#why has this man worn so many numbers

[emuchipmunk]

19 | Jared McCann x American Teenager - Ethel Cain

Part 5 of the Spotify Wrapped x Hockey series

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just Friends: How It Began

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

masterlist

Summary: You make a new friend.

It's giving

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

There’s more people than you expect. The book club is more of a book crowd. Not exactly what was advertised online. Instead of a circle of only about ten people, there are tables set around the room to seat as man. Each. 

“Find your name tag,” the woman at the table near the entrance explains, “and your table. Everyone has a number.” 

You thank her and find your name tag, sticking it onto your cardigan, right below your collar. You clutch your copy of The Good Earth. It’s well worn. A used copy you found on a thrift shop shelf. You search the room, lost as you take in the other listless faces. 

You check the list of names and find your table number. This isn’t what you were hoping for. You want to make friends. Everyone here is older than you. Noticeably so. And there’s so many. It’s going to be so loud, you won’t be able to focus. You doubt you’ll make any sort of real connection. 

You think of leaving but you’ve come this far. Besides, there’s a spot waiting for you. You find your seat at Table 12 and swing your feet nervously. You tap your fingers on the cover of your book and smile as a pair of white-haired ladies sit down across from you. They don’t acknowledge you as they chatter. You sit back, disappointed. 

Other tables are a little livelier. Several attendees sit at the next table and garble loudly on. It seems like they’re already talking about Pearl S. Buck’s narrative from what you can make out. An older man sits down and you try to think of how to greet him. Oh, no, he seems to know those ladies. All three of them block you out as they ignore your tiny wave. 

“Twelve,” the deep voice gristles over you. The chair next to you scrapes out. An even more worn novel lands on the table next to yours. The man sits. “This everyone?” 

He looks around and you do too. 

“There’s a few more seats,” you say as trace your finger over the spine of the book. You turn to him and pause. He’s familiar. Do you know him? “Um, hi...” You introduce yourself, trying not to cringe.  

He’s younger than the others but still older than you. The silver strands threaded into his dark hair and patched along the edge of his jaw suggest at least a full decade, likely more. You offer your hand stiffly, not sure why you do. You’re not one for shaking hands. He accepts the gesture and your lashes flick in surprise. His fingers are... metal? 

“Bucky Barnes?” You blurt out as he squeezes your hand firmly. 

He drops his chin as if he was hoping to stay covert, “uh, yeah. You beat me to it.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you retract your hand and slap your cheek, “I didn’t mean to. I only... I thought you looked... familiar and then I worried I forgot you from somewhere. But you’re too old to have been in my classes. But I mean... not too old. We had lots of mature students. Mature... just students. Age isn’t... well...” 

He chuckles, “don’t worry about it. More than a century in, I can handle being called old.” 

“I wasn’t-- I didn’t mean... that,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry.” 

“Really, it’s fine. It’s... cute,” he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. Another duo sits down and make no effort to engage beyond their pairing. He sighs and looks around. “Not very social for a social club.” 

“Mm, no, but maybe once we get started...” you shrug. 

“Maybe,” he sits back and drops his hands onto his lap. “You... don’t have somewhere less... geriatric to be?” 

“Oh, um, well, you know, I have some friends but they only want to go drinking and I get all bubbly in my stummy—stomach, when I drink. So, yeah. I thought maybe I could meet a few tamer friends here.” 

“Huh, well, I assure you, the old ones really aren’t that much different,” he scoffs. “And I get it. Alcohol doesn’t do much for me. Don't like the taste either. It’s all people ever wanna do. Always ‘let’s go for drinks’.” 

You nod. 

“Besides,” he continues, “don’t feel like hanging out with a bunch of dudes who can only talk about fighting the next bad guy. I need a friend who isn’t enhanced or magical.” 

“Right, that sounds...” 

“I know. I'm a grumpy old man complaining about saving the world,” he snorts. “Sorry, I just—I'm like you. Wanna expand outside my circle.” 

“Yeah, makes sense,” you agree. “Looks like you’ve read that a few times.” 

You point to his copy and he peers down. His blue eyes find you again, “first edition. Read it before I shipped off. My sister Rebecca still had it when she passed... she left it behind. It was just sitting in a storage unit.” 

“Oh wow, I... yeah, er--” 

“See, the whole friends thing... tough when there’s only one other guy in the city the same age as you,” he says. 

“It’s nice of her to hold onto it for you,” you finally get your thoughts in line. 

“Yeah, she was nice,” he agrees. “My best friend, but don’t tell Steve I said so.” 

A man sits on your other side and jars you from the plucking of heart strings. He’s balding and thin. “Hi,” you turn to him and give your name, “nice to meet you.” 

He glances at you, “Didn’t know this was open to kids.” 

“Kids?” You echo. You’re well into adulthood. Almost twenty-five. 

“Lay off, she’s being friendly,” Bucky leans over. “It’s a club. We’re supposed to talk about the book.” 

“Yeah, I'm sure she has great insight into the battle between wealth and tradition.” 

Your eyes round. You crane to see around you. You really are the youngest person in the room. You should have known. 

“I’d love to learn,” you say and the man harrumphs. 

Bucky growls, “you sure act like a jackass for putting on airs. She’s being polite.” 

The man sneers, “some idea for a date, boy.” 

“I’m not--” Bucky puts his metal hand on the table, between your books, balling it to a fist as the man gapes. 

“I--” the man begins. 

“Save it,” Bucky says. “Think you may have missed a few themes... you know, about women and oppression.” He drags his hand from the table. “Hey,” he nudges you softly. You almost can’t believe he can be so gentle with the metal limb, “how about we get outta here? They’re showing It Happened One Night just a few blocks down at the old cinema.” 

“Yes! I know. It’s one of my favourites. I was going to go but everyone said it was boring and I didn’t wanna go alone.” You chirp, shying away from your own rambling. 

“Same. So, how about it. Wanna make me look normal?” 

You laugh, “sure. I love popcorn.” 

“Alright, I might save you a few milk duds,” he stands and you do the same. 

You think you’ve made a friend after all. 

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME: Issue #2

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Your streak of bad luck continues as you find that the universe is not done putting you in harm's way. Luckily, you have grouchy Spider-man to save you.

Word count: 3,500 words.

Content: Slowest of the burn, near death experiences, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara being a rude bastard and a total softie.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

[Previous issue] [Next Issue]

According to an article that ran in the New York Times: one out of every 40 New Yorkers will have a run in with a Superhero in the time they live here.

That might not sound like much, but considering that nearly 8.5 million people live in this city, it adds up to a lot of people. In fact, most in your friends circle have their own anecdotal story to tell.

I ran into Tony Stark at the Brandy Library and he asked me for my phone number. Bit of a sleaze but he bought our whole table a round of drinks.

Captain America landed on my Fiat on Manhattan Bridge. He dented the roof, but he was very polite about it.

Daredevil was hanging out at the fire escape ladder above the Meatball shop. Gave me tips on what to order.

It's nothing short of a miracle that having lived in this city for as many years as you have that this is the first time you've had a Supes encounter.

It'll be a great story to tell at parties. You fell out of the Chrysler building and were rescued mid-air. It blows all the other stories out of the water. Though, you'll probably leave out the part where he wished he'd left you to die.

You stare blindly at your computer screen. There are endless rows of cells on your excel sheet no matter how far you scroll. Uninterrupted numbers and reference codes for insurance claims that are waiting for your attention. But the numbers and letters all blend into an indecipherable sludge soup. All you can focus on is: 'I should've let you fall.'

Heat prickles your cheek, as you replay his words in your head.

What the hell.

That was entirely unnecessary.

You didn't deserve that.

Over the course of the last 24 hours, you've played the scene on an endless loop in your head, until the memory is worn and scratched like a used up VHS tape.

Did you do something wrong? You must've. Who has ever heard of a Superhero treating a civilian in this manner? You’re just a hapless innocent bystander who fell out of a building due to a supervillain battle they started. To blame it on you and then call it a mistake. Isn't that something a supervillain would do?

Gritting your teeth, you feel yourself seething of the memory of the windows next to you breaking and shattering out of nowhere as a bird-person villain with mechanical wings tumbled past you. Next thing you knew you were tumbling out the window. 

And then he saved you.

Did he mean to save someone else? Is that why he was so annoyed? But, you didn't see any other people falling from the building on your way down.

You replay the memory. Again.

The looming silhouette of his towering frame over yours as he sneered down at you.

He looked at you like he knew you. Like you had offended him with your mere existence. But you don't understand how. You've never met him before. Never met anyone who looked even remotely like him. You would've remembered a man with red eyes, they're not exactly common. Plus, you don't think you've ever met someone quite so tall. Your neck hurt with the angle you had to crane just to look at his face.

What could you possibly have done in your lifetime to piss off a Superhero you've never met before?

For that matter what Superhero is he anyway? You think back at the dark navy suit clinging onto every inch of skin, embellished by that bright angry red in the emblem of a spider.

Spider-man... 

Except Spider-man is known to be a swell guy with a great sense of humor. Not a rude asshole.

Aren't his colors inverted too? You pull up the browser on your screen and google "spiderman outfit". There's over 800 million hits. In all of them Spiderman's suit is primarily red with blue embellishment.

Whoever the guy is, you don't think he's your friendly neighborhood Spiderman that every New Yorker knows and loves.

With a hapless sigh, you click aimlessly on your screen, trying to look busy at work for the next twenty minutes until you can go on your lunch break. You go through the motions of your soul sucking tasks. Tagging each insurance claim into one of the following categories: approved/rejected/further missing information required.

Peering over your cubicle wall to the wall of windows, you spy the section that has been zoned off since yesterday. The broken window you were knocked out of has already been replaced, but there's still shattered glass and debris nearby.

Your stomach drops, the phantom sensation of the ground beneath you giving way. For a brief second you swear you can feel the weightlessness of soaring through the skies without anything catching your fall.

You stand up from your desk, solid ground meeting the soles of your feet to remind you where you are. 

The office.

There's a monotone drone of workers all around you grumbling and sighing just as unhappily. The quiet tip-tapping of keyboards of the working masses.

Is this the life you managed to escape death for?

Is this it?

It's kind of sad isn't it? You nearly died and lived to tell the tale, only to return to a life so unremarkable your brain didn't deign it necessary to provide you with any highlights (cause there are none).

The most exciting thing that has happened to you the whole of this year was being insulted by a grumpy superhero. The most you've wanted to live was during that span of ten seconds when you were falling out of a building to your death.

You glance at your clock, still 15 minutes before noon. You log out of your desktop anyway.

You barely make it across the street from your office. The light is green as you cross Lexington Avenue when the screeching noise of tires tears down the street and rips through your eardrums.

A yellow taxi hurtles towards you at full speed. Through the car window separating you, the cab driver is staring up at you with wide-eyed horror. In that fraction of a second before the hard metal is going to collide and shatter every bone in your body, you only have one thought: Oh god, this is going to hurt.

Life doesn't flash before your eyes. All you see is the familiar blur of shiny blue and red.

Go figure that's the only moment extraordinary enough for your brain to think it's worth replaying before you die.

There's a blunt and forceful shove to the side of your ribs. Softer than you would've imagined a two tonne vehicle slamming into you would be. It doesn't hurt. It reminds you of that time you played football with your cousin and he body slammed you to the lawn. You've heard about this phenomena, the brain will try to protect itself by going unconscious if the pain is too extreme.

But there's no bright light, when you open your eyes all you see is the familiar shiny blue fabric.

A firm weight wraps around your shoulders, and you recognize this, the feeling of being held as you're pulled into their solid chest. There's not enough time for you to look up, you're slammed onto the ground, the solid warmth wrapped around you, absorbing the fall.

The pressure wrapped around you shifts then lifts away entirely. When you open your eyes for a second time, there’s no one there holding you. 

There's no one else there with you. Just the standstill traffic of cars and pedestrians gawking at you.

A concerned woman runs over to you, bending down to help you up on your feet. "Are you okay? That car came out of nowhere."

Your legs feel unsteady, wobbling as you put weight on it to stand up. 

“I’m fine, I think,” you respond, and look down on yourself. There are no scrapes, just a bit of dust on your work-attire from traffic.

"You're so lucky, Spiderman was there to save you."

You blink up at the woman in dazed confusion and it takes your brain a few seconds to process what she's telling you.

Spider-man...

In your mind's eye the flashes of blue and a vivid red invades your vision. It wasn't just your life flashing you by. Not just a figment of your imagination.

He was here. He saved you. (Probably not) Spider-man saved you (again).

A wave of gratitude washes over you. You take back every unflattering thought you had about the man not five minutes ago. Rude? Would a rude man save you, not once but twice in one day? No, of course not, you probably just misunderstood him, or misheard. After all, if he truly regretted saving you, he wouldn't have done it a second time... right?

--

When you get back at your desk, there's a post-it tacked to your computer screen, with an angry scrawl of a handwriting.

'Look BOTH ways before crossing!!!!!'

You stare at the note, and the way the word "both" is capitalized and aggressively underlined.

Rude.

The universe is out to kill you. You're sure of it.

They say that death comes in threes after all. So no one can blame you for being a little bit on the edge after you've gone two for two within the time span of 24 hours.

You stay away from windows in tall buildings. You look both ways, twice, before crossing the street. You try to go straight home from work the minute you clock out from work, turning down any and all initiations with friends to go out after out of precaution. It's just not worth the risk.

And for a while it seems to work. For a while, there are no more incidents. A week goes by and your nerves start to settle and you are lulled into a temporary sense of security before it all goes to shits.

A ceramic flower pot on a windowsill tumbling off the sixth floor of a brown house by Chelsea that would have dropped on your head and split your skull if someone hadn't bumped into you from behind that you weren’t able to catch sight of.

A piece of scaffolding that comes loose and falls from a construction site in West Village as you happened to walk past, and would have been crushed under if you weren’t tackled away at the last second by someone who fled the scene before you could thank them.

A hot dog cart runs amok, hurtling downhill towards you between 184th and 190th street in Manhattan when the cart suddenly out of nowhere, against the very laws of physics like it’s being pulled by an invisible force and changes direction mere inches in front of you, hurtling through the air and crashing into the windows of a bodega instead.

Each and every incident leaves you with an ever growing sense of paranoia that this cannot be explained away by being merely pure bad luck. There are cosmic forces at force that clearly want you dead.

On Thursday, there are leftover cupcakes from a client conference. Mary, the secretary in your team, boxes up four of them for you and tells you to take them with you, because, "you've had a rough week, toots."

It’s not a flattering assessment of you, but when you see your own reflection in the mirrors of the office toilets, you can’t help but think it’s an accurate one. You look rough. Eyes bloodshot with deep furrowed lines underneath. Your face is gaunter than you remember seeing it too. 

You take the cupcakes. 

It's the first good thing that has happened to you all week, and as small of a comfort it is, you take it as a win.

You eye the box from your desk the rest of the day, squirreled away in your tiny cubicle. You are determined not to eat one while at work. Because you'll be damned if Matt from accounting catches a whiff of your cupcakes and asks you to share one with him. You want to properly savor them in the comfort of your home at the end of the day.

But as often is the case when you have something to look forward to, the seconds, minutes and hours tick away with a reluctant drag as if time itself knew you wanted the day to end faster and decided it'd be fun to flip yet another cosmic middle finger in your direction. 

When it's finally time to end work, you get off your chair so forcefully it knocks it to the floor. You are practically jogging through the lanes of cubicles to get to the elevator, and nearly smack the security guard on the other side with how hard you swing open the front door. 

It's pouring outside, which, of course it is. You take off your jacket and cover your cupcake box with it, because you're not going to let the universe ruin the one good thing you've got going for you this week, as you run towards the station.

The moment you step into the damp and sticky station any remaining sense of joy in you evaporates. There's a hoard of tourists swarming the subway paying no attention to their surroundings. Tourists wearing their caps and backpacks and wheelies knocking over a 'Caution Wet Floor ' sign as they gather in a throng in front of the subway map, blocking the way as you hear the train approach.

It's not that big of a deal. A train comes every two to five minutes, and if you miss this one, you'll just get on the next one. It's not the end of the world. Logically, you know that. Emotionally and spiritually however, the world around you has just taken a little bit too much from you for you to concede to this minor little loss.

You are going to make this goddamned train.

Taking a determined step forward, you shoulder and push your way through the throng of people to fight your way to the front of the track.

You push a little too hard. Your feet skid across the slippery tiles, leg buckling from your own weight and you lose control, tumbling forward.

In your peripheral view there's a blinding light approaching. There's wind beating the sides of your face, and you can hear the screeching metal of the train right next to you. Your foot drops into empty space and you are falling into the tracks. 

Oh god why...

Why?

You just want to live.

The cupcake box flies out of your grip, splattered somewhere across the front pane of the train. There's a hard tug on your shirt as an invisible force you cannot see yanks you back, hard.

Your head whips back and for a fraction of a second, there are crimson eyes staring back down at you, you blink and then it's gone.

You land on your ass with a bruising force to your tailbone with a bone-breaking thud. The subway whizzes by with a demonic roar past you, inches from where you're sprawled on your ass on the dirty tiles of the subway station.

In front of your feet, there's a long streak of white frosting trailing down from your feet to the tracks of what looks like a crime scene.

Maybe it's the stress. Maybe you've just had a bad night of sleep (after many successive bad nights with little to no sleep). But something in you breaks at the sight of the frosting smeared across the dirty subway tiles.

Your eyes sting with exhaustion. Chest drawing in tight with a crumbling ache that makes you want to curl up on the cold tiles. You're just so tired.

There are people around you staring at you. No one in their right mind who lives in New York would sit on the floor of the subway.

But your legs are heavy and numb. You can’t move from the spot. Everything tastes like bile. You try to swallow and force it back down but it's no use, your throat has swollen shut. Your cheeks run wet and you press your palms to your eyes to make it stop but that only seems to make it worse. Snot runs down your nose and drips down your wrist. You're crying and you don't know how to stop.

Is this the rest of your life?

In the morning, you wake in your bed with a sore ache that gnaws at your bones. Swollen eyes and a soreness that scratches the lining of your throat.

Your back hurts, and as you try to turn to your side to get out of bed a sharp pain surges up along your entire spine.

Fuck.

It's too bright. The sunlight is offensive. It stings your eyes and makes you sick to your stomach. You only have vague memories of how you made it back home. Feet shuffling through the subway in a daze like the walking dead.

God is that what you are? A dead man woman walking?

You crane your head and catch a glimpse of your clock on the bedside table. 9.13 You're late for work. But that's mind as well, you don't have it in you to make it in.

What's the point anyhow? You hate that place.

Besides, if the subway on the way over doesn't finish off the job this time around, then eventually a taxi will. Failing that the universe is probably going to send over a ninja assassin rat from the subway to come after your life.

There's a soft breeze coming in from the open window that grazes the back of your neck and you turn your head towards it. All you can see from your window is the brick wall of the neighboring building. Even though your apartment is on the sixth floor, you can't see a speck of the New York skyline.

Still the breeze is nice, though you don't remember opening the window last night. You never usually do. It is silly and paranoid. No human robber could possibly climb up your six storey building just to climb into your window and rob you. If they could, they’d find that there isn’t much to rob in your apartment, the most valuable thing you own is a complete Le Creuset Cookware set. 

Your eyes glaze over your work tote bag on the floor next to the window, drifting upwards and spot the pink box sat on the window sill and you stop. 

You didn’t put that there. 

You sit upright in your bed, setting your feet to the floor and force yourself to leave your bed as you pad over to the open window.

It's a fancy looking thing. Baby pink, and chiffon ribbon on its side. Wrapping your pinkie around it, you tug it loose. You perch your thumb against the corner of the lid when you stop.

It's not another one of the universe's assassination attempts is it? You're not going to open it to find a bomb ticking down are you?

You hesitate for another moment, taking a deep calming breath before you gather the courage to finally lift the lid. Inside, there is a gorgeous display of cupcakes adorned with white and pink frosting, topped with strawberries, chocolate shavings and on two of them there's mini macarons.

Way fancier than the day old Costco cupcakes you'd lost yesterday.

Picking up one, you take a bite. The frosting is light and zesty. The refreshing lemon melts on the tip of your tongue as the buttery cream floods your mouth with the rich flavor. It's the best thing you've ever tasted.

Lifting the box, you check the sides of it to see if there's any note left behind, but there's none.

Gladis Bakery. It's from a bakery you've never heard of before. When you google the name the place is outside of New Jersey, 58 minutes away and you would need to take a subway then switch to a tram.

There's no note attached, but you don't need one. The list of candidates who would be physically able to climb up six floors up the bricks of your apartment building to leave cupcakes on your window isn’t a long one. 

Something warm blooms in your chest at the thought, and your fingers linger on the top of the box, savoring the taste of lemon and sugar still lingering on your tongue.

You put your head out the window, not sure what you're expecting to find but find yourself disappointed all the same when there's nothing there. No people in the quiet street below, and nothing unusual above.

"Thank you for uhm... saving me,” you say into the silence with nothing but the traffic noise below to answer you. 

 “And the cupcakes," you add. 

There's no reply. 

~ To be continued.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[hardboiledleggs]

Tattoo Artist Eddie Munson Part 2

Part 1 Here!

I could kiss all of you consensually on the mouth, you were so nice about part 1 I cried several times. Here is the long awaited part 2, which I am considering turning into a full length fic on ao3 so if anyone wants to follow me there here it is! Sorry it is so short! This is mostly a stepping stone for my plan for part 3. As always, if anyone would like to be added to my permanent Steddie fic tag list or the tag list for this fic specifically, let me know below :)

~~~

As a general rule, Steve considers himself a confident person. Unfortunately, there’s something about Eddie Munson that reduces him to a nervous, sweaty wreck with decidedly NOT perfect hair. Every time he pulls the now well-worn scrap of paper with Eddie’s number from his pocket, his heart rate jumps to an unhealthy level, and he stuffs it away. This has, of course, royally pissed off Robin Buckley.

“I mean, Jesus Christ, Steve. What is the point of getting a cute guy’s number if you aren’t even going to use it? I think I would have called him more than you have by now, and he doesn’t even have boobies!”

Steve crosses his arms and lets out a disgruntled huff. “Look, I told him some seriously personal stuff, okay? I doubt he even wants me to call him.”

Robin shoots him a deadly glare as she restocks the chocolate chunk ice cream, her stern look tempered slightly by her ridiculous sailor outfit. Scoops Ahoy is an okay place to work, all things considered, but Steve has considered reporting the ice cream shop to the Better Business Bureau for the uniforms alone.

“Why the hell would he give you his number, then? Please don’t be a dingus,” she snorts as she wipes an arm across her sweaty forehead.

“He probably felt bad for me, okay? Seriously. If I had told you that story, you wouldn’t be like ‘Wow, can’t wait to jump his bones!’ You’d think I was a pathetic dude with daddy issues,” Steve groans, flopping forward against the counter. His track record with guys had been, so far, awful. It was hard enough to be a bisexual man in the 80s, let alone in a small town in Indiana. One wrong move, the wrong word, and he could be arrested or worse. It didn’t give a guy a whole lot of confidence.

“For the record, I wouldn’t have wanted to jump your bones regardless, but whatever,” Robin says dryly. Her eyes are soft as she catches his arm. “Just don’t let yourself lose out on something nice ‘cause you’re scared, okay?”

Steve doesn’t look at her as he tugs out of her grip and starts organizing the spoons.

~~~

Eddie Munson has always hated places like the Starcourt Mall. There are always way too many people, too much erroneous noise, and the workers start to follow you around the store if you start touching everything that looks like it might be soft. However, even he cannot deny the hypnotic pull of a brand-new Tower Records shop.

Weaving in between soccer moms and bubblegum-chewing teenage girls, he skids around a corner and gazes above the heads of the crowd, trying to spot the Tower Records logo amongst the perms. Nothing catches his eye except a blue and red neon sign flashing ‘Scoops Ahoy Ice Cream Parlor’ across the mall. Figuring there were worse places to take a break and get directions, Eddie shrugs and fights his way through the crowd and steps into the nautical ice cream parlor.

The man at the counter has his back to Eddie, but upon hearing Eddie’s boots squeak on the linoleum he turns and begins to recite sullenly, as if from a drilling manual; “Ahoy, are you ready to set off into an ocean of flavor with me as your capt-“

Steve snaps his mouth shut when he makes eye contact with Eddie. In comparison, Eddie’s mouth is gaping like a beached trout, and he doesn’t seem to have the capacity to shut it, because Steve, “tattoo boy who he had moaned and whined about to Argyle for literal hours” Steve, is standing right in front of him in tiny shorts and a sailor’s hat and is that lip gloss?

His face is on fire, smoke might be coming out of his ears, but he can’t bring himself to look away from the shorts. Apparently, the Scoops Ahoy motto was “Serve ice cream and invade Eddie Munson’s wet dreams for at least a month!” Eddie shifts his weight from foot to foot, his discomfort growing as the silence stretches longer. It had been days since they’d met, and Steve hadn’t called once. Wayne had gotten so sick of him asking if he had any messages that he’d threatened to tear the phone out of the wall.

“Well, hiya Stevie. How’d that ink turn out? Thought I might get to hear about it after you left, but I think my phone might be busted? That, or my uncle is lying to me about not getting any messages.” There. False bravado. The tried and true method of any queer man about to get rejected by an obscenely handsome ice cream salesman.

“I’m sorry,” Steve blurts. His hands twitch, as though he wanted to reach across the grimy counter but thought better of it at the last second. “I didn’t know how to call you and… so I didn’t.”

His face is ashen, full lips parted as he breathes. Eddie thinks he might never see a more beautiful thing in his life, but he takes a step back, a false grin stretching his lips into a practiced and careful expression.

“Hey, man, no big deal. I misread things. It happens! You were darling, and I am well-known for my sweet tooth.” He smiles a real smile this time and holds out his hand to shake. “No hard feelings as long as you can point me in the direction of the new record store?”

Steve stares at his ring-clad fingers for too long before he turns and starts to wrestle with the junky cash register on the counter. Something snaps as he yanks it open and fumbles for the receipt paper, tearing off a sheet and beginning to scribble furiously. Eddie is just thinking to himself that this guy must think he’s too stupid to remember one or two sentences of directions when the paper is shoved into his outstretched hand. Steve has scrawled his full name and number in thin, slanted handwriting.

A bubble of hope rises in Eddie’s chest as he stares at the piece of paper in his hand. This isn’t platonic with a capital P. Or at least if it is, the universe is mean and should reevaluate how it operates.

“This way you can call me, because I’m a total chickenshit and am definitely terrified of you,” Steve declares as he gnaws on his bottom lip. “Or if I fucked it up that’s whatever and I get it. The record store is like 15 stores down to the right.” He looks like a puppy someone had kicked and left out in the rain.

“When is your shift over? Or rather, when will you be home and sitting by the phone?” Eddie asks in a breathless rush.

Steve’s face brightens with a shy but triumphant smile. “I’m off at 7, home by 7:15!”

“7:30, loverboy. I need a ride.” The pane of frosted glass behind Steve slides open, revealing a pretty girl in a similar uniform to her coworker, although her outfit isn’t having quite the same effect on Eddie as Steve’s is. Grinning like a hyena, she pulls a whiteboard out from behind her and uncaps a marker, putting a single tally in a column labeled “You Rule” that has thus far remained empty. Steve tosses a waffle cone at her head, which she ducks, before sliding the panel shut once more.

“7:30 then. Got it. Expect my call, big boy,” Eddie bows theatrically. He steps backward, attempting a suave exit, and spins around before he can say anything else horrific and embarrassing like “Need a skipper for your next voyage?”

As he is hurrying out of the shop, he hears a crash and a shout of “Buckley, you are so dead!” Eddie grins and stares down at the phone number in his hand, trip to the record store completely forgotten. Steve Harrington had no idea what he was signing up for.

~~~

If I tag you in error I am so sorry!! Please message me or comment and I will take you off no hard feelings I am super frazzled by the response to this series and very likely have screwed up this list. If I missed your name feel free to absolutely roast me in the comments :) I can take the heat

Tag list (Holy moly here we go) - @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @throwbackthrowaway @vampireinthesun @mightbeasleep @steve-the-hairrington @nelotegreitic @swimmingbirdrunningrock @thehumblefigtree @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @idsellmysoulforsteddie @toobluebrunette @azreadytodie @rainydays35 @luna-munson83 @sl1187 @artiststarme @bethebitch @ultrarainbowunicorn100 @doilooklikebees @this-is-moony-lovegood @impeachy @grimmfitzz @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @maya-custodios-dionach @brassreign @kurumeki @zerokrox-blog @starxlark @chaoticvictorianspirit @2nd-star-2-the-rhgt @adankrivervalleynearyou @yikes-a-bee @e0509 @babyblender @shinekocreator @hope-can-be-your-sword @hellomynameismoo @knitsforthetrail @thegingerrapunzel @blindbisexualgoose @4nemo1egend @piningapple @aceflavouredyougurt @cyranyx @fruitandbubbles @eyesofshinigami @thefreakandthehair @prettyboyandthemetalhead @void-library @steddio @jjoesjonas @vecnuthy @twiggspots @spectrum-spectre @henderdads @sweetcreaturetm @morning-rituals @inmoonywetrust @kyoxyukiforever 

[spiceofvy]

Hi! Can I please request relationship headcanons for BTS members with a non celebrity, female reader? Thank you ❤️

BTS - Dating a non celebrity

a/n: omg this is my first time writing about the vocal line, so i'm kinda nervous right now, but also i really like how this turned out, so i hope you enjoy it too! also i'm super sorry but i totally forgot that you asked for a fem!reader. the headcanons honestly wouldn't have been any different except for me using gendered language anyway. so i hope you still like it!

cws: sfw, gender neutral reader, fluff, nothing to note here tbh, except for one (1) slightly sexual line (hoseok ofc)

Seokjin: No matter how many prizes he wins, how much the newspapers praise him, at the end of the day the only compliments that matter to him are those coming from you. He wants to hear how much you love his voice, how good he looked, how amazed you were by his performance. He's only satisfied with his work when you declare how utterly and irrevocably in love you are with him. But don't worry, he will return all this love whenever he can, calling you the cutest nicknames, cooking for you whenever you want and believe me when I tell you that this man will show you off to everyone. He wants everyone to know how amazing you are and that you are his to love.

Hoseok: Hoseok sees his main goal in being your boyfriend and an idol in being able to spoil you rotten. Shirts from his favorite designers, tailored jeans to make sure that you legs always look perfect, the most expensive shoes you've ever worn. What's the point in being rich if he doesn't spend the money on you? And you really can't get him to stop, even if you make more money than him. He will still feel the need to spoil you. And of course drown you in compliments. Tracing his hands over your body as you try on some tight clothes, making sure they highlight all his favorite parts of you. Just to rip those clothes off of you at home later.

Yoongi: I know it's a cliche, but he writes love songs about you. And sad songs when he misses you on tour. And happy songs when he sees you sleep on the couch on the studio, feeling completely at peace with him. He just writes a lot of songs about you. You are his inspiration and his muse. Many of those songs never get released, they stay between the two of you, shared during emotional moments, followed by soft talking and sweet kisses. You are also Holly's co-parent. And in almost every photo Yoongi has in his Holly-Journal. He doesn't mind keeping you away from the public, unless it's about the basketball games he gets invited to, especially if you also love the game. He is pretty sad about not being able to also share this passion of his with you.

Namjoon: He is obsessed with your normal day to day life. Which he honestly misses a lot. Please tell him about your run to the grocery store, how overrun the subway was, the cute dog you saw today. He loves to hear about it all and will never get tired of hearing you talk about your day. He sometimes just wants to take you on walks through the city, but due to his popularity it's really hard. So he just schedules those walks to the night, when it's raining and the streets are empty. He also low key posts you on his insta. He is the king of soft launching. There are your shoes in the background, two bowls of food on the table, a sweater he's never seen wearing before on the couch, a shadow in the mirror in the background. It's his favorite little game, how well he can hide you in open sight.

Jimin: You are his number one tripod for his content. He 100 percent trusts you vision when it comes to filming his dance videos or taking his photos. Even if you have no former experience in those areas. He also takes you everywhere! This man is absolutely shameless in taking you to work with him. He doesn't even care if his explanations, why he needs you at set with him all the time are not making sense. He introduced you at one photoshoot first as his personal assistant in addition to his actual assistant, later as his translator the shooting was in korea so no need for a translator and his emotional support human okay this was probably a joke on his side. No one ever dares to object anyways. Including those times when he uses his times with highly ranked stylists to get you set up with some pretty new clothes instead of preparing for his upcoming comeback.

Taehyung: He is in desperate need for a calm spot of comfort in his life and you are that to him. Far away from all the hectic that comes with being an Idol you are his home and the place where he can 100 percent be himself. After a long day he loves nothing more than to fall onto the couch next to you and hug you tightly until he falls asleep. As you talk about your day, petting his soft hair. When he can't come home to you, he calls you in the evening when he is in bed at some hotel on the other side of the world. Just needing to hear your voice to finally calm his mind. Additionally Yeontan loves you almost as much as he loves Tae so you are the perfect dog sitter, and yes this includes managing the scheduled facetimes between the two of them when Tae is on tour.

Jungkook: Please note that he will kick you out of whatever room he wants to stream in, when he streams. Your shared apartment? No it's his personal filming studio and you live in it. I hope you are good at turning off cameras without being visible on them, because that is your job whenever he falls asleep on the camera. But all jokes aside he is always so excited to come to you after streams, asking if you watched it. You didn't need to, because you could hear him in the next room over, but just say yes, because he loooves you validation. "Did you like that photoshoot I did? What do you think about my dancing in that tiktok? Did I sound good during that performances?" It's almost as bad as Jin but Jungkook pairs it with his huge pretty puppy eyes, tearing into your soul. Also, he will tease you with his song lyrics, especially the spicy ones. Just to get really flustered by your answer afterwards.

[coolshadowtwins]

SVSSS YQY Fan Fic Round up!

Ok, I finally have them all together! Please enjoy these fanfics, and if you have any to recomend that's not on here, feel free to say! I'll add it later!

First off, The YQY Weekend 2023 AO3 collection and The QiJiu Week 2023 I'm going to recommend as the entire pages! Great places to go find a fanfic to enjoy! Some might be double recomanded, but some should be unique!

Mouse On The Thorn by Lbhs_left_tiddie

On a mission, Yue Qingyuan comes across an omega child, who shares a name and a startling resemblance with his favourite shidi. Shen Qingqiu, however, denies knowing such a child, and make it very clear he wants nothing to do with him.

Without any family or home, Yue Qingyuan instead offers to take care of the child.

Palimpsest by Azzandra

Yue Qingyuan has one giant blindspot as a sect leader, and that's Shen Qingqiu.

But now a curse has made him forget Shen Qingqiu, and that changes some things.

gather jewels from graveyards by formerlyknives 

When strange rumours reach Cang Qiong, Shen Yuan is a little slow to investigate.

He lives to regret it.

The number children by Angry_gremlin_commando

Ten-year-old Mobei Wu, fifth son of the current Mobei-Jun, gets stranded in the human realm after one of his uncle's murder attempts. There he meets fifteen-year-old Yue Qi, fresh out of Lingxi caves and on the way to rescue Shen Jiu.

It turns out even ice demons aren't immune to Yue Qi's Big Brother energy. (This author has a good number of stories to check out! Go look at them!!)

A smile for the master, a snarl for the wolves by Angry_gremlin_commando

Shen Qingqiu and his young disciple Luo Binghe qi-deviate at the same time and swap bodies. It makes them understand some things about each other.

To Plant a Garden by SweetTiramisu

Yue Qingyuan spends so long beneath the earth that he becomes a part of it. Perhaps Shen Qingqiu will plant a garden in him.

Written for Qijiu Week Day 2: Touch Starvation.

bite your way to safety by AMereDream

The Geese come at a time that neither Shen Jiu nor Yue Qi considers ideal. They make it work. (This author has so many good fics! Go read them! This is just the one I chose to put on this list!)

You Were You, And I Was I by MissMegh

Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan qi deviate and turn into their teenaged selves. They don't know who they become. They don't remember the worst moments of their lives. They only know they're together again.

Pretty soon everyone on Cang Qiong Mountain knows they are, too.

Our Sect Leader Is A Baby! by dryingmangoes

Yue Qingyuan gets deaged. Somehow this changes everything.

for day 2 of qijiu week blessing/curse

Treading Well-Worn Paths by mofumofu

After Shen Qingqiu married Luo Binghe, Yue Qingyuan thought his role in the man’s life was over.

However, as he carried the child-sized lord of Qing Jing Peak in his arms, he was grateful for this unexpected opportunity to bond with the person he cherished most.

Shen Yuan, meanwhile, wondered desperately where the hell he was.

hey, share the weight a little by Tossawary

Shang Qinghua is miserable as an outer disciple of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, doubtful that the plot will ever begin, when he finally runs into his first character. Yue Qingyuan is only a boy in desperate need of a helpful friend. Well, why shouldn't Shang Qinghua be that friend? A little investment now when they're young and Shang Qinghua might just be able to survive this world with the support of a sect leader.

It's definitely not because he's also in desperate need of a friend.

(He's definitely not expecting love.)

you're my number one by pennydaniels

Yue Qingyuan is granted a chance to have his heart's deepest desire made real by a mysterious goddess living in a small sect's private temple.

The Evening by kat8cha

Yue Qingyuan wakes up, he gets dressed, he goes to work, he goes to the gym, he goes to a party.

He pays people to tell him what to wear, people to tell him where to be, people to tell him what to do, and pays for someone else's engagement party.

A broken mirror restored by bunnyfication

Yue Qingyuan is hit over the head with the realization that he could ask Shen Qingqiu to marry him, Shen Qingqiu's suspicious mind cannot make sense of the sequence of events. Yue Qingyuan would never, would he? What is this, mind control??? (it's happiness, but neither of them has ever felt it before).

nobody, nobody told me by AMereDream

“Qingqiu-shidi,” he started. “Are you al—”

Xiao Jiu tugged, surprisingly strong for someone who had collapsed out of nowhere less than an hour before. Yue Qingyuan followed, partly out of surprise and partly because it was Xiao Jiu; of course he’d go wherever Xiao Jiu wanted him to be.

He found himself being dragged onto the bed, only the thin sheets separating him from Xiao Jiu's body. His breath caught in his chest, and he clenched his eyes shut.

Xiao Jiu's bony elbows dug into his chest, his thin — too thin, having skipped too many meals even for someone who didn’t need to eat — shoulders curved to meet Yue Qingyuan’s body.

His long hair tickled Yue Qingyuan’s face. He smelled like the honeyed soap he washed his hair with. Yue Qingyuan inhaled covertly, deep and greedy.

 

One morning, Shen Qingqiu woke up a changed man. Yue Qingyuan is left trying to figure out what happened to make him so relaxed and affectionate.

[mactavsh]

Watching Over

Synopsis: Price tries to keep you awake while captured.

Relationships: Father Figure!Captain John Price x Female Reader, John “Soap” MacTavish x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: violence, swearing, mentions of blood/injuries

Note: Debated posting this one because it is quite self serving, but maybe someone else needs their fictional father figure to tell them they're proud of them too. The title was inspired from this song.

Masterlist

If it was an Intel mission that required a certain level of finesse, Laswell always knew who to send. You and Captain Price worked seamlessly after the many years of training he'd given you. He scouted you early on in your career quickly becoming a mentor in your eyes. He had also easily fallen into a paternal role, unbeknownst to him. 

However, Laswell knew how Price had a habit of adopting kids. As a joke, she kept a running list of his “next of kin”. It started with you and has grown over the years to include Gaz, Soap and Ghost. 

The mission required the two of you to go completely dark, Laswell was sending you to Mexico at the behest of Alejandro. You would both have to be in zero contact until the mission was complete. You both understood the gravity of the situation - there would be no backup.

You were given a month to track down an emerging cartel that was responsible for a rise in weapons trading. Los Vaqueros couldn’t yet make a move against them so Alejandro reached out to Laswell and Price for assistance. 

When you landed in Mexico you had a brief meeting with Alejandro and Rodolfo to learn what they knew. After that you and Captain Price set out to see what you could find. By then end of your first week you had figured out the names of the higher ups and the locations of a few meeting spots.

However, when you had gone to infiltrate the meeting, there were more men than expected. The two of you certainly made quite a dent in their numbers but were eventually overpowered. You had been knocked out by someone who snuck up behind you. Price heard you fall and was distracted just long enough for someone to sneak up behind him, subsequently knocking him out next.

When you woke up you were both chained to metal chairs. You were situated on opposite sides of the room but facing each other. The cold metal dug painfully into your ribs with every breath. There were no windows, no way to tell how long you had been there.

Hours blurred into days then weeks. The daily torture had worn the both of you down. They gave you just enough food to keep you alive and looking at how Price’s features had grown sunken in you assumed yours had as well. 

They had learned early on the dynamic between you two as much as you both tried to remain stoic, so they focused their torture on you hoping it would get Price to talk. What they didn't realize was that both Price and you would sooner die than tell them anything.

You were sure the check-in date Laswell had set had long since passed and you could only imagine the hell Soap, the 141, and Los Vaqueros were raising trying to find out what happened. 

Your captors had just left after another bout of torture trying to get information out of both of you. Bruises began blooming on Price’s bare chest, emerging blue and red tones mixed with already yellow spots. Your arms sported new deep gashes atop barely healed scar tissue. Blood slowly trickled down your arms as your chest heaved. Your mind was dizzy from the pain and it was taking everything in you to stay awake.

“Stay with me, kid.” Price spoke from the other side of the room voice even and calm as it always was.

“I refuse to die at the hands of some random fuckin’ cartel member.” Your voice was firm despite the exhaustion you felt.

“That's my girl.” Price's chest swelled with pride that turned to worry as your head lolled downward. “Tell me about why you joined.”

You groaned and slowly brought your head back up to squint over at him. “Haven't I already?”

“You like to call me an old man.” He smirked, ”I forgot, tell me again.”

You huffed, if your brain wasn’t so foggy you would have immediately realized it was a tactic to keep you awake. “My dad served, his dad served, felt like I had to keep the legacy going. My grandfather also said I’d never outrank him so I had to prove him wrong.”

“That why you’re my youngest Staff Sergeant?”

“You bet your ass it is.”

Price forced out a laugh. “Out of spite, eh?“

“It’s how I do most things.”

“He still around? Your grandfather?”

“Passed a year or so after I was promoted.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

You shrugged as best you could with the chains restricting your movement. “He lived a long happy life.” Price didn’t press further about your family, he knew your parents were also passed and you didn’t have any siblings. The 141 had become your found family and he was happy that you were no longer alone. 

“You remember the day we met?” Price pressed, trying to keep you awake.

“Yeah,” You breathed out, exhaustion dancing in the corner of your eyes. “you called me a muppet.”

Price smiled recalling the day. “You looked bloody ridiculous under all that gear. Five feet tall wearing gear in Ghost’s size.”

“My CO did it on purpose when we got word you were coming to scout recruits for some secret spy shit. He wanted his golden boy to be picked.”

“Bastard's plan failed. When I saw you running the course like that I knew you were the best for the job.”

You looked down at your feet, you weren’t sure you could ever put into words how thankful you were for all he's done for you. “Thank you, for choosing me. You pulled me out of a dark place that day though I didn't see it at the time.”

“You’ve got nothing to thank me for. Hell, you’ve saved my life more times than I can count. I’m proud of you, Y/n. You’re a whole lot more than you give yourself credit for.”

You weren’t sure if it was the praise or the blood loss but tears began to well in your eyes and you were powerless to stop them.

“When we get out of here we are going on leave.” The Captain’s voice was firm, an unofficial order.

“That so? Don’t think my husband would let me go on holiday with another man.” You joked half-heartedly, the day you told Price you were officially dating Soap he had called the sergeant into his office. An hour passed before you saw either of them again and for a week after that Soap could barely make eye contact with the captain. When you and Soap had gotten married it was Price who walked you down the aisle. 

Price rolled his eyes. “All of us. Been too long since we had a day we weren’t fighting for our lives.”

“Would be nice.”

“Thinkin' a lakeside cabin deep in the woods. I’m going to teach everyone how to fish-” Just then the sounds of distant explosions rocked the room you were in. Concrete dust fell into your lap and you stared at it for a moment.

“I hope that's our favorite demolitions expert.” You spoke as you looked back up at Price.

“Wonder how they found this shithole.”

“Alejandro?” You proposed as another explosion sounded, this time closer.

“Maybe. These idiots probably got cocky and sent some bloody ridiculous ransom note to Los Vaqueros.” 

The sound of gunshots grew near, gradually getting louder until they stopped altogether. Price looked at you then you both looked at the door. What felt like an eternity passed until the door was broken open. A familiar masked face entered, gun at the ready until his eyes settled on the room’s occupants.

“Bloody hell,” Ghost said as he dropped his weapon and pressed the button on his communication device. “I’ve got Price and Y/n. Second-floor northwest corner.” He grabbed the bolt cutters off his back and moved towards you, quickly snapping the chains that were holding you in place. He put a hand on your shoulder and you grabbed his forearm, both gently squeezing the other before letting go, a silent reassurance. He then stood and moved toward Price to free him.

You stayed seated and rubbed your wrists, you knew if you stood now the blood loss would likely make you pass out. The sounds of footsteps in the hallway made your body tense before Soap’s frantic form stepped through the doorway.

“Thank fuckin’ Christ.” Soap spoke as he ran toward you. He kneeled in front of you, gently placing his gloved hands on either side of your face. He rubbed his thumb along your cheek, careful of the small cut there. “You alright, love?”

You stared into his eyes for a moment, basking in the blueness that had come to feel like home. A tired smile crossed your face as you leaned into the gentle touch. “Better now.”

Soap smiled back and you and then slowly helped you stand. He kept a gentle hold on your arm as you regained your equilibrium. After you were sure you weren't going to pass out you walked over to Price, immediately wrapping your arms around him.

“We made it, old man.” You spoke into his chest.

Price placed his chin on your head and gently rubbed his hand along your back. “Knew we would, kiddo.” 

Bonus:

“Should I be jealous?” Soap whispered jokingly to Ghost as they watched the exchange.

“Shut the fuck up, Soap.” Ghost rolled his eyes before swatting the back of Soap’s mohawk.

[ohnococo]

Ijichi seducing y/n with whispering on ear

Ijichi Whispering into Your Ear

warnings: gn!reader, no sex but Ijichi is hard and talking dirty in public, dry humping, referencing sex and oral sex, referencing semi-public/car sex

Ijichi is a man of habits and routines. There are just far too many things out of his control in his day to day life, so the things he has a say on are always kept predictable, easy to navigate. So it’s not surprising that once you got to know Ijichi, you found he was just as predictable as he tried to keep those small facets of his life.

He wakes up at the same time every day, goes through the same routine: pee, brush his teeth, wash his face, breakfast, get dressed, and go. His breakfast is the same each day, his clothes are laid out the night before, the hook he keeps his keys on (second from the left) is slightly bent and worn from being the only one used for years now.

That’s why it’s such a pleasant surprise when he does stray from his typical patterns, even more so when he strays from those typical behaviours. A little honey in his morning tea, a quick trip to town for lunch rather than what he usually packs himself, or right now - when Ijichi has chosen to whisper sweet things low into your ear right in a crowded elevator.

The music acts as a low drone to drown out his whispers to anyone that doesn’t have his lips so close to their face, and the salaryman talking loudly into his phone surely obscures anything else. You knew he was enjoying the proximity, in fact you could feel how much he was enjoying it pressed right against your hip once a new group of people had filtered into the cramped space and left you sandwiching Ijichi between your body and the back corner of the elevator.

You didn’t know he would be so bold as to lean in and tell you just how good you smelled, or how soft you felt against him.

“I didn’t mean to get… like this…”

You know exactly what ‘this’ is, and suspect he’s already leaving a little wet patch where the tip is pressed against his stomach by his waistband.

“But it’s you so…”

The idea that just being pressed to you is enough to remove all control from Ijichi’s body has your heart racing, barely focused on the floor numbers lighting up as you descend.

“It’s okay, right?”

You nod, he lets out a sigh of relief that tickles at your skin.

“Is it… okay if I take care of it in the car with you?”

You press into him a little more, turning your head to lock eyes with him for just a moment, wanting him to see your smile when you nod again. His head dips a little lower for a moment as he smiles, barely holding himself back from rubbing his nose against your shoulder affectionately, as he so often loved to do. Instead, he rocks his hips against you slowly, a small movement that is imperceptible to the people around you.

He brings his lips back to your ear, voice a little more breathy now, “I’d like to slide it inside you, will you hold me while I do it?”

Another nod, and another happy little sigh from Ijichi before he’s continuing on, hips still rutting against you.

“I’d love that so much. I’ll touch you however you like, so you feel just as good. It’s okay if we’re messy, the seats are easy to clean… and if you let me kiss you… there maybe I can last a little longer… and if I-“ He stops as his voice cracks, volume just a little higher as his hands ball into fists and he stills his hips.

You turn to look at him again, seeing the focus on his face, knowing he’d almost talked himself into finishing then and there. You consider grinding against him instead, giving him a little fight to stop from making any noise as he cums in this cramped space, since his voice had done so much to get you worked up, but then the elevator dings and your attention is drawn back forward as you reach the ground floor.

You turn back to Ijichi as the people in front of you exit, smiling, “Let's go take care of that, then.”

[alekthefox]

This is about my post about a future fanfic where Aventurine beats Dr Ratio in chess. What you're reading now however is canonical proof+my theories on Veritas' opinion on Aventurine's intelligence.

@resagini You're right absolutely, however Dr. Ratio already knows Aventurine is extremely intelligent! (I'm not sure if you were implying he doesn't realise it in canon... But if that's not the case... then for those people you mentioned in the last few tags here's a little info :)

Penacony spoilers underneath, with receipts.

First of all why he wears the bust:

(Source of image: Honkai Star Rail wiki, under Dr. Ratio, voice-overs.)

He has never ever been seen wearing it when with Ave. Aventurine even teases him about it in Penacony story with the line of (I love the stupid pun, the word "bust" fits both of them):

This also means Aventurine has seen it before this. I'm unsure the time placement of Final Victor light cone as of right now. But it is possible Veritas changed his mind multiple times. Since Penacony though he's not worn it when with Aventurine. It is also possible he wears it when the two of them are with others who Ratio finds to be blubbering fools.

Note: Aventurine is a high rank P45, and a Stoneheart, within the STRATEGIC Investment Department. Whyyyy, pray tell, do people think of him so lowly????

Then there's Dr. Ratio in the Aventurine showcase saying they're not exactly friends and he's not so bad to work with unlike those insufferable fools. (And I adore the callout he gets from Aventurine and how flustered he gets urgh this man <3)

Official video

Friends quote: 0:50

Veritas admitting Aventurine is in control then getting flustered when the two are described to have "mutual understanding" ("wait... mutual? What did he say about me???? 🥺"): 5:30

YESSSS YOU CAN PUT ITALIC ON EMOJIS!

And I would love to remind everyone of the lines:

Yep. Dr. Ratio knew Aventurine's plan, or the majority of it. (PEOPLE PISS ME OFF WHEN LISTING THAT BETRAYAL AS A REASON THIS SHIP IS TOXIC.) That means Dr. Ratio knew that this extremely layered, thoroughly thought through (i did NOT just use those three words like it's normal what the hell) scheme, all came from Aventurine's mind (literally nobody else would think of this bullshit, from the self-destruction to the breaking of a cornerstone to the THREE cornerstones in use in the same place without the people, in possession of the Family etc etc). I believe extremely little parts of the Penacony situation was luck. Aventurine is lucky, yes, insanely. But he uses his luck as an advantage, not main weapon. He uses it as a mask, he is a gambler to many eyes. The doctor knows this. He doesn't believe in luck but in probability, a controlled and calculable version of luck. He didn't trust his luck, but his mind. So Ratio played his part.

Another thing is that during Penacony you can retrace, during story, Aventurine and Ratio's steps. Literally. Playing as Acheron you can examine the footprints and it's stated that whoever was walking there are equals.

Despite Aventurine having full power over Ratio through the IPC authority and the cornerstone power and having him always follow his lead (begrudgingly or not), they walk side by side.

Even with Ratio being much taller and therefore faster, they walk side by side. (An easy excuse that doesn't involve feelings that both could use to avoid this respect.) Even with Ratio thinking a lot of people are morons, he walks side by side with Aventurine, without his statue mask. Even with Dr. Ratio's many accomplishments proving he's above quite a number of individuals.

In both opinions on who is greater, they choose this.

Link to wiki page

There is so so so so much more but I do think these instances alone are enough to prove my point.

[blingblong55]

Tap Out-Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Based on a request:

Heyyy there👀 So, it's been a while since I started following you but, your one shots are FUCKING AMAZING!!😭😂

Anyway, I just wanted to ask you, if it's okay would you please right a one shot or anything about Ghost who does material arts(boxing) with reader?! or F1 driver Ghost?! Thanks🥲💖 (It doesn't matter if it's smut or fluff I just really like your writings. by the way sorry if it sounds weird, just first time requesting in tumblr😭🤦🏻‍♀️)

A/N: I'll be doing boxing first because like...I need boxer bf Ghost rn F1 driver Ghost deserves smut tbh...

F!reader, fluff, boxer!Ghost, boxing au, established!relationship, jealous!Ghost

Simon was not one to keep relationships, that everyone knows but when you and him met, that was when he knew his life would change. You two were complete opposites and that is what complimented the relationship. It is midnight rain and you the sunshine.

He was never one to show off to prove his skills but when you showed up at the gym to watch him train, best believe he was flexing his muscles, showing off what he can do in the ring. His mates knew best, a pretty woman like you with a tall and broad man like him? Yeah, it was meant to happen. He wanted you one way or another and he was going to prove he could be more than just a boxer, he is a lover and a big softie, but that is only for you.

As time passed and the more dates you two ended up going on, he finally dared to ask you to be his girl or as he put it, "Be my number one fan, c'mon baby, what do you say?" The smile you gave him after his question proved you were already his, to begin with. During and after practice, you were on his mind. You had become the motive for him to continue to fight.

As he was about to walk out into the public and to the ring, he saw on the room's TV his best girl. Wearing his chain and a small sign to support him, this alone brought a smile to his face. Yeah, he was dedicating this win to you. He is cocky but for a good reason. He was named one of the best boxers in all of Manchester and possibly the entire country. The scars that littered his body from years of boxing were now worn proudly by him, this was after you kissed them all one night, to prove to him he was no freak for how many he had. The tattoos he still had marker residue on from the night before, where you painted on them, trying to memorise them all as if they were your own. He kisses the tattoo where you last touched, his forearm proudly has the red lipstick smudged there.

Why did he know he was going to win against an amazing boxer like his opponent? Easy, bastard was flirting with you and though he never shows his jealousy when you're around or ever, in the ring that is where all the urges to punch him would come in. You were his to love and hold, no one else's.

The two touched gloves and the match began, you rooted for him, called him cute nicknames and cheered when you knew the punch would get him points. Before this, you didn't know a thing about boxing and saw it as something too violent and stupid. The way he softly spoke to you when speaking of his profession, the way his hands touched yours and taught you to fight, that is what had you so hooked on this sport. Your favourite boxer, yours and yours alone. After an impeccable last round, he won.

During break, he had seen how his opponent had winked at you and that was enough for him to fuel up the need to put that mediocre of a man in his place. Simon was cheered on after being granted the belt but in the crowd of fake friends and crew, he looked for you. The one person who for years now has been by his side, his shoulder to cry on and the only woman he loves, you. You smile when you notice he is looking for you in the crowd. "Simon!" you waved and his face lit up. He ran off the ring and to you, he lifted you as if you were feathers, "Baby, we did it!"

That was his thing, he never took full credit for anything, always thanked his crew but before them came you, his number one girl. If the man would've even touched you most slightly, Simon would have made sure to make that man tap out and beg for an ambulance. You kiss him despite the blood and sweat on his face. Never grossed out by it because, at the end of the day, your big softie had won.

Was he jealous that his opponent had been with his girlfriend? Yes and no. For one, he knows you are more than loyal and are in more than in love with him. What was it then? The fact that, that man was a womaniser and you as his girlfriend do not deserve to be sexualised by anyone, expect him when you wear that dress he bends you over to.

After everyone was gone, you and he stayed behind in the locker room. Hands intertwined, is bruised knuckled being caressed by your delicate hands. "I love you, Simon." He let out a soft chuckle, a red hue on his face as if it was the first time you told him this. He looks away blushing, You always had a way to make a tough boxer like him turn into a huge softie. He was melted away by how delicate and how soft your words always were.

Your hands cupping his bruised face, "You won and I know for sure that last punch carried more than you let on." That was your thing, always seeing past what others never acknowledged. This is what made you two perfect for each other. Your hands caressing his face, his eyes big like a lovesick fool. His face leans more to your touch, "I love you too, R/N." he softly speaks. That tough boxer is now gone, replaced by your precious boyfriend, Simon

tags: @thisuserisaninfpgirl

A/N: I'll make sure to write that F1 smut soon:)

[crmsnmth]

Hello

So, since I'm never satisfied, and it's been quite some time since I did this, here's

Version 5

(I apologize for the length. I kind of just got caught up writing it.)

Introductions Are stupid

Hey. How goes it? Here's a little bit about me, and why I do what I do. We all in? If not, too bad. It's time to move.

I'm a 36 with no pronouns. Just call me whatever you want, I don't give a damn. Pansexual, if you must know my private business. I live in a small town of 2000 people right in the center of the drunken state of Wisconsin. It is not even close to as fun as that sounds, and it doesn't sound all that fun to begin with. It's a place where alcoholism is worn like a goddamn badge of honor. Try being sober when getting alcohol poisoning makes you a legend, and wearing DUI's like peacock feathers. I've lived in many other places though, jumping around the Midwest as if it were playground hopscotch. I guess it's true what some people say though, and we always end up right back at home. I keep coming back here at least.

I work two jobs, both in the same field. For one, I am the kitchen manager/Head Whatever for a Bar/restaurant/bowling alley. I told you, it's a small town. And I also work as a plain old line cook at another bar/restaurant/event center. I've been working the kitchen life since I was sixteen and started working at a Rocky Rococo's Pizza. That sucked and this sucks too. I'm not a fancy chef, and I didn't go to school for shit, but I've been in this industry a long time, and I still love the basics of my job. It's one of the few things that I can actually say I'm good at and take a lot of pride in what I do for work.

I spend most of my time listening to music (it's always playing around me). I listen to all music, and I'm not just saying that. I actually do. You can go through my main playlist and you'll find everything from Slayer to Britney Spears to Alan Jackson to The Casualties to Katy Perry etc… My favorite band of all time is the Descendents (I'm just a square going nowhere). But standing tall in second place is Amigo The Devil (As long as I wake up, I'm already stronger than dead) and Frank Turner (If you're all about the destination, then take a fucking flight) rounding out my top 3. Honorable Mention goes out to Lana Del Rey, Blitzkis, Murderdolls, Poor Man's Poison, Pat "the Bunny"(And all of his projects) and I'm going to stop now or this will just turn into bands I like. I am always on the lookout for new songs to memorize, so tell me the songs that mean the most to you. I seriously want to know.

I am a massive film fan. Mostly old horror, but I love the weirdest movies out there. Art films? Hell yes. Although, I'm still a sucker for the classic 80's slasher, or the 30's Universal horror. I've seen every Friday the 13th (official films, including the remake) enough times that I can quote almost every line from each film (those damn enchiladas). My favorite movie of all time, and I say this without any irony at all, is a little indie number called "The Room." I fucking love Tommy Wiseau's The Room. It is the greatest peice of cinema this world has ever seen. If you have not seen this fucking beautiful trainwreck, please rectify that. Like now. Stop reading this and find a way to watch it. Watch it. Go on, get. Come back to me when you've learned some film culture ettiquette.

I'm mentally screwed and quite medicated. I have come to peace with this fact. I've been as stable as I can get for a good four years now. So that's neat.

I am a raging cynic. I'm not sure if it's by choice or by enviroment. Either way, it's easier this way.

I'm a political nihilist. The system has failed, will continue to fail, and always will fail. It's inevitable and it doesn't matter who you put in charge. It will always fail. So please, shove your political opinions up your ass. I don't care.

I am a recovering addict, long-term. 8 Years. I am sober a little over two.

I started writing young. As soon as I could basically. Stashed somewhere in a box of my dad's thing is a few pieces of paper with a short little story in it. It's awful, but it's the earliest fossil of my work. Writing became a form of therapy and how to cope with my parent's divorce, my extreme depression in my teens, my anger and even lonliness. Words were comfort. Words are easy. Words are what I have to really express myself and I couldn't be happier that I've found other writers who aren't in it for fame or glory, but just for the simple fact that they love to write. I write more than any sane and healthy person should right, but I'm far from sane and I'm far from healthy. I write this much because if I don't, my head will explode into a shower of blood, brain and skull. Take that as a metaphor if you want, but I'm telling you the truth.

I do not write for anyone's actual approval. Not even my own really. I do this because it's the only addiction I have that isn't actively trying to kill me, and is actually trying to better me as a person and get in touch with unresolved feelings and places that will never have closure. Plus, the idea of my skull exploding sounds ok, but I can't leave behind that mess for anyone else to clean up.

I will always love constructive criticism. But please, for the love of all the love in the world, don't just tell me I suck. I get that. It's a massive part of my whole act. Please, give me a reason why I suck, what I'm doing wrong in your eyes. Help me to better this craft I play with. Seriously, I love it. But if you can't give me a reason, maybe it's best you keep that food-hole shut, and stop trying to be a dick, dick.

So what do I write? What do I put here on my tiny molecule of the internet? Bad poetry, and way too much of that. You'll find random crappy drops of stores or fiction (September Sky is still being worked on, I didn't forget about it). You'll find song lyrics for songs never written, scripts for films never shot, speeches given to people who aren't alive anymore, letters that never get sent. I try to write something at least once a day, but If I get on a roll, I'll post up to 15 or 20 new posts a day. Call it obsession if you want. I guess by definition, you wouldn't be wrong.

So since, I write some much, what topics to a tap dance to the grave with? I'm pretty predictable. So this stuff:

The Girl with the Ocean Blue Eyes*, Kid*, The Broken Mirror Girl*, My Junkie Angel*, My April Fool's Riddle*, The Cynic's Best Friend*, love, lost lovers, hopelessness, isolation, drug addiction, alcoholism, depression, forgotten acquaintances, mental illnesses, rage, hate, rejection, joy, insignificant moments, slices of life, laughter, beauty, self and self-reflection, self-hate, art, other writers, panic, infatuations, obsession, therapy, group homes, rehab, jail, grace, nature, loss, hope, fear, grief, anguish, philosophy, anarchism, nihilism, religion, god, the devil, ugliness, politics, serial killers, cults, suicide, death, destruction, chaos, music, validation, closure, memory, enemies, friends, rock bottom, sex, violence, rock and roll, sin, self-exploration, bipolar disorder, schizoaffective disorder, pain, self-destruction much more. I'm a firm believer that tragedy equals beauty, and take the tragic parts of my life, the shit that really bothers me, to this day, and I write it out. Maybe someone will see those words and realize they aren't alone. Wow, that's not very cynical of me, is it? Ok, fuck those people. Is that better?

Consider this little spot your trigger warning. Seriously, if just read the paragraph above you and think I play it all that safe, your definitely in the wrong place. I will talk of horrible things. They will bring horrible feelings. They could set you off. I'm stating it once, here and now, under a blanket term. Read what you want, but read with caution.

I make music as well as the writing gig. I don't bust out music as much as I do words, but I still have fun doing what I do, and if you'd like to tell me how much I suck at it, please do exactly that. At either of these chosen sites (Reverb has everything. I'm too cheap to pay for Soundcloud's stuff):

Look, if I came off has Nr. Doom, the misery poet archetype, the aged out punk rocker, the reclusive loner, I'm really…I was about to lie and say I wasn't those things, but that's is what I am. I am also a lover of art, a lover of food, a lover of love, an artist, a weirdo, a very scared individual, paranoid, insecure about everything, socially awkward kid who never grew out of black Misfits t-shirts and chain wallets. I am not an animal. I'm a goddamn human being.

Oh, because I get asked about them or why I just seem to ignore them. I am the goddamn king of typos. Missing letters, misspelled words, horrible grammar, broken sentences, sometimes even missing words. I'm really good at them, and I'm almost positive there is always something I could go back and fix. But I'm not gonna do that. I don't want to. If you can get the meaning of what I'm saying, the message is more important to me than the medium. I type way faster than my skill, and my brain works way to fucking fast for my hands to keep up, so it becomes a race to get words on page. And then my fingers tap dance and trip over themselves. I knew I should've sprung for lessons.

There. There's bare bones about me and what I'm about and where I stand. If there is anything else you'd want to know for some godforsaken reason, go ahead and message me. I may not be real good at it, I do enjoy having fifteen second conversations. I always finish early.

*NOT REAL NAMES

[pervysenpaix]

MDNI | 18+ angst, smut

bakugo katsuki ♡ — a god amongst men and you worship the ground he walks on.

bakugo katsuki ♡— whose so strong and brave, determined and fierce, extraordinary and powerful, and remarkably beautiful.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — the personification of perfection. with a quirk that rivals the greats and eyes that burn when they rove your bare flesh.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — whose quirk-worn hands are rough and jagged but feather light against your cheek.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — and his magnificent body that slots against yours with each sensual thrust into your core.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — rests his searing palms on your hips to pull you impossibly closer.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — makes you cry tears of pleasure, only to kiss them away with the softest smile gracing his features.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — who says he loves you but still can’t bring himself to stay.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — who breaks your heart with every prolonged goodbye.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — who is determined to be the number 1 and he has no time for weakness. no time for you.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — ignores you in public. disregards your greetings. shrugs off your compliments. avoids your advances.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — will shatter your soul but mend it with each slow drag of his cock.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — needs you to know how he feels, why he feels , but he just can’t articulate it; so he fucks you harder. a hand around your throat with his mouth pressed against your ear.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — whispers words of affirmation. singing praises of your beauty and wit with his cock buried deep against your cervix. mentioning his appreciation of your devotion. makes promises of the future. promises that he can’t won’t keep.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — who’s broken your heart too many times. neglected your needs and denied his desires.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — is now the number 1 hero but filled with sorrow and regret as he sips the burning liquid; a honeyed amber similar to the sparkling orbs of the man you now call husband.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — whose stomach churns as his friend spins you around the dance floor, relishing in your beauty and broadcasting his love for everyone to see.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — wishes that was him. wishes that he was the man he once referred to as an idiot only to find that he was the dumb one.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — takes his leave, a jacket thrown over his shoulder and a forced smile at the happy couple.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — walks away from you for what feels like the millionth time but for some reason it no longer hurts.

bakugo katsuki ♡ — is definitely a god amongst men but denki kaminari ♡ is your husband, and he worships the ground you walk on.

[firstdivisiongirl]

Hi i was wondering if you could do a law x timid fem reader that has a devil fruit that can rewind and stop time but when she uses it to much she gets burns on her hands thats last about a day but hurts a lot when not treated, i was thinking of a scenario were she gets the burns but doesn’t go to law because she sees that he’s treating other crew members and she doesn’t want to bother him but he notices and confronts her while she tries to hide it from him but he finds out and is upset that she didn’t come to him sooner, then shes tells him why and comforts her about it (could you also make it to where they are together already)

I know it a lot so please tell me if its too much thx 💕

Hi. Of course I can do it! I love Law so much. I mean come on, I’m Trafalgar D Nami after all lol! But anyways, I’m happy I got a Law request, it was super enjoyable to write. I hope you like it! Enjoy my friend!

Always Have Time for You

Everyone wishes they could turn back and fix things.  Time was a valuable thing.  You more than anyone knew that.  But with changing time came with repercussions.  You also knew that more than anyone.  When you were young, you ate a devil fruit, the jikan jikan no mi (the time time fruit).  It allows the user to rewind time and also stop it.  The only bad things: you couldn’t swim and you got burns on your hands after using it.  And did they hurt a lot.  But the good thing, you had a doctor for a lover, Trafalgar Law.  He took care of you, while you took care of him.  You hated it though.  You hated that he had to take care of you.  But you didn’t have many people other than the crew to talk to because of your shyness.

While docked, a small fight broke out between the Heart Pirates and another group of Pirates, nothing deadly, but there were a good number of cuts, broken bones, and bruises on both sides.  So when Law came back from picking up some medical supplies, he started taking care of everyone’s injuries back on the Polar Tang.  You had frozen time at one point so Shachi wouldn’t get stabbed by one of the enemies.  Law was taking care of him first obviously.  You looked down at your hands.  They were covered in burns, too painful to even touch.   You didn’t want to bother him when everyone else was in worse shape, so when he came over and asked you if you were okay, you hid your hands in your long sleeves and told him you were okay.

A few days later, you arrived on a new island.  You decided to try to muster up the courage and talk to the doctor on the island because the pain was so unbearable.  “I’m going to go look at some new earrings, mine are getting a little worn out,” you told everyone, “I’ll see you guys later for dinner.”  They all nodded.  But Law didn’t buy it.  You usually never left without someone to do most of the talking.  He decided to follow you.  You walked through the small town, passing jewelry booths, bars, etc.  You finally saw the sign Dr. Sanders’. You went to walk in but got nervous.  You didn’t feel comfortable.  With Law and the crew, you knew they cared about you and looked out for you.  But you didn’t know how this man would react.  You turned around.  When you did, you crashed into a muscular chest.  “Care to explain Y/N?” a familiar voice said.  You looked up into his steel eyes.  It was Law.  You looked down at your shoes. “Nothing,” you answered.

“No, it’s not.  You can tell me.  We’ve been together for years.  Come on, let's get back to sub.”

He grabbed your hand, but you quickly pulled away.  Just him touching your hands made a sharp pain shoot through your hand.  He looked down at you, seeing the pain in your e/c eyes.  The two of you then walked back to the Polar Tang in silence.

When you two arrived, you sat in the medical room.  He rolled up your sleeves that had been hiding your hands for days.  “I thought so,” he mumbled to himself.  You kept staring at the floor, refusing to look at him.  Eventually, tears started to flow from your eyes.  He stooped down to your level looking at you with nothing but concern.  “Hey, hey,” he said, “I’m not mad.  I’m just concerned.”  He started wiping your tears away with his tattooed thumbs.  He pushed a few strands of hair behind your right ear.  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?  Why did you wait so long?”

You finally looked into his eyes, “because everyone else needed help and I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re my girlfriend, you’re not a bother and I’m not mad.  It’s okay.  I’ll treat it whenever you need it because I love you. I always have time for you.”  He hugged you as you cried into his crest.

“I love you too,” you cried into his chest.

You wished you could freeze time without the burns, so you could stay in this moment together for as long as possible.

Please do not copy, modify, translate, or repost my writing on other platforms. Comments, reblogs or likes are highly appreciated!

[todayimfour]

*peaks out from behind a curtain*

HERE YA GO!!

*runs* (Referencing this post)

One

Sundrop was confused, he had been picking up the daycare for a good bit and was just about to run the ball cleaner for the ball pit when he found her. Tucked away in a corner between the pit and wall was a little girl, she was sound asleep with her thumb in her mouth and a worn bear tightly in her arm. He didn't want to wake her but it was late and the Pizzaplex was closed for the night, meaning she was left or forgotten. Sundrop didn't want to think about which one was worse. The animatronic could almost feel his friend’s sneer as he heard the familiar voice that has stayed in his head as of late.

'Well? Wake her up, see if she knows her parents phone number. You know the protocol.' Sun reluctantly crouched down Spider-Man style and started gently coaxing her awake. She stirred and did a sweet yawn-stretch combo before sitting up and promptly putting her thumb back in her mouth. The girl blinked up at the tall fellow, her expression unclear. If the Sun had to guess she was probably about three.

"Good Morning Sunshine!" Sundrop said with a flourish, falling back comfortably into the bright persona. Seeing the girl smile he continued. "Do you know where you are?" The girl looked away from the Jester-like man and tooked around the room, her expression went from looking sleepy but content to worried and anxiously frowning. She mumbled behind her thumb.

"It's big" her voice sounded so small and wavored in anxiety that no child should have to have. The sun followed her eyes, to any kid that small it would seem really big… and now that he thought about it, she didn't seem to have a guest profile. Was she even supposed to be in the daycare?

"I guess it is pretty big in here, is that why you came here to take a nap? It does look pretty cozy" she nodded her head with a very small 'uh-huh' this kid would be the one to finally kill Sundrop with how cute she was.

'No! Get a hold of yourself Sunny. The name?' Moon said with an air of annoyance. Sun's smile faltered for a moment before standing and offering his hand to help the girl up.

"What's your name sweetheart?" She reached for his hand but was just too short, her 'eep!' of surprise when he extended his arm slightly to grab her hand was precious.

"I'm Ray and this is Ricky" she said, showing off her bear. Sun reached down and picked up Ray, sitting her on his hip and offering his other hand to the well loved bear.

"Well hello to you Ricky! Why don't you both come with me?" Ray let out a giggle and made Ricky shake hands with the Sunny man. After doing so she leaned on the animatronic, resting her head on his shoulder and sliding her thumb back into her mouth.

'Isn't she kind of old for that?' he could hear the moon point out, Sun had to admit to himself that he was probably right.

'Maybe, but if it helps, who am I to stop her?' he responded internally. "Actually.." he trailed off unintentionally as he quickly went to an off room within the daycare. The walls were painted a light blue with off-white puffy clouds and the ceiling was a darker indigo, the light in the center was painted to look like a moon with star themed mobiles hanging above many cots and cribs for sleeping little ones. On the back wall was built in cabinets and countertops, a fridge to the side for keeping formula and medication to temperature.

These cabinets mostly housed an abundance of supplies, Sundrop was looking for one thing in particular. He set Ray on a countertop and started looking in the drawers. Usually Moon was the one in charge of this area so he’s not entirely sure where anything is. Making an 'ah-hah!' noise when he found the right drawer. He found a basic pastel green pacifier still in it's packaging and pulled it out, rinsing it quickly in the sink on the other end of the countertops before presenting the item to the drowsy girl. She looked at it worryingly as if it was poisened for a moment before shaking her head, denying herself the comfort item.

“Dont you want it Sunshine? It's a lot safer than your fingers, plus you have your hands free to play!” The sunny man tried several times to convince her but everytime she denied it, it was clear she was tired and getting fussy so he just asked. “Why not, Little Star?” in a soft voice, pulling a page from Moon's book. He was trying to comfort her more than anything else. She seemed to be riling herself up about this. Tears were making their way to her eyes and she shoved her head into her bear's face, hugging it tightly.

“Dont wanna get in trouble! Mama took all da pacis away.. she sayed I'm too big!” her raised voice was muffled by the bear but Sundrop could understand clearly. This brought sun so many questions, but for now he just put the small plastic item on the counter top and scooted the crying child off of the counter and into his arms. He cradled Ray in his arms for a few moments, rocking back and forth softly. Allowing her to get her over tired tears out of her system. When the crys reduced to sniffles he shifted her slightly so he had a free hand and grabbed the pacifier once more.

“I dont know about you,” he started, “but i dont see your Mom anywhere. It can be our little secret.” he finished. Offering it again to the exhausted child. This time she looked at the offer and then into Sun’s eyes. There was a hopeful expression to her eyes before she opened her mouth, accepting the comfort item. A seconds later, after seeing she wouldn’t immediately get it taken away, she let herself relax into Sun’s arms again. Sun chuckled to himself.

“Isnt that better?” he asked rhetorically, resuming his light swaying back and forth. Checking time it was almost two o’clock and Ray was already falling back asleep. He could tell that Moon was less than happy about not getting much information but he figured they could always get it in the morning. He laid Ray down in one of the cots and covered her in a blanket, dimmed the lights and left before his systems could react to the low lights. He ignored the ache in his moving parts. He still needed to report this to security but she could stay here where it's safe for now.

~

"Yep, that's another kid." Officer Mira let out a sigh, why couldn't kids just go home at night? They were still working on clearing up the Afton Virus that had corrupted most of the bots and now a new younger one was left with one of the bots that has it the worst?? Unbelievable. The pink haired woman just shook her head and turned towards her friend, the bot in question. "Did you run her through the system to find her parents?"

"I would but all I've got is her first name, she was really tired last night" Sundrop said, his usual energetic persona gone as he allowed his feelings to show in close company. After Vanessa got fired Mira got promoted to head of security. Before she was working in the daycare as a security guard, Sun and Moon were both so proud of her for her promotion.

Mira took a good look at the animatronic, he wasn't in good shape, he looked like he hadn't recharged at all since yesterday. Not to mention his paint was chipping and he had dents and scratches all over his body.

"When was the last time you went to parts and services? Or even recharged? You're a mess" she said, changing the subject. She had a fond but worried smile on her face.

"Oh, am I?" The question caught Sunny off guard, he looked down at himself noticing many things that in the past he would have gotten fixed immediately. "It's not much, I should be fine. I want to be here when Ray wakes up." He took note of the time, almost 6am. This would be his last chance to recharge before kids would start getting here.

The Sun walked into the nursery, past the cots and straight to a window. He opened the blinds and just stood directly in the sunlight. He could feel Mira watching him but he didn't care, he refused to put anyone in danger. What sounded like a very large switch marked the start of the hour and the whole building went dark, a look of realization took over Mira's face. The two just looked at each other, Mira with concern in her eyes being met with tired determination from Sun. Sun squinted slightly, he could feel his perpetual headache getting worse.

After a few moments the lights turned back on, Sun visibility relaxed and closed the blinds. Before either one of them could say anything Ray stirred in the cot, catching Sunny's attention. Seemingly full of energy again he was next to the cot in seconds, crouching down low so he could be on her level. She sat up with her eyes still closed and grabbed an arm full of blanket and her bear before promptly flopping her head into the soft lump she had made. Sun chuckled to himself.

"Good morning Sunshine! I guess you're still pretty sleepy, huh?" Ray let out a groan in response, then lifted her head to look at Sundrop. She let out a small whine and reached towards the animatronic, wordlessly asking to be picked up. Who was Sun to deny such a simple request? Making sure to grab the bear and pacifier as well he scooped Ray up into his arms.

"Did you sleep well little one?" He asked. She nodded, her thumb tried to make Its way into her mouth but Sun caught on and stopped her, quickly giving her the pacifier instead.

Ray looked up at him, giving him a wide smile that nearly caused him to short circuit. Ray reached her hand up and touched one of Sun's triangle shaped rays on the side of his head. She looked from the ray to Sun's eyes, just looking back and forth seemingly thinking. Sunny just watched her curiously until she took her hand away and looked at Sun with a very serious expression.

"Your head is pointy'' she said as if she was telling him he was dying. Sun couldn't help but let out a cackle, nearly doubling over in laughter at the absurdity. Mira who was watching all of this go on was also laughing.

"You're absolutely right, kid! Sun is very pointy." She said as Sun was attempting to regain his composure. It was harder than Sun would like to admit. He stood up straight and immediately got startled, he hadn't realized that Mira had walked closer.

"Okay! Ray, this is my good friend Mira. She's going to ask you a few questions, okay?" It didn't even look like Ray had known she was being told things. She was just staring at Mira with wide eyes. Not out of fear but out of wonder and amazement, she reached out a hand to her face. The woman decided to go with it and brought her head closer, wanting to see what Ray thought of her. The tiny thinker felt the thick curls that made up Mira's ponytail, making a noise of excitement before looking back up to Sun.

"Her hair is pink!!" Was said with such excitement in the little girl's voice. Sun nodded excitedly, matching her energy.

"It is, I made it pink with a magic potion a few days ago" Mira wiggled her fingers 'magically' to add excitement. "To tell you the truth, I'm actually a witch. I use my witchy powers to keep kids safe at Pizzaplex." She whispered that bit as if her identity was a secret. "Promise you won't tell anyone?" She put her pinking finger out for a pinkie promise. Ray nodded her head quickly and made the pinkie promise.

"Do you think you would be okay to go with Mira to her office to chat?" Sunny asked. Ray nodded enthusiastically at the idea of going with a witch.

"Can Ricky come too?" She grabbed her bear and hugged him close to her chest.

"Of course he can come!" Mira responded. "You know, witches and bears are really good friends."

Sun transferred Ray to Mira's arms and the two left for her office. Leaving Sunny to prepare for the kids that would no doubt start showing up soon.

~

By the time Ray had been dropped back off to the daycare there was a good handful of kids there. Ray went off to go play and Sun met officer Mira at the door. He rubbed his eyes and forehead lightly, he had a headache that just would not go away.

“It's worse than I thought,” Mira said, “her mom’s a real piece of work. She’s going to have to stay here while I get CPS involved.” Mira had a scowl across her face, one that made sure Sun knew not to ask. “I don't know how long she’ll have to stay, could be days or weeks or who knows. If she tries to pick Ray up just call for me and keep that bitch away from Ray.”

“Woah there, are you okay? You hardly ever swear, is it that bad?” Sun asked, not bothering to hide the surprise out of his voice. Mira reached behind Sun to fully close the door so the kids wouldn't hear then took a breath to calm herself.

She then continued to go off about everything she learned about Ray's mom. From what Sun could make out it sounded like unfortunately common alcoholism and neglect. There was something else that Mira was saying but there was a ringing in Sun's ear that was making it hard to pay attention. His vision was going in and out of focus and the edges of his eyes looked darker than they should. He remembered hearing Moon telling him to sit down but it sounded like Moon was far behind him, then nothing.

~

"Alright Fazbear, it's just for a few hours. You deal with kids all day, what's a few anklebiters?" Monty said, firmly patting the bear’s back, Freddy was still not entirely sure this was a good idea. Apparently, Sunny had collapsed and they needed him to drop by as a 'special guest' to watch the kids for a few hours.

"But they're smaller, and brake a lot easier, and a lot faster, I would not want to hurt them-"

"You'll be fine!" Mira cut him off, "The kid's love you, and it's only for a few hours. I'll be there too."

~.°~.°~.°~

Most of this was written over two years ago so I'm, I've got these ideas but my writing style has probably changed a bunch

Also in the original draft of this, Rey was A LOT more traumatized istg it was Wattpad levels of just trauma dumping with a little bit of plot

Also sun wasn't supposed to collapse so soon into the story but I guess it works

I'll make it work

I did that thing where I stored all the lore in my head for months before I actually wrote anything down.

-side note: system wise, Sun and Moon remember some of my original 'lore' for this fic as source mems and I feel AWFUL about it-

[starlightsearches]

Hard one here… Clyde or Kylo??

Love you, Honeybear

This is a tough one, but I'm in desperate need of that big, broad, sweet man as my personal body pillow. I also wrote this in honor of me finally finishing my fucking masters program.

AN: this is all fluff! mentions of clyde carrying the reader a short distance, and some language

Make me choose and I'll write a fic!

You’ve fallen asleep on your keyboard.

Clyde steps into the trailer, holding the edge of the screen door so it doesn’t slam. He’d hate to wake you, and that thing rattles like nothing else—especially when it’s late like this and the night is quiet outside.

It’s a good thing he’s so careful, too. ‘Cause you’re not in the bedroom, like he thought you’d be. Curled up instead on his well-worn couch, cradled by the sagging cushions and using your fancy little laptop as a pillow.

Again.

“Sweet pea,” Clyde huffs, dropping to one knee beside you, shaking you softly so you won’t startle, “what’re you doin?”

You wake with a little jump anyways, eyes wide—afraid, maybe—until you see him, shoulders falling as you curl into the warm weight of his palm at your neck.

“Hmm, homework.”

Your voice is raspy, heavy with disuse, like it usually is in the mornings when you’re pulling him closer underneath the covers and has him going runny in his middle. Clyde wonders how long you’ve been dozing off like this, although the little square indents on your cheek are some indication.

“It’s a little late for homework, bug,” he tells you, glancing over at the clock on the counter. The power’s spotty out this way, and so the numbers on its little digital face are blinking more often than not—no matter how hard Clyde tries to keep up with it—this time flashing 2:12 at a steady rythym.

You frown, rubbing the indents from the keys off your cheek, “gotta finish this.”

Clyde’s not sure what this is, but he’s got a good feeling that you’re overemphasizing the urgency, as you usually do with most of your work, panicking about deadlines and due dates and papers and projects. But it’s always worked out in your favor before, and you're closer than ever to the graduation date—the one circled in red on the calendar stuck to Clyde's fridge.

Some of the regulars at the bar tease him about it, wondering at him if it has Clyde bothered that you’re so accomplished—a word that sounds like an insult when it's coming from their mouths. Talking about how they’d never let the women in their lives waste their money on some fancy piece of paper—which is probably why they don’t have any women of their own.

Clyde doesn’t mind. Always liked the way the stress ebbs from you when he takes you in his arms, rubbing soothing patterns over you’re shoulders, hearing you talk through you’re problems using words he doesn’t know and the smile that stretches over your face when you’ve finally found the solution.

It’s one of his favorite things about you.

“You oughta go to bed,” he tells you, cupping your cheek in his big hand, tracing a little path over the apple with his thumb.

You groan, low, shifting deeper into the couch, “it’s too far.”

That's something Clyde's happy to help you with.

His hands slip easily under your shoulders, and the crook of your knees, shimmying you in nice and close to his chest so there's no pull on his prosthetic.

You make another grumpy sound against his chest.

"Clyde, 'm too heavy."

It doesn't feel that way to him when he stands straight, walking the short distance from the couch to the bedroom. Much better than helping Jimmy off his ass when he's had a few too many drinks, anyway. He wants to keep you this close all the time.

Clyde sets you down gently over the lumpy comforter, but you don't even give him the chance to stand back up, pulling him on to you by the collar of his shirt.

He lands on you with a little huff, rolling to the side so he won't hurt you with all his weight on you.

That just makes you climb on him, head on his chest, one of your legs sandwiched between his. Even with his boots still on, smelling like stale beer, Clyde's never slept better.

[hyperfixationsporfavor]

Toji x Reader Preview

Author's Note: Hey people! So I've been watching a lot of LA Law recently and I got this idea in my head for a Toji x Reader where Toji is a private investigator and Reader is a lawyer. This is just the intro so the next part will be Toji being convinced by reader to take on the case. Eventually I'd like to do a timeskip with an older mellowed out Toji being a husband and father. Let me know what you think.

Warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of pregnancy, MINORS DNI

Higuruma looked down at the business card to check if he had the right address. The two of you stood outside a worn down building in a seedier part of the city. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” you asked.

Before your associate could reply the door swung open.

A man with a sparse mustace and a cheap brown suit stood before you.

“Mr. Shiu Kong?”

“Who’s asking?” 

“We spoke on the phone earlier-”

Shiu nodded, motioning for him to stop.

“Yeah. Yeah. The public defenders on the murder case. Now come inside before people start asking questions.”

~

The inside of Shiu’s office was cramped with files and loose documents stacked up in piles, which seemed like a safety hazard next to the multiple ashtrays scattered around the office, about four to five cigarettes in each one.  Your host gestured to the two chairs in front of a faded desk before taking a seat behind it.

“Can I get you two anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” you declined.

“Well do you mind if I smoke?”

“Actually-” Higuruma started.

“Great,” Shiu mumbled, lighting up another cigarette. 

He leaned back in his chair and exhaled a cloud of smoke. 

“So, let me refresh my memory. A pregnant woman is found standing over her husband’s bloody corpse holding a butcher knife. And you two are given the task of representing her. Sounds like an open and shut case to me.”

You leaned forward. “The tabloids many be painting it like that Mr. Kong but there are other factors here.”

Hiromi opened his briefcase and pulled out the case file the two of you had been studying over the last few days.

“Our client claims her deceased husband was physically and verbally abusing her. Prior to her most recent pregnancy she had either miscarried or been forced to terminate her pregnancy aproximately ten times.”

“Does she have any proof? Medical documents? Recorded conversations? Anything?”

“No,” you responded. “The plaintiff is keeping any type of information under lock and key.”

“Your client really thinks she’s going to win against the Kamo group?” Shiu asked. 

“Even if she doesn’t she wants to taint the name,” Hiromi clarified. “Of course we’ll try to win.”

“I’m assuming the reason you two didn’t get a detective is because the plaintiff has some sway with law enforcement.”

“And the entire legal system,” you added. “Which is why we were seeking out other avenues.”

Shiu skimmed the documents again. “I’ve got a guy who could get anything out of anywhere. He’s great. But he’s a bit of a flake.”

Shiu wrote scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to you. 

“That’s his number and address. If you can convince him to take this on. Consider us in business.”

~

The End.