beautiful, and it feels like home, and Luka can’t stop staring.

He doesn’t mean to. He knows he shouldn’t. It’s just… he can’t remember ever seeing a moment when she was simply “Marinette, “instead of “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Friend to Practically Everybody.” or “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Daughter of the Owners of The Best Bakery In Paris.” or even “Marinette, the Girl Behind the Counter with the Sketchbook Full of Secrets and the connections to Jagged Fucking Stone.”

Okay, maybe he’s been watching a couple too many fantasy movies lately.

And he definitely needs to look away, like, right now, because she does this thing with her hips that makes his brain forget how to function for a second, and he needs his brain to function in every sense of the phrase, and God fucking damn it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is hot and he’s not supposed to think that she’s hot—

And she’s looking at him. Frozen. right as he’s about to get off his bike and knock.

And, like the total idiot he can only manage to be at the worst possible times, he trips. Over his bike. And faceplants, right in front of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He’s somewhere between waiting for death to take him, and thanking his Ma for always getting on him about wearing a helmet, and wondering if he really was so stupid that his first instinct was to run, when the bell over the bakery door rings like mad. Someone cries out his name, and the music cuts, and there’s a skitter of footsteps on concrete. When he comes to himself and starts to sit up, he finds himself face-to-face with Marinette, who's kneeling beside him and already scanning him for any injuries.

The first thing she says, with her hand in her hair, is, “Oh, God. She’s gonna kill me.”

The first thing he says, with a wince, is, “Yikes.”

It’s then that the pain sinks in, dull and searing and throbbing all at once, as if punishing him for choosing to say that, of all things. He sits up a bit more, pain chasing up his spine and stinging his palms; his knee is badly scraped and starting to swell, he realizes once he gets a good look at the rest of him. He can’t tell yet, whether Juleka would call this karma or kismet. All he can think is that at least his jeans were already ripped.

“Can…” Marinette swallows hard, but otherwise she’s entirely unfazed. “Can you stand? Put weight on it? Oh God, oh my God, she’s actually gonna kill me.”

“I…” Cautiously, Luka tries to get to his feet, and Marinette makes space for him. All it takes is one step for a jolt of pain to shoot up his leg, and he staggers and clutches the closest streetlamp, nearly tripping over his bike again in the process. “Shit,” is all he can bite out after drawing his breath in through his teeth and holding onto it for too long. He lets it out, little by little, and his grip on the lamppost loosens. “It’s okay, I’m—I can just walk my bike to the metro station, and—”

It’s like she isn’t even listening to him; she’s looking around the bike, evidently searching for something. Finally, she finds it—his bike lock—and after it and the bakery door are secure, she coaxes his arm around her shoulder. It’s almost comical, because he’s got a good thirty centimeters on her, but it hurts too much to laugh. Or, apparently, to stammer in protest when she leads him through the side door and up the stairs to her apartment.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Seeing her in her pajamas was enough of an invasion of her privacy. But seeing the inside of her literal, actual home? Oh, no. No way.

“You’re hurt,” she says simply, as if she’s read his mind; her voice is trembling, the way voices do when they know they shouldn’t. “It’d be against like, everything I am as a person if I just let you leave.” She only lets go of him to unlock the door, and only then does it occur to him that, for a few moments that should have been blissful, they were side-by-side, and in some places skin-to-skin.

Mr. Dupain gives them a funny, almost unreadable look when Marinette opens the door. One look at Luka’s leg seems to answer any questions he might have had, and effortlessly he helps Luka to the couch while Marinette disappears into the bathroom. “You know,” he jokes under his breath, “When I imagined someone falling for my daughter, I didn’t mean literally.”

Luka’s face goes hot. “I didn’t—I’m not—”

Whatever he wants to say falls on deaf ears, and Mr. Dupain makes himself scarce as soon as Marinette emerges from the bathroom. Even as she lifts his leg onto the coffee table, Luka swears he can feel those kind, quietly insistent eyes burning holes into him all the way from the kitchen. He doesn’t get to think much more about what Mr. Dupain might have meant, or what he would have said to refute it, because Marinette is pressing an alcohol pad to the scrapes, and it stings like a motherfucker—which is probably a good thing for more reasons than one.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says weakly, because somewhere along the way, I don’t deserve it got stuck in his throat and refused to come out.

Marinette gives him a look. He can’t quite figure out what it means. “Yeah. I do.”

“Nah.” He readjusts, braces himself for the second sting of the ointment and the bandages. “I kinda deserved it. Jules would call it karma, I guess.”

There she goes again, wincing at the mere mention of Juleka. Or maybe… maybe it’s something else. Without a word, she gets up and disappears into the kitchen, and he spends her whole absence wondering what he said or did. He’s only relieved when she returns with a bag of frozen corn and a shrug as if to say, It’s all we had. She presses the bag to his knee, breathing deep in time with him, or maybe in hopes that his breathing will start to match hers. Then she speaks, and her voice wavers.

“Why would you ever think,” she murmurs, “that you deserve any pain?”

Luka opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens and shuts again. This time, at least for a while, the words don’t even make it to his throat. Eventually, all he can spit out is, “I was. Watching. You.”

“I know,” Marinette says, turning as pink as her shorts. “I saw.”

That’s the one thing he can appreciate: she doesn’t try to downplay it or say it was dumb. Even now, she’s unapologetic, and direct, and God, maybe he’s just fallen a little more. “I shouldn’t have,” he says. “I was gonna knock, I was…” He shifts again, his knee still in her gentle grasp, and flinches. “I just… wanted to see your postcards.”

I just wanted to see you.

“Marinette.” His lips tingle just from saying her name, and his stomach is churning. “Who… who’s gonna kill you?”

This time, Marinette goes scarlet; it would look about as pretty as literally every other color and pattern she wears if she didn’t seem so… mortified. “I’ll go get one of—the postcards,” she says—stammers, more like—and as she’s heading upstairs she calls out, “Papa, he can’t walk. Can we drive him home?”

From the kitchen, Mr. Dupain winks.

1 Photo Attached

RIP lol

and no, i’m not talking about my jeans. those were already like that.

but also. 😬 oh boy.

[poptimus-prime]

Inspired by some tags @yeetmetothehell put in a post re: Optimus having ADHD and doing the Forgotten Dishes Walk (AKA the Water Bottle Walk of Shame.) Especially because I will sell my soul for Optimus and the human children being tender to each other.

Optimus sat on the edge of his berth and dragged his servos down his faceplate, looking around at the mess his quarters was. He really needed to clean up in there. The mess was stressful and he just wanted it clean for once.

But where the frag to start?

Optimus’s eyes shifted around the room, quickly getting overwhelmed by the amount of tasks he could perform. The task of “clean the room” was so nebulous and tangled that he couldn’t break it down into the smaller steps. He felt oddly small and sighed deeply as he brought his knees up to his chest and trained his optics on the floor. Guess I’m not doing that tonight. Again.

Then, a little clatter from the corner of the room interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and noticed he had about a dozen empty, reusable Energon cubes in the far corner of his quarters, and the stack had finally collapsed. Ratchet’s been looking for those cubes for weeks. Optimus figured he should probably take those out to the main silo and clean them for his friend, if anything.

He sat for a long minute, trying to will his processor to let him stand. The first step was always the hardest...but, he did manage to stand up and walk over to the cubes. He knelt down and picked them up, one at a time, until he had a precariously stacked load of cubes cradled in his arm. Taking a deep breath, he opened his door and began to shuffle down the halls, both to avoid waking the rest of the team with his footfalls and to keep the cube stack from collapsing.

The silo was quiet, a soft glow from Ratchet’s idle computers barely illuminating the space enough for Optimus to navigate. He went over to the corner where tools and cubes get washed, keeping the water at a low trickle as he scrubbed the cubes with a hand rag. He was about halfway through it before his thoughts were interrupted yet again by a sudden sound.

“Doing a forgotten dishes run, Optimus?” A tiny, groggy voice piped up.

Optimus jumped about as high as he was tall, and his faceplate burned blue as he turned to look at the source. Miko was just quietly watching from the couch, wrapped in a blanket. Optimus had forgotten that the team had given her permission to stay at the base for the night.

“A...what?” He asked, unfamiliar with the phrase.

“A forgotten dishes run.” She repeated. “When you have lots of dirty dishes in your room you keep forgetting to handle and then you finally handle them.”

Optimus looked back down at the cube he was cleaning. “Yes, Miko. I supposed I am doing a...forgotten dishes run.”

“Not gonna lie.” Miko popped her lips. “That seems super unlike you. Is everything OK, Big Red?”

Optimus’s face twisted a bit as he tried to keep his mind at least half-focused on the task of washing the cubes. This was a part of him he didn’t particularly like sharing—a flaw that being a Prime didn’t fix. He felt the shame burn down to his spark, but Miko appeared to hold no judgement. Her voice was soft, and open.

“I am fine.” Optimus shrugged a bit, working on the last cube. “I...this is my normal, I suppose.”

“It’s my normal too.” Miko sympathized. Optimus froze yet again before he turned off the water, finished with his task. He pondered his own cognitive dissonance for a long while. He felt shame for his normal and wanted to hide it...but he was so incredibly proud of Miko for how easily she owned her normal.

“Optimus?” Miko finally urged.

“Hm?” He hummed.

“You know it’s not something to be embarrassed over, right?” Miko popped her lips again, waving her hand and inspecting her nails. “‘Specially not in front of me. You being a Prime or whatever weird excuse you can come up with doesn’t change anything.”

“Just do not tell anyone, Miko. Please?” Optimus looked up at her as he stood, extremely concerned.

“If that’s what you want. My lips are sealed.” Miko motioned zipping up her mouth and then drew an x over her heart. “Cross my heart.”

Optimus smiled a bit, walking over to gently rub Miko’s head with a single finger. “You should go back to sleep.”

“I wanna sleep with you. You’re warm.” She whined a bit, hugging the finger Optimus was using to stroke her hair like it was a stuffed toy.

Optimus’s faceplate burned again. “My quarters are not up to standard for guests.”

“My room’s probably ten times worse.” Miko chuckled a bit. “And maybe we can clean your room tomorrow, if you’re that worried about it. I know a few tricks that totally failed for me, but they may help you.”

Optimus looked down at the child with fondness, a rare smile gracing his lips as he gently gathered Miko up, blankets and all. The Prime appreciated the unconditional kindness and occasionally pearls of wisdom he received from the human children. “I would greatly appreciate your help and advice tomorrow.”

“I’m glad.” Miko smiled sleepily, nodding off before Optimus even got to his quarters with her.