#'he's awful. he used backing tracks live' i'm going to fucking eat you

[mieczyhale]

people posting clips of kim performing live are 9/10 people i want to meet in a target parking lot real quick. just for a chat. that’s all. i just wanna talk

seriously though

the destruction of your kneecaps talking aside- 

they’re on their first tour ever. performing the songs from their album live for the first time. in some hot-ass weather. wearing a wholeass suit. trying to do as much of their vocals as they can considering their tracks are layered vocals and it’s all literally just them. them doing everything can’t be the easiest thing to try and transfer to a stage show. it wouldn’t be easy for anybody let alone a new artist

people are being so unfairly harsh on them and like.. for why?? because they got popular on tiktok?? because they are a they?? because hating is fun when you have no life apparently??

i have seen far more grace and understanding awarded to artists who have performed worse, even ones who have been caught lip syncing, than to kim doing their first shows and it’s honestly awful. awful, rude, unfair, and just straight-up mean.

i guess i’m not entirely surprised, given that the people who post on yt don’t seem to be the biggest fans of their music, but this is just ridiculous.

#thanks i fucking hate it #not to be a kim stan first and a human second as the kids say but jesus christ it's upsetting to see #they deserve better #they spent two years on their first album - they put SO MUCH into every song they do (original and features) - and y'all have the AUDACTY- #'he's awful. he used backing tracks live' i'm going to fucking eat you #also #what the fuck do you want them to do?? sing every layer of the song at once themselves?? do you want them to play all the instruments too?? #fuck off #maison speaks #it's too early for this but here we are

[callsignthirsty]

Stuck in the Middle — Chapter 1 — Slider

Co-written with a friend who isn't on tumblr. Pairing: Ron “Slider” Kerner x F!Reader (this chapter), Ron “Slider” Kerner x Reader x Tom “Iceman” Kazansky (overall) Summary: The one where Maverick’s sister is on a mission to give her brother a heart attack by sleeping with not one, but two of his colleagues. Word Count: 3500 Warnings: Smut, semi-public sex, dirty talk Chapter: 1/3 Minors DNI

You'd been looking forward to a low-key evening with your brother and Goose. That, however, wasn't in the cards. Not because chaos followed Pete "Maverick" Mitchell like a shadow — though god knew it did.

But because all Mitchells had a bad habit of making a mess of things.

It started innocently enough: Goose reaching the door first and holding it open for Pete with a teasing "After you, honey."

"Thanks, dear." Your night began as most nights in Miramar had: the three of you out for a drink and a good laugh.

But this night isn't most nights. Unfortunately, you don't realize this until it's too late.

Pete has already led your small group to the bar when you hear it — or, rather, them — across the way. Pete and Goose aren't the only pilots at the bar, and while they've been known to get rowdy and start a sing-along or two, they're far from the loudest tonight. No, that pleasure goes to Hollywood and Wolfman, who seemingly have tone on Iceman and Slider. In and of itself, this isn't a bad thing until you hear them over the crowd while Goose flags down the bartender.

"Hey Tom," Hollywood greets Ice with a shit-eating grin. Eyes sparkling mischievously in the low light.

"What're you on about, 'Wood?" Ice doesn't skip a beat at the use of his given name.

Hollywood guffaws as if it should be obvious, but Ice's expression doesn't change.

"Oh, come on, man," Wolfman says, leaning in to slap a hand on Ice's shoulder. "The screamer." Slider nearly sprays his drink across the bar's lacquered wood, but Ice has gone completely still. The blood drains from your face as Hollywood and Wolfman's giggles increase in intensity until they're flat-out laughing, Hollywood wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. “Oh man, Slider,” Wolfman gasps. "You're lucky you were out on that date, 'cause man…."

Hollywood closes his eyes, free hand petting his own chest. "Oh, Tom!"

"Ah! Ah!" Wolfman tosses his head back and moans alongside his friend, and you're pretty sure that this is how you die. Of mortification. Cheeks cherry red and hot with the shame of not just being caught but watching as Hollywood and Wolfman loudly and clearly reenact what you'd thought had been a private moment just feet from you.

It doesn't stop there, though. Beside you, Pete scoffs. "Who the fuck would want to sleep with him?"

"Good one, Mav," Goose chuckles.

And you could've lived with just that: an awful imitation of your moans acted out before you, but it had to be worse. Ice's eyes find yours, holding your gaze for a second too long from across the bar as Hollywood let out another oblivious "Tom, oh god! Fuck me!"

And your brother, only ever paying attention when you wish he wouldn't, catches the exchange alongside your flushed cheeks.

"Ooooh! Yeah!"

Pete's smile falls. Shoulders rigid. Goose is stuck looking between you, Ice, and Pete at the sudden shift. "Oh shit."

Pete's the first one to move, and you're the next, catching his sleeve as he moves to abandon his drink. "Pete, don't."

"I'm just going to talk with him."

Of course, he isn't, but he manages to shake free from your tenuous grasp. "Pete!" you call after him, but it's no use.

"Hey," Pete seethes. "Kazansky!"

"Nick, do something," you plead.

"There're better men out there," Goose says, taking a lazy sip of his beer as he tracks Pete across the bar. "I'm kinda with Mav on this one." Because Goose is like your big brother, too, and has been for years.

"Mitchell." Ice's cold acknowledgment brings your focus back to the problem at hand. Your eyes meet Slider's over Ice's shoulder, but he only offers you a slight shrug. It must look like their typical posturing bullshit from where he's sitting. You try to warn him with a wide-eyed shake of your head, but you're too late.

"You want to explain this one to me?" Pete is doing his best to puff up and be intimidating while he gets in Ice's face, but it's not working if Ice's signature stoicism is anything to go by.

"I don't have to explain myself to you."

"You want to run that one by me again?"

That's more aggressive than Pete typically gets, and the others have begun to pick up on it. "Mav, what's goi–"

"Stay out of this, Hollywood." Hollywood's hands go up at his sides, and he steps back in surrender.

Ice sips his beer, cool and calm as ever. "If you have something to say, spit it out. I'm not a mind reader."

"You trying to pick up my sister?" The question freezes you in place, breath held and eyes wide. Helpless as Ice's facade cracks, and he smirks down at your brother, and had the circumstances been different, you'd have wanted to kiss it off of him — are still half-tempted to do so.

"Well, I wouldn't say trying."

Goose rushes to intervene when Pete reels back and punches Ice in the jaw. You jump from your stool, but you're moving through molasses, each step heavy and impossibly slow. Before you make it much further than your table, you're intercepted. A big hand on your lower back steers you from the fight with a calm casualness that manages to fly under the radar of the group scuffling in the corner.

Despite his size, Slider can be discrete when he wants to be.

"Ron, where are we going?" you ask once he's successfully guided you out of the bar and into the parking lot. "What about Tom?"

Undeterred, Slider rubs circles into the small of your back with his thumb, and you melt a little at the touch. But shouldn't he be helping Ice? Shouldn't you both? Instead, he leads you toward the back of the lot where The O's lights don't quite reach, and cars are lit by nothing but the dying oranges of the Sun setting over the ocean.

"Ice's a big boy. He can handle himself." You push Slider's shoulder playfully. Logically, you know that Slider's right, but that doesn't stop your mind from racing. So preoccupied with worrying about Ice and your brother, you're only half paying attention when you make it to Slider's car. Still, you smile when he crowds against you. "It's a good thing they didn't stick around," he whispers into your ear, and you shiver as your back presses into sun-warmed metal, "because Ice's name wasn't the only one you were screaming last night."

The ghost of his hot breath over your ear makes your cheeks dust pink, hands subconsciously rising to clasp at his broad shoulders as your eyes slip closed. It's true. The burn of their phantom touch is still hot beneath your skin. The push and pull. The thrill of being caught between the two of them. Ice and Slider. Slider and Ice. Taking turns to reduce your mind to mush and carry your body to new highs. Your thighs clench as an all too familiar ache makes itself known at your center.

Pete had been the furthest thing from your mind, then. And Slider's doing his best to keep your mind off him now, too.

Lips skim down your neck to leave an open-mouthed kiss over your pulse. "Ron," you gasp, pulling him closer even as you know you should be coming up with an excuse that'll bring you back to the bar. Back to help Ice. He's taking more than his fair share of Pete's anger — half of it should be aimed at Slider.

But he's too distracting as he presses himself against you, cages you against the side of his car with his hips, the door handle poking into your thigh as he ruts once, twice against you. You should not be horny — Ice just admitted to having fucked you in front of an entire bar full of strangers, his friends, and your brother a minute ago. A brother that he was currently at blows with over you. That thought, however, disappears from your mind as Slider knots his hand in your hair and pulls hard enough for you to whimper. He rewards your little noise by promptly parting your legs with his knee and pressing the meat of his thigh against your core.

And fuck, you should go back and tell Pete you're old enough to make your own decisions or make Ice promise not to actively try to give your brother a heart attack. But Slider is doing his damnedest to make sure you aren't thinking of anything that isn't him or this moment against his Trans Am. And he's everywhere: claiming your lips in a heated kiss, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other glued to your hip, thigh tensing against your clit, and his dick evident even behind his trousers as he presses it against you.

Slider sparks something deep within you, and you moan. Experience tells you the heat from his touch won't stop until it consumes you.

"Come on," he husks. "When am I going to get another chance to have you all to myself?" And your resolve crumbles at the question. Because in all the time you've been with the two of them, you've never had either alone.

"Where?"

A smile curls along your collarbone and disappears with a nip. "You're leaning on her."

You give him a gentle push back, craning your neck to give the Pontiac a disbelieving look. Slider barely fits in the driver's seat. Big man, big ego, small sports car. "You can't be serious."

"You don't want your brother to find out, do you?" he asks, arms circling you, holding you close while one of his hands finds the door handle. "It'd be suspicious if we both disappeared." He has a point there. Besides, where else could you go? The ladies' room? The men's? At least if you stay in the parking lot, the two of you have a chance at sneaking back inside before anyone notices you're gone — you'd just have to hope they were too caught up in the brawl to realize you were gone in the first place.

"Guess we'll have to be quick, then," you say before Slider kisses the smile off your lips. His approval a hum as he licks into your mouth. "You gonna let me in, or what?" Slider pulls back reluctantly, tugging you along with him so he can open the door. "What a gentleman," you taunt, bending to reach for the lever that will move the driver's seat forward and allow you to crawl into the back. You squeak when a hand lands on your ass, head thunking against the padded ceiling.

"We both know that's a load of crap," Slider growls, hands on your sides as he encourages you to climb into the coupe faster. He squeezes into the backseat with you and pulls the car door shut. It's a tight fit, but you like how he's pressed against you, manhandling you into his lap as your hands rake through his hair and his chapped lips find yours.

A hand caresses your thigh, bringing the hem of your sundress up with it until the loose fabric is bunched around your hip. You shiver into Slider's touch, melt into his lap and demanding lips and give your hips a torturous roll, revel in the way his breath hitches as you continue to move. Fingers clumsily undo his buttons so you can ruck up his undershirt and get your hands on more of him. Neither of you can fully undress, even under cover of dusk, but you'll greedily take everything you can — hands splayed low across his abs as they flex to bring his hips up into yours.

It takes some finagling to get your panties off while you remain on his lap. Slider gives it an honest go as you busy yourself with his belt, but you switch when neither of you can make it far with the other in your way. When your panties slip free of your legs in one piece, Slider's lips are pressed to the hollow of your throat — fingers brushing the strap of your dress aside so he can suck none-too-gently at the newly revealed skin. "No marks," you remind him with a gasp. The air in the car is stale: humid and heavy with the growing scent of sex. And you wish you could crack a window open, but Slider popped for fancy power windows.

Slider takes this moment to slip a finger into your slick folds, humming as the second follows closely after. He sucks at the spot again, perhaps hoping you'll have forgotten about the conquest of his lips and teeth with the stretch of your pussy around two of his thick fingers. No such luck. You cuff him on the back of the head, and he grunts. Caught.

"No marks." This time, he concedes with a gentle lick that is as close to an apology as you're sure you'll ever get from the RIO.

As Slider's fingers continue to spark pleasure all along your nerves, you do your best to get your hand around him, but the position is awkward at best, and your wrist is on fire from the strain. That doesn't matter, though, because Slider is more making sure that you're ready for him than he's trying to get you off before the main event.

The last rays of the Sun's light are just about to dip beneath the horizon, and the clock is ticking.

"Come here," Slider all but growls, but you aren't sure where to go — you're already in his lap — until his hand knocks yours free of his cock and fingers slick with your arousal begin to trail along the crease of your thigh and hip. With a pathetic nod, you hunch over to avoid hitting the car's low roof as Slider moves you until you're exactly where he wants you. The thick tip of his cock kisses your cunt before he pulls you down. You press a lewd kiss to his thundering pulse to hide your moan against sweat-slick muscle, hot breath puffing against even hotter skin.

Condensation drips from the fogged window like sweat beading along your skin. Nails digging for purchase beneath Slider's shirt but sliding uselessly across toned muscles. Each breath feels like a chore even before he starts to move, the air thick — stale with humidity and toe-curling want. Desperation. Maybe no one will see you, but god, they'll be able to smell the sex on you when you get back.

"Gonna make me do all the work?" Not that he could, given the limitations of the backseat, but the taunt is enough to set you into motion. Rise and fall, the thin cotton of your dress sticking to your thighs and doing nothing to mask the wet clap of skin against skin from reverberating off the glass. Slider's head tips back, missing the headrest to thunk against the angled rear window as the car rocks with you.

"You okay?" you pant, kissing his head where it's pink and dewy from the glass.

Big hands tighten around your hips. "Better than," Slider says as he plants his feet and thrusts. The overenthusiastic movement tosses you into the ceiling once again.

"Hey, watch it!" you hiss even as pleasure courses through your veins from the rough treatment.

"Can't sit still." As if to prove his point, Slider grinds into you, his hips picking up a pace different from the one you'd set and shallowly thrusting. It's good, but it isn't enough for either of you. "This isn't working."

"You think?"

Slider just levels you with a look. "Get out of the car."

"Excuse me?" You reel back as if he's slapped you.

"Get out of the car. This isn't working."

"You mean to tell me," you say, still seated on his lap, "that we crammed into the back of your stupid small car and got all sweaty, and you're just giving up?"

He shifts forward so that his cheek drags against yours and speaks directly into your ear. "Do you want to cum or not?" You nod, shivering at the drag of incoming stubble against your smooth skin. "I thought so." Sharp teeth pinch at your lobe, and you suck in a breath. "Get out of the car."

You groan when you rise off Slider's lap, clenching around nothing as you reach for the door handle. And as much as you miss the feeling of Slider inside of you, nothing comes close to the bliss that is the gentle San Diego breeze on your slick temples. Until Slider bends you over the hood of his car, lifts your skirt, and shoves home.

"Ron," you keen, back arching.

"I know," he husks, one hand next to you against the cherry red paint, the other holding your skirt out of the way against your lower back. "But you've gotta stay quiet. Don't want anyone to hear those pretty noises. That's how we got into this mess."

That's the other thing about Mitchells: you don't usually know when to keep your mouths shut. You bite your lip as Slider picks up a ruthless pace just to be careful. Shiver as pleasure jolts along your spine and the sea breeze cools your sweat. You tingle with the sharp chill of contrasting sensation.

It doesn't take long to get either of you to the edge. Unable to express your pleasure verbally, you drive your hips back into Slider's aided by the rhythmic sway of the shock absorbers.

Letting go of your dress, Slider drops to his elbows and stretches over you. "Where?" And typically, you'd have an answer for that, but realistically there's nowhere he can finish that won't be immediately noticeable.

Except.

"Inside." You're on the pill, so it shouldn't be an issue.

Slider's hips stutter in surprise, and he lets out a low moan. "Oh, fuck!" Now, who's going to get you both caught?

A hand slips beneath your hips, greedy fingers pinching and circling your clit until your eyes roll back, and it's all you can do to make sure you aren't screaming while you shudder and whine on his cock, a warmth blooming within you as Slider's hips snap against your ass once, twice, and still.

With a gentle pat on the hip and a satisfied sigh, Slider withdraws. When you turn around, flattening your skirt, he's already tucked himself back into his pants and is working on his shirt buttons. You rock up onto your toes and give him a lazy kiss. "You should go home," he says.

"What? No. That would be suspicious."

"No," he stops you. "It would be suspicious if we both left. But baby, you look completely fucked out. If you walk back into that bar, there's no way Mitchell isn't going to know exactly what happened." You gape at him and turn to the car to catch a glimpse of your reflection in the windows, but the lights don't reach this part of the parking lot, so you'll have to rely on Slider's word. Then you feel a thick ooze between your thighs, and you know you can't face your brother like this. "If he asks, just tell him you were embarrassed and went home."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

And that's a stupid question, isn't it? You're not the only one who looks disheveled or smells like sex. But you have to admit that between the spiked hair and the tuck of his shirt, Slider does look somewhat… normal. You wrinkle your nose. "You stink."

"And who the hell do you think is going to come around and take a sniff?" Certainly not Pete. After the fight, he'd probably spend the rest of the night across the bar from Ice if he and Goose didn't leave once it was over. Which left Hollywood, Wolfman, and Ice, but maybe Slider would want Ice to know.

"Fine," you concede, "Give me back my panties."

"What panties?" You give him a look because of course he wants to play dumb after having just fucked you: it's not the first time he's done this. You reach out a hand to his left pocket, trying to ignore his smirk as you fondle it but find nothing there. But when you reach for the right pocket, he stops you halfway. "How are you going to explain the cum dripping down your thigh to your brother, sweet cheeks? He was with your boyfriend all night."

"My boyfriend, huh?" you ask, rolling the term around on your tongue and cocking a hip. "You better hope he doesn't find out about this. My boyfriend, that is."

His eyes scrunch as he moves close enough to whisper into your ear: "Oh, I'm planning on it." He presses a kiss beside your lips and leans back, hand patting the right pocket of his service khakis. He'd have played it off as a farewell if anyone were to walk by.

Next Chapter

#top gun fanfiction #top gun smut #top gun 1986 #ron slider kerner #ron slider kerner x reader #ron slider kerner x f!reader #ron slider kerner smut #slider x reader #tom iceman kazansky #tom iceman kazansky x reader #slider smut #poor slider has like... no content #i'm fixing this #mitchell!reader #maverick's sister out on a mission to bone his rivals

[mr-ribbit]

so idk why I keep putting posts here about it but idk how to bring it up in any other setting

my dad got checked into the hospital about two weeks ago after a fall, with additional complications from alcoholism as they realized he had fallen after having 800% the driving alcohol limit in his blood test. after which they determined his liver is absolutely fucked and dying and a bunch of other shit too. he didn't just Fall, he fell which made them realize he was in a near deadly body shutdown

a year ago he almost had a heart attack also related to this and he lied to my mom about quitting and started drinking again.

ive had a bad relationship with him for a long time and I've always known he's an alcoholic, but apparently he's been drinking at least a 24 pack of beer a day +hard liquor my mom can't keep track of. and that's just been happening for who knows how long now. he drives around (presumably not sober) in the morning when my mom's asleep to go buy more in secret.

they are putting him through detox and now he's in a "rehab facility" which I believe is mostly an assisted temporary living place for his injuries/health stuff. when it first happened my mom said they were going to make sure he got into alcoholism classes or counseling or Something to help, and he agreed to it, but now that he's in the facility he's saying he wants to go home and I'm 99% sure he's going to ignore any advice he agreed to before

or maybe he won't and he'll get better. which is great. but idk my bad relationship isn't just bc of the drinking it's bc of years of shitty behavior, verbal abuse, and other stuff. so like my mom's asking me to come see him and coddle him and be nice and I'm like. why the fuck should I, my brother already does and pretends he doesn't know about all the bad stuff and enables all of this behavior.

i finally said like yea ill come see him to tell him how I feel about this, and if he's promising to get sober then maybe I'll visit more. but now my mom is lording this over me to make me come and celebrate my fucking birthday with them in the hospital and when I tried to say that sounded awful she got super manipulative and crazy at me

and idk there's a bunch of other shit involved that I don't want to get into here but no matter how many boundaries I try to set or whatever my mom just calls back and pretends to be surprised when I'm not happy that she's pressuring me to do the thing I said no to already

I told her I wanted to tell him the next time I see him that I'm not gonna keep visiting him if he ever drinks again. I don't want to watch him die in front of me and I don't want to become his full caretaker, like he's trying to do to my brother who apparently gets calls at 2am a few times a year now bc my dad fell drunk in the night and couldn't get up. and apparently he's just been DOING that and no one's been drawing any lines or getting him help or telling him to stop or anything. they just keep saying "you know how he is" and I'm like. I fucking do which is why I refuse to come to christmas with him anymore, it's why I hate being around the family, it's why I have disorders

but now they're using my literal birthday as ??? bait to manipulate me, bc apparently MY birthday is about MY PARENTS because they CELEBRATE HAVING ME and I'm a fucking TERRIBLE PERSON if I say I don't want to fucking open presents and pretend to smile and laugh and eat cake in front of them while my dad refuses to address the fact that he almost killed himself 2 weeks ago

#more vent/personal stuff #not depression shit in here just kind of unpleasant to read about stuff about my family #but idk i gotta put it somewhere bc idk #if friends r ok reading i guess id appreciate it just bc i want ppl to know where my heads at lately if i act weird or flakey or sensitive #but im just vagueventing out into rhe world on tumblr so clearly im not expecting any specific audience

[thebluestbluewords]

Gremlin rights tbh

Carlos & Mal, ~1200 words, TW for food issues in this one. (unspecified food issues because I'm not sure how to further tag this)

*

“What's for dinner?” Mal demands, walking into the sunroom of the fucking gorgeous mansion that they live in now, because life is weirdly good sometimes, and people like to pay Evie for her work nowadays, which means that she can do things like buy an entire house just because she wants one, and not have to worry about spending the summer at Auradon Prep again like they did last year. 

Carlos, who is lying on the couch with his feet tucked up and under the blanket draped over the back, looks up from his game at the dramatic entrance. 

Mal looks back at him, somewhat expectantly. She absolutely reeks of magic, the sort of burning woodsmoke smell that always happens when she does experiments with her powers. It doesn’t happen when she’s using familiar spells, which Carlos thinks privately, in the space of his own brain where Mal will never hear him, means that the woodsmoke smell is actually just the smell of Mal’s brain cells dying as she flash-cooks them with the effort it takes for her to learn new things. 

“Hey,” Carlos says, in greeting. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you see someone you care about and also live with. “My day was fine, thanks for asking.” 

Mal snorts. “Yeah, okay, mine was too. Don’t be a princess about it.” she pauses, and walks more fully into the sunroom, which is mostly an early-evening shade room at the moment.  “S’there dinner?” she adds hopefully, like somehow saying it again will make food appear somewhere in the immediate area. 

They’ve had this fight before. Carlos takes a moment to assess the color of Mal’s eyes, and then promptly decides that it’s going to be a fine night to have it again. 

“Chips.” he says, gesturing at the bag he’s got balanced on his chest. 

It’s been– 

Well. 

It’s been a long day. 

Mal stares at the bag like it’s done her some sort of personal injury. “That’s not dinner,” she says, sounding almost horrified with herself. Or possibly she’s horrified about the chips. Carlos truly cannot be fucked to figure out why Mal’s upset about eating junk food for dinner.  “Dinner is something better than that.” 

Chips are delicious, and anyone who thinks otherwise does not deserve a place on Carlos’s couch. He sticks out a foot, just in case Mal gets any bright ideas about sitting down. “It’s what I’m having for dinner tonight. What’re you having?” 

Mal sighs. “I was gonna eat whatever you’re having,” she says slowly, kicking the corner of the couch. “But if you’re not making anything….” 

It’s mean. And rude, and wholly unnecessary. But sometimes they all must give in to their baser villainous impulses, and Carlos is no exception. He reaches slowly into the bag on his chest, and pulls out a single, unbroken chip to hold out to Mal.  “Chip?” he offers brightly. 

Mal growls. “I’m getting takeout,” she grumbles, kicking the couch again, with more force this time. “And I’m not going to share it with you, dumbass.” 

Carlos sticks his tongue out at her, because it seems like the thing to do. Not sharing is fine by him. There’s a reason why he’s not eating real food for dinner tonight, and it’s not just the lazy summer energy that seems to have spread through the house like an invisible fog. Sometimes, the very thought of eating actual food is too much, and the idea of anything more substantial than salt and air makes his stomach churn and ache like it used to back home when things were really bad. Not starvation-bad, when he’d eat anything that didn’t look like it was growing its own set of teeth to eat him back, but the kind of bad where everything felt sharp and bright and awful, and mother was more lucid and able to keep track of the supplies in the house, and sneaking anything more than what she’d determined was his fair share meant a punishment that would leave him wishing it was the other kind of bad times.

 At least when they all starved on the isle there was a sense of camaraderie about it. The barges would stop, and everyone would ration as best they could until the boats picked back up again. A lot of people on the isle understood that sort of hunger, but not a lot of people understand the sort that comes from being hungry, and having food in the house, and knowing that if you take any, it’ll be worse than if you haven’t. 

The feeling now isn’t quite the same as it was back home, but the result is the same. Evie’s house, Evie’s rules, Evie’s money that pays for the groceries, so even if Carlos did want to cook dinner tonight, which he doesn’t, there’s no way of knowing how much he’s supposed to have without Evie here to lead, so the uneasy almost-queasy feeling wins out and dinner remains a thing to do when there’s other people around. And sure, Mal is here now, but she’s more of a horrible creature than a human anyway, and once the feeling of persistent unease has started, it’s easier to keep riding the wave of it and ignoring food than it is to force himself to get up and make something to force down. 

The whole messy business of it all seems too impossibly complicated to explain to Mal. “Have fun trying to get delivery out here!” Carlos calls instead, as she’s stomping out of the room to find the drawer full of takeout menus that Evie likes to keep around for when she’s feeling especially rich and luxurious. 

Mal waves a middle finger back. “Fuck you!” 

*

Five minutes later, give or take, Mal comes stomping back into the sunroom with a paper menu in her hand and murder in her eyes. 

Right. 

“Where’s a phone.” Mal growls, and it’s not a question. 

There’s an aesthetically pleasing midnight blue rotary phone on the wall in the hallway that nobody ever bothered to hook up. There’s also another one, creamy white faded with years of use and poor upkeep to a brownish-yellow, in the little closet upstairs that they’ve all been calling the phone closet and refusing to use for anything more practical than the phone and the much-worn armchair shoved inside it. If Carlos is being entirely honest, there’s also a cell phone in his hand, although that one is currently playing a game that he’s not exactly willing to pause in order for her royal purpleness to make a phone call. 

There’s also a glossy purple cell phone on the counter in the kitchen, which has been sitting there for the better part of a week, uncharged. 

“Your phone’s dead,” Carlos says, trying not to sound too snotty about it. “Mine’s occupied.” 

Mal growls. 

Carlos shakes the bag of chips at her. “Dinner,” he sing-songs, shaking the bag enticingly in her general direction, eyes still on his phone. “I’m not cooking tonight.” 

“I’m feeding myself.” 

Mal is categorically hopeless at everything except for baking. 

“Great, go for it,” Carlos says, eyes still glued to the game. His armies aren’t doing well in the eternal fight against the forces of space. It’s a little frustrating. “Have fun, don’t burn the house down.”

#my fic #descendants #descendants fic #mal bertha #carlos de vil #it's set loosely postcanon in a world where I guess D3 either doesn't happen or hasn't happened yet #the timeline is vague just like the resolution of this #I think maybe how it ends is with them both agreeing to compromise and eat pb brownie batter directly out of the bowl??? #or possibly they talk about their trauma and why they are the way that they are while Mal succeeds at making one of her two (2) meals #my personal hc here is that she can bake but boy!! she truly can't cook #her two meals are scrambled eggs (because they involve breaking things and minor violence) #and mac and cheese from a box #because she's still enjoying the novelty of eating things from a box and food that comes with instructions is usually attainable for Mal #seriously though: #food issues tw

[itsvickytoria]

Stranger Things AU

She Snapped AU

Other than the incident with Jason at the beginning of summer; Chrissy hasn't been bothered by him since. It made her anxious because he wasn’t one to back down so easily. The rest of her summer was spent behind the desk at Family Video or at the Byer-Hopper house. Thoughts of her parents and brother were always in the back of her mind; Hopper seemed to be doing a great job of keeping them at bay, or they just no longer cared.

That is until two weeks before the summer ended. Chrissy was working a shift with Robin at Family Video, stocking the shelves, when a familiar car pulled into the lot. She thought nothing of it until the overhead door chimed and footsteps came right behind her. Whipping around she found her mother; dressed like she was ready to go yachting, polished and perfect, all except for her face. Her mother’s beautiful face was set in disapproval, causing her face to crease “don’t make that face Chrissy, you’ll get premature wrinkles. Men don’t like women with wrinkles; they’ll move onto someone younger and prettier if they see you’re getting old” Her mothers words rang in her head.

Color drained from the young girl’s face; she was prepared to hear from her mother at some point but didn’t predict it’d happen at work.

“You look positively awful Chrissy. First you leave your family and now you don’t care about how you look? Think of the family’s reputation; the one you’re already damaging. We had to tell our friends that we sent you to cheer camp!” Her mother lunged forward as she spoke, grabbing Chrissy roughly around the bicep, nails digging into her skin through her t-shirt.

Her mother continued. “I’m taking you home right this instant and we’ll discuss your punishment when we get back. I’m appalled by your behavior.” Chrissy tried pulling back but her mom’s grip just tightened on her, nails digging deeper; she could feel her skin breaking.

“Let go of me! I’m not going back to that house with you.” Her voice was raw.

“Oh yes you will be young lady. I’m over this tantrum you're throwing, you obviously haven’t learned your lesson, so I’ll make sure you learn properly.” Her mother, she had always been good at punishments. Chrissy thought she could hear Robin on the phone calling for help, oh she hoped she was on the phone. Chrissy took a deep breath, the time away from her family gave her the opportunity to see how delusional her parents were. How absolutely fucked up their family is. She’s done taking this kind of abuse from them, from anyone.

Her other hand wrapped around her mom's wrist that was currently digging into her bicep. She gripped as hard as she could until her mom yelped and let go of her. Fight fire with fire.

“I’m done with you and dad. I’m not letting you live through me, I’m sick of living the life you always wanted. I am not a doll for you to play with. I'm not coming back.” She’d start sticking up for herself from now on. No longer was there the little girl with no backbone, letting her mother play as much as she wanted.

“You’re making a mistake Christine. I hope you know that. You will never be allowed to come back; you won’t get any money from us. You’ll suffer for the rest of your life as a poor nobody." Chrissy's mother stuck her nose up, as if she could smell what she said.

"I'd rather be poor and happy then spend a second longer with you." Her mother cringed back, she knew it hit her deep, good, she needed to understand.

"How dare you?! I've done everything I could for you. I set you up with a wonderful boy, put you in sports, helped keep track of your eating, helped you make friends! Christine Anne, you are ungrateful." Her mother was seething.

"No mom, you did all those things for you! You never asked if I wanted to date Jason, you never asked if I wanted to cheer, you didn't keep track of my eating! You never fed me. And friends? They would have stabbed me in the back in a heartbeat." Tears were threatening to fall out of her eyes. She looked up and willed them away as best she could. She'd rather die than cry in front of her mom right now.

Nails dug into her arm again, pulling her roughly. She gasped in shock at the pain as she felt her skin break.

The door whipped open; their heads shot up. Her body instantly relaxed at the sight of Hopper entering the store, coming straight at them. Finally, she could get away from her mother, she’d be out of her claws. Her mother smirked at the sight of Hopper.

“Oh, Chief Hopper, thank goodness you’re here! My daughter is acting hysterical, and I need help getting her in the car. She’s been gone so long I’m afraid she’s lost her mind. We must get her home at once! Only then can we start to help her get back to her usual self.” Her mother thought that Hopper would go along with this, she truly did. Was she delusional?

“Excuse me Mrs. Cunningham, I’m going to have to ask you to let go of your daughter.” Hopper replied coolly; eyes fixed on the grip her mother had on her wrist. He looked calm but there was a fire burning in his eyes. After having spent the greater part of the summer with him, Chrissy had gotten a better read on him.

“Ohh Hopper, there’s nothing wrong! I’m just trying to help her into the car. Christine needs help.” Her mother put a frown on her face, looking as worried as she could.

“She looks like she’s in pain so I’m going to have to ask you to let her go. I also have a witness that you were verbally abusing her; in addition, I can see you physically restraining her.” He motioned towards her mother’s hand. The hand shot off her like it burned her. Hopper put himself between Chrissy and her mother after and continued.

“Additionally, she doesn’t have to go anywhere with you, according to the state she’s been emancipated, you have no control over her.” Hopper did a bad job at concealing the curling of his lips; but Chrissy couldn’t find it in herself to care. He was right, she’s her own adult, her mother has no say over her.

A sneer left her mothers mouth as she clicked her tongue and looked straight at Robin, she knew who reported this to the police. Robin simply just shrugged her shoulders. The eyes of her mother shot back to her.

“Fine, live your miserable life you ungrateful little pig. Those jeans are pinching you in all the wrong places. Maybe you should buy a scale with your extra money. Oh wait…” Her mother waved a perfectly manicured hand with her parting words; exciting the store not long after.

The final jingle of the bell had Chrissy falling to the floor. She felt lightheaded and weak-kneed. Her eyes followed her mother as she left the store and into the parked car. Chrissy’s eyes found another pair of eyes watching her, it was her brother Matthew.

A sob escaped her throat as she mouthed ‘are you okay?’ at him. He nodded her head and mouthed back ‘I’m okay, I love you’. Relief flooded her. The worries she was holding onto all summer drained out of her. He looked fine, if not a little tired, but he was in one piece. The car roughly pulled out of the parking spot, the tires screeching at the speed.

“Well at least now I know why Jonathan Byers has been dropping you off.” She heard Robin comment behind her.

Hopper stepped forward and wrapped his hands under her armpits, lifting her up, up into a bear hug. She relaxed in his embrace, not embarrassed by how small and childlike she probably looked in the moment; she just felt safe. Her tears burst from her like a dam that broke. Feeling overwhelmed from all that had happened in the last 30 minutes.

Hopper had started feeling like a father soon after she moved in with Joyce and Hopper (and the kids). He’d already done more for her than her actual father had. Spending time with her, teaching her how to shoot, showing her stars in the night sky (which had been one of her favorite nights that summer. She got to watch shooting stars with him and Jane). He was just there for her; a shoulder she could cry on. Like a father should be.

“Thank you.” She mumbled into his neck. He nodded in response, rubbed her back softly before setting her back on her feet and released her from his hug, kissing her on the forehead before he pulled away fully.

“Thank Robin, she called me right after your mom approached you.” He commented after stepping away from her. Chrissy sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Thank you, Robin, I’m just so glad I wasn’t working by myself when she came in, who knows what would’ve happened.” She smiled softly at the girl. Robin appeared to be embarrassed and rubbed the back of her neck.

“Well I’ve seen my fair share of crazy parents, let me tell you. This one time-“ As Robin continued to ramble, Chrissy couldn’t help but feel grateful to Robin for not asking questions or trying to pry.

Chrissy shared a smile with Hopper as they listened to Robin rant.

----------

They started school in just one week. Chrissy couldn’t believe how fast the previous week had gone by after the confrontation with her mother.

She was in the process of packing with Jane and Max. They had already gone supply shopping and picked-up their textbooks for the year. Chrissy had tried to pay for her school supplies, but Joyce and Hopper were having none of it and told her to keep her money. She felt excited packing the girls backpacks, like a big sister.

It hadn’t taken long for Max to warm up to her. Will and Jane had warned Chrissy before she met the young girl that Max could be rude to new people. But she didn’t find that to be the case at all; it’s like Max took one look at her and adopted her as an older sister. She loved it. She loved being with Jane and Max, just doing girly things with them. Not worried about any snide comments or being laughed at. Which was a general occurrence when doing a girl’s night with the cheer team.

She had new and fun experiences with the girls. Max taught her how to skateboard which she wasn’t very good at, but Max said she was improving. Jane showed her all her favorite shows and they spent long nights binge watching. They’re going to watch Golden Girls together once it starts airing. They both introduced her to comic books about Wonder Woman, a female warrior princess, whom Chrissy loved. Max even lent her all the comics she had on Wonder Woman.

Max and Jane left shortly after they finished their backpacks to go to the arcade, Chrissy had declined their offer to join them, she wanted to stay in and do some light reading. It was a Friday night so the house was empty. Joyce and Hopper were on a date at Enzo’s, Will was with the gang, Jonathan was out with a friend. So she had the house to herself. She tucked herself in on the couch and read her book for hours, it was her favorite Princess Bride.

Chrissy could hear a car approaching, she knew just by the sound that it was Jonathan. The headlights of the car bathed the living room in a yellow haze.

The slamming of the car doors broke her from her daze. Whispered conversations just on the other side of the door. He must be bringing friends over; she’s never met any of Jonathan’s friends before.

"No one likes a messy girl Chrissy. A man can only see you at your best." The words of her mother ratting in her head. She shook the thought away, she didn't care, she didn't.

The door opened and Jonathan plus two of his friends walked in right behind him.

I didn’t know Jonathan was friends with Eddie Munson. She wasn’t sure who the other guy was, but he had hair so nice that she felt jealous at how glossy it looked.

Eddie looked the same as he did last year. Ripped jeans, denim jacket, rings decorating his fingers, he even had his leather jacket on. His long curly dark brown hair framing his face and the same deep brown mischievous eyes. Plump full lips that looked so smooth that Chrissy could imagine hers locked to for hours. Wait what? She squeaked.

The three heads whipped to her, apparently they hadn't sent her.

“Jonathan, either Argyle laced the weed, or Chrissy Cunningham is sitting on your couch right now” She wondered if Eddie was feeling alright, because his face looked like it was turning red as he spoke. Hers wasn't much better.

"Well, well, well, Jonathan you're holding out on us man! You didn't tell me you lived with such a beautiful lady!" Mystery man sent a wink her way. If she wasn't red before, well she is now.

Chrissy's looking forward to the school year.

#stranger things #mood board #stranger things season 4 #eddie munson #aesthetic #eddie stranger things #chrissy stranger things #chrissy #chrissy deserved better #chrissy x eddie #hellcheer #jim hopper #hopper byers family #jane hopper #hopper stranger things #robin #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #eddie and chrissy #chreddie #eddie x chrissy #munningham #max mayfield

[mangosimoothie]

The Bachelorette: Episode 17 - The Same Language

On her final hometown date, Aja goes with Ryan to his beautiful island hometown in Hawaii where they spend an exciting day with an important family member. Meanwhile, the boys back at the Bachelorette Mansion are getting up to some trouble of their own. Only one day away from the elimination that will bring us to our top three, the stakes are higher than ever.  [soundtrack]

"Dude, get the fuck off me." "No way. Bring it in, bro."

Ryan: Eric, this is Aja. Aja, this court jester is my twin, Eric. Aja: I didn't know you have a TWIN! That's so cool!!! Ryan: It's alright. Eric: Ryan's just being modest. Having me as a twin RULES and he loves me very much.

After introductions were over everyone heads to a secluded beach that, per Ryan and Eric's request, we won't be revealing the location of. Eric: The haoles haven't found this one yet, so it's still a really cool spot.

Eric: Aja, welcome to Kama'āina Wale Nō! Ryan: Which translates to Locals Only. But obviously I’d make an exception for you.  Aja: Wow, what an honor!

[soundtrack] Ryan and Eric complain that the waves today were pretty weak, but Ryan’s still able to show off his skills, and it gives Aja a good opportunity to get a mini lesson.

To Aja's surprise, it doesn’t take too much convincing from Ryan's brother to get him to do some cliff jumping. They explain that they'd been coming here since they were kids, and since then there'd only been ONE broken ankle, so it's pretty safe.

Ryan and Eric share stories of their antics growing up. Aja: So, I'm guessing Ryan you were “good” one? Very well behaved and all that? Eric: Are you kidding?? Ryan is Dark Mode. I'M the good one. I had to cut my hair so I'd stop getting in trouble for his school pranks. Ryan: Wow, ok. In my defense, you happily took credit for some of my BEST work. And I wear the long hair better than you do.

After the beach, they hit a local bar for some drinks. Aja notices that Ryan and Eric can't help but crack each other up wherever they go. She doesn’t feel like a third wheel though, especially since it’s so entertaining. Ryan warns Aja not to get any drinks with pineapple in them. Ryan: Rookie mistake here. It tastes like a juice box, so you'll get WAY too fucked up. I think they do it just to fuck with tourists. Aja: Aw but they have little umbrellas...ok, fine.

Eric: Not gonna lie, I definitely gave Ryan a lot of shit for going on a reality show, but he seems...really happy. It's kinda weird. Aja: Honestly, he hasn't really been this animated! Maybe he was a little homesick? I think he's excited to see you. Eric: Awww, you think he missed me?? I'm gonna take your word for it, cuz he'd never say that out loud. Also I'm gonna get two more of those pineapple things, you want? Aja: Didn't Ryan say nobody gets those?" Eric: Ryan's no fun since he left the island! The Kato family alcohol tolerance is top tier, I'll be good.

After a few too many drinks on Eric's part, Ryan decides it was time to wind down at home. "He calls me Dark Mode but he's always the one that blacks out..."

Aja: Is he gonna be ok? Ryan: He's slept off worse under my influence. He'll be good. Aja: Sorry if it's a sore subject, but do your parents not live here on the island? I was hoping I'd get to meet them! Ryan: They split up a while ago. Dad moved back to Japan, mom’s off gallivanting somewhere and hard to keep track of. To tell the truth I haven't spoken to them in a few years now. We're kind of...estranged, I guess. It's complicated. Aja: I get it. You know, me and my mom are the same way. She left when I was little. I'm not even sure what city she lives in. But she always sends me a birthday gift though, which is nice I guess... Ryan: Ahhh the classic “I'm gonna send you a gift instead of an apology!” I used to get those! Aja: Works like a charm, right? Ryan: I don’t let it eat me up too much. I’ve got Eric, and he’s been my rock since literally day one. We speak the same language, you know? He’s always been able to snap me out of it when I’m kind of spiraling. I think you just need that person that gets you. Um, so thanks for getting me to vent a little. Even though I guess it’s not like, the romantic vibe we’re supposed to be going for. [soundtrack] 

Aja: You know what? It kinda is. I like getting to know you know you. I'm really glad you're opening up to me, Ryan. I can't believe I almost sent you home. Ryan: You did?? Aja: I guess I shouldn't have said that, but yeah. You're hard to read! It's confusing! But now that you're letting me in I can tell how sweet you actually are. Atticus kinda saved your ass sending himself home. Ryan: Yeah, I guess he did...but there is something I really have to tell you. Aja: What is it? Ryan: ...Uh...well...actually, nevermind. Aja: Oh come on. Ryan: I...think I'm about to crash. That’s what I wanted to say. Been a long night. But, Aja, I'm really glad I'm still here.

"Feels a little cryptic but ok. I'm glad you're here too."

"Who knew prickly Ryan was actually such a softie? It's really cute. I'm glad he's got Eric to bring this fun, open side of him out a little. Hopefully I get to see more of that. Also, tell him to wear his hair down more. It’s super hot."

Meanwhile back at the Bachelorette mansion, Cooper's heading downstairs for a midnight snack when he spots Bastien having what seems like a lighthearted conversation (we can only assume, since we don't have anyone to translate French) on the phone

After a little bit of hesitation, Cooper decides to confront Bastien! Whatever he says in French, it’s super heated! Bastien: I do not understand Canadian. What are you talking about? Cooper: I'm literally speaking French; you KNOW what I'm saying! And I know what YOU were saying! How could you do that?! There's no way you're gonna get away with this; I'm telling Aja. Bastien: Perhaps there is a language barrier issue, because I truthfully still do not understand. Cooper: It's the same language!!

Bastien: Ahh...I see what you're doing. Well played. I'm surprised; I didn't think you'd be the tricky one. I assumed Ryan would be the snake, but he's actually quite likable. Cooper: What are you talking about? Bastien: You're trying to make me the villain. It's smart. You are the only other person that (technically) speaks French so if you pretend you heard me saying something that would send me home, you think everyone would take your word over mine. Sweet, non-threatening, fan favorite, underdog Cooper versus arrogant, wildcard, too good to be true, superstar Bastien. So you interrupt me talking with my agent about my upcoming tour and decide to make up something else to say that I said to make me look bad and get Aja to send me away. Cooper: What? No! That's what YOU’RE doing! You're making that up.

Cooper: Why are you laughing?? Stop it! Bastien: Because this is a dumb plan! You realize if you go to Aja with more lies you're sending yourself home, no? Aja does not trust you. She knows me. Cooper: I don't care if I lose, as long as you don't win. Bastien: I always win. You'd really risk being eliminated from such a foolish move? Cooper: It's the right thing to do.

"Very noble. I can see you're very committed to this act. Bonne nuit, Coopet! I guess we’ll meet again at the reunion episode."

"I need to talk to Aja the SECOND she gets off that plane." What the hell is going on? Who of the four will be sent home in the elimination?? Will Cooper's revelation (or trick??) influence the decision?? And what was up with Ryan's whole "I need to tell you something - actually nevermind" thing??? And are French and Canadian French the same language???? Guess we'll have to wait until the next episode to find out!

NEXT | PREVIOUS | BEGINNING 

#sims 4 story #simblr #new simblr #ts4 cc finds #ts4bachelorette #ep17 #bastien #cooper #oc:ryan

[ducknotinarow]

[2k7]

Donnie had kept what Raphael said in mind, idly thinking it over, considering it. Course, he decided it was a terrible idea and he would NOT be going down such a route. He isn't desperate enough, not yet at least. But Raph didn't know that, and sometimes, Don could cause a little bit of trouble here and there. As a treat.

He had his headset set to silent, not taking any calls for the moment. He glances behind his chair, waiting. The second he see's Raph, knowing he's in ear shot, he moves back, casually speaking as if he was talking to someone,

"Yes that's right, I'm not wearing anything at all," He speaks so calmly, "No sir, I never do..."

Donnie idly starts to turn in his chair, faking a gasp when he see's his twin there - as if he was completely unaware they could hear the conversation,

"Raph! I didn't hear you get home!" He tries to claim, beak twitching into a grin, "I uh, decided to take your advice and, and uh-"

Oh who was Donatello kidding! He couldn't keep this lie up at all. Pranks like this were not his usual forte. So before Don could even finish his sentence, he began to laugh - full on wheezing as he did,

"Sorry, I just, had to see how'd you react if I went through with joining that sort of phone line," He manages to say between laughter, "Your face though! Priceless!"

Was he going to get his ass beat for this? Probably. But it was worth it to be able to haze with his brother again. Felt like forever since they were able to do that.

| Muse interactions slight conutation from here

Raph, near dropped down into the tunnels, long heavy yawn escaping him as he stretchered out taking a moment to stretch out and loosen up some what. Wearing a full metal suit could put some strain on his muscles. But least tonight was a good night out he could take some pride in that. Earned a full day of rest before heading out, maybe he should eat a little something before passing out though. Maybe he should check in on the others first? he question a moment, quirking his beak a little bit as he mulled that all over. It was beyond obvious things were not like they used anymore. Not ever since Leo left and they were told to pretty much what put their lives on pause just because Leo took off on them?

Raph gurffed before finally making his way inside ready to forget the idea of food in favor of sleep. He could hear Don's voice they must being talking a work call. Sure a 24 hour remote job was a great fit for someone who barely slept as it was, though what he heard was enough to make him stop in his tracks.

"Yes that's right, I'm not wearing anything at all,"

No. Wait not there was no way right? No of course not Don had to be messing with whoever was on the other end maybe it was same guy from the other day? Standing still as he went and kept listening.Don's voice was so clam when he spoke? Compared to how flustered they were last tiem?

"No sir, I never do..."

Donnie cut himself off as he turned in the chair, 'gasping' when his eyes landed on Raph suddenly. Raph's eyes only widen a bit out of reflex. Feeling like he had just stumbled into that conversation when he shouldn't have. Taking a second to glace around for Mikey, or eve Splinter no way Don would be doing that if they were out and about right?

"Raph! I didn't hear you get home!"

"Wait you didn't actually?" Raph said buying into Don's act just now blame it on how tried he was

"I uh, decided to take your advice and, and uh-"

"You did what!?" Raph shouted just now near jumping so he could cross the space between them faster. "Don I was fucking bustin' ya chomps since that dick was- aye didn' think you would take me serious and go an...."

Raph soon let his face fall as he just rolled his eyes Don was awful at keeping with his act with how the corn of their beak was started to curl up into a grin. One Raph knew far too well. It was all Don needed to say what he wanted. 'got you.' "Oh fuck you Don." And he was right he actually had Raphael for a few couple of seconds just now truly thinking they had actually picked up work on some sex talk line. Don just couldn't keep up the act once getting the reaction they were wanting here it seemed as soon Donnie wheezed out into a fit of laughter having gotten Raph. Who in turn just rolled his eyes again and started to continue making his way over to them.

"Sorry, I just, had to see how'd you react if I went through with joining that sort of phone line,"

That was a lie Don was as far from sorry one could be clearly pleased with their little joke just now. Stopping as he got up to their chair arms crossed over his plastron as Don was still working through the fit of laughter that he was still letting out over his little stunt just now.

"Your face though! Priceless!"

Raph gave his twin a moment to relish in it before he reached out a hand, may be safe to bet he would hit them over that joke instead he sort of just grabbed on to the top of Don's head, slightly cracking a smile over his own face. There was something about the sound that got Raph to for a moment feel like things were how they used to be. "alright Don ya got me good there. I honestly thought you lost it and went ahead with my joke." Eh maybe he could blame being tried for why he fell for that so easily. Or the obvious the strain on even their relationship. Slightly pushing the palm of his hand against Donnie not doing much but tip their head back as he turned away wanting to ignore that fact that came across his mind just now.

The lair was just..not the same. They used to laugh a lot like that just now from stupid pranks they all played on each other or jokes they would go on with. Once Don's voice died down it just hit harder how much has changed. "take a picture next time smart ass since ya found it so funny." he say not much fight in him behind the words as he yawns and starts to walk away, he dose offer a slight chuckle himself in turn at least. "good ta see you ain't lost ya sense of humor with that job though. oh but do it again and I will kick yer ass got it Donnie?" he asks looking over his shoulder to them smirking to sell his threat a bit more. "I'll catch ya later I'm beat, Case and I went and watched a game went on long." an obvious lie slipping between his teeth didn't even bother with giving details to sell it better. "Ya know if that guy calls again pull that stunt on him instead maybe ya get a good review outta him." he paused a moment before turning to look back at them fixing them with a look. A don't you dear being sent in his stare alone before he turned back to head to bed. "Gonna tell Mikey you changed careers have fun explaining that to him."

#muse| hamato rapheal #aflockofffeathers #[ you think first i hit first aflockoffeathers] #[2007 verse] #muse interactions #ic reply #((Raph just im going to bed but lowkey happy to see donie break a smile like that ;3;))

[fuck-customers]

(tw ableism, racism)

i never complained about this guy on here but i finally talked to the store lead about this awful guy i work with! said guy, we'll call him don which of course isnt his actual name, is so annoying. for the record, i helped train him, so its not like he's been here for long time. less than a year. anyway, don thinks he's smarter and better than everyone else. he knows everything and everyone else is wrong if they disagree with what he's saying. he's always talking about people behind their backs, and complaining about how no one does their job right, but i guess he does. he's also always spewing some bs about "you should work for satisfaction not money" (girl why are you here then? you hate this job) and "if you really want something you'll get it because you'll do anything for it" and other classist bullshit.

he'll complain about two of our coworkers specifically, who we'll call gina and ben. gina is an older woman, and don is always talking about how she leaves the register to make coffee every hour (gas station, coffee is made every two hours or as needed) and is always away doing something even if there's a line. he also has made some weird comments about the old men who come in and talk to her. he talks about ben the most though, saying he doesnt do anything, he's always disappearing (which, yeah, he does sometimes, but usually i can track him down because i know what he's doing) and calling off (which he used to do, but now he calls off only occasionally, and is definitely not the worst offender in terms of calling off all the time). its also worth noting that ben and gina have been here for years, through multiple managers and store leads and rounds of employees. now, when don and i are at the register, don is usually occupied with stocking cigarettes and the other nicotine products up there, and its nice to have that stuff done, but that means i am the only one ringing people out. even if theres a line. so if someone else leaves him alone at the register, its a problem, but if he leaves me alone, its fine. another thing about ben he doesnt like is his tattoos. ben is a young guy with a ton of tattoos, including face tattoos, and some piercings. don doesn't like that. he was talking about this the other day to me, and he was saying how "businesss shouldn't hire people with tattoos, i wouldn't" (when I told the store lead he said "but there are professionals with tattoos?"), and first off, this is a gas station honey. what i said to don was, "I don't know, I still think those people deserve to eat." he replies, "I don't." i don't know what to say to that.

he also doesn't like me I don't think. we were talking about stuff we have to do, and got on the topic of outside trash, and I said, "Yeah, if I could do outside trash I would, but because of my hand I can't lift the pump trash lids." i have an ongoing issue with my left hand that we think is tendonitis but we aren't sure, and basically i can't put any pressure on any part of my thumb/that part of my palm. to lift the pump trash lids, you have to push inward on the sides with your palm and lift up. obviously i cant do that. but i can lift propane tanks because that's mostly on my fingers. he tells me, "man, i wish i had a brace i could just put in when i didn't want to do something."

my man the other day i sat down on the floor to look for something and i thought it was healed but as soon as i leaned on it i fell because of how much it hurt. I've tried to do pump trash with it, it made it worse.

going back in time, he said something to me that i didn't think much of at the time. he looked up and saod "that's who you remind me of!" and said my voice sounded like his ex girlfriend's. at first i was like okay. whatever. but he mentioned it again later in a way that infuriated me and im about to tell you why.

so, he was going off about "how you should only eat between these times of the day" (directed at me because i mentioned my breakfast that morning? my dude i get up at six for this shift.) and then going off about circadian rhythms and how theres a single set one (which is not true!) and i mentioned that one if the symptoms of adhd is having a circadian rhythm thats out of sync (he knows i have adhd). and then he starts going off about how "no its not, tell me that when its in a medical book" (girl? maybe look at one that isnt outdated) and then that adhd is overdiagnosed (untrue and also a googleable statistic) and pretty much implying that i was just saying i had it to be special and not have to do things, which infuriated me because thats what everyone says about it and what ive been told my whole life, to the point my mom literally had to threaten several schools with legal action because they would not follow my IEP, and then when i said "hey, I'm the one living with this, you aren't," he said "kelly! kelly! you sound so much like her! you're just kelly to me!"

obviously that's kind of a fucked up thing to say.

some other things i hate about this man is that he gets really aggressive when he's frustrated. one day he started slamming things down as he was stocking. he even does it in front of customers! also, as a cherry on top, he was talking to our coworker, and found out she had a lot of black friends, and called her a [n word] lover.

i also know that im not the only person who has problems with him. literally no one likes him. he's always complaining that someone else isnt doing their job right and "if *I* were the manager" and stuff like that. it might be worth mentioning that i only complained because someone suggested i do. i was just going to tough it out for a while since im going back to school soon and will only be dealing with him once a month

one of my coworkers gave me her number if i ever wanted to talk about it, and the store lead said he would try to talk to him (without mentioning me), and this definitely wasn't okay for him to be doing, so we'll see how this goes. also, i think the store lead kept me in the office talking with him (about school and the pandemic and other stuff) for an hour ish so that i wouldn't have to deal with him, since don leaves after an hour of me being there during the week (but we have six hours together on the weekend) so that was nice.

sorry for the long ask. tldr this guys just an all around asshole who doesnt shut up and thinks he's superior to everyone else but my other coworkers are nice people

[shingia]

hii ! I love your writing and this is going to be my first request on this site so i'm a bit nervous. May I request your angst prompt #6 with either akaashi or bokuto (or anyone you want but I just love them gah) and something accident related if possible (but if not it's fine!), i'm an angst sucker ;-; thank you and have a nice day!

MEMORY - BOKUTO X READER

hi !! dw it’s completely ok to be nervous about your first request, i was literally shaking when i first sent mine ! and thank youuu it’s always nice to know that my work is appreciated 💕 i had no idea of which boy to choose but i never wrote angst for bokuto so here it is, i hope it’s what you had in mind ! <3

-> angst prompt #6 “stop saying my name like it’s the last time” (that one HURTS omfg)

-> bokuto x gn!reader | Angst with a capital A | word count : 2K

warnings : car accident, mentions of blood, hospital environment

bokuto always thought it was funny how a smell, a sound or a sight could hold enough power to trigger memories that he thought had been erased by time. 

but no smell, sound or sight was ever needed for him to remember the day he first met you. how the purple lights of the bar were slowly dancing on your skin, casting shadows that made your features look different every time he casted guilty glances at you. he remembered the feeling of his sweaty palms when he asked for your number, and how you had to blink exactly four times to read his messy handwriting on your arm.

all these seemingly insignificant details were kept safe in the depths of his mind, patiently waiting to resurface every time his heart needed them. but if these kind of memories were kept so vivid by choice, others - much darker - had a terrifying way of imprinting into one’s brain…

it was a bright april afternoon, the kind of day that made people forget about their worries, and bokuto had just finished what he considered to be one of his best practice. as usual, his heart swelled with excitement at the thought that he would tell you all about it as soon as he’d step foot in your house, where he was just heading.

but the sudden vibration of his phone in his pocket made him stop dead in his tracks.

he was not particularly stressed by phone calls, but something about the way his heart dropped made his hands start shaking and his surroundings blurry ; something was off. he hesitated a few seconds before getting the phone out - maybe it was cowardice, but his body already knew that he was not ready to handle what was coming at him.

the voice he heard on the other side of the line was undoubtedly yours. the vibrations, the tone, the pitch, he had heard it whispering sweet nothings in his ear way to many times to be mistaken. so why did it take him so long to admit that it was well and truly you, calling him for what looked an awful lot like a goodbye ?

although pain and fear had grabbed you by the tongue, you miraculously managed to tell him about the poor driver that had been distracted by his kid - too distracted to see you crossing the road on your way to the store, and too slow to hit the brakes.

your voice was weak, so weak that bokuto did not even hear the last thing you said before passing out on the warm asphalt. and so he started running, as fast as humanly possible - if not more - because he knew he was only two streets away from you, and he knew that he would never forgive himself if he arrived too late.

bokuto had many preconceptions about the way he would ever react to an accident. panic, anger, sadness, incomprehension… but nothing could have prepared him for what it truly was. in one second, his mind had time to produce hundreds and hundreds of questions, and they all remained unsolved until his eyes finally laid on you, or more like what seemed like a nightmarish version of you.

a woman was frantically screaming, a hand over her mouth like it was of any use. behind her, a young girl was staring at the blood stain on the white car’s bumper, eyes wide in terror. and in the car, a giggling toddler was happily chewing on his teething ring, having no idea that today had changed his father’s life forever. the latter seemed stuck in a cataleptic trance, and it seemed like the first aider was not going to get anything out of him.

bokuto was ready to beg on his knees for the ambulance driver to allow him on the ride to the hospital.  he had a thousand ways to prove that you were the love of his life : the picture of you in his wallet, your matching key rings attached to your respective bags, the crumpled receipt of the necklace he had bought you a month ago, the one that was now hanging loosely around your dreadfully immobile neck. but just a glance at his despaired eyes was enough to understand that he deserved his place by your side in what would probably be the worst moment of your life - and his.

three paramedics were too busy putting you on a stretcher for bokuto to even catch a glimpse of your face. and the fact that he was left alone with his imagination made him want to throw up. yet when his eyes finally laid on your bruised and bloody features, it felt much, much worse than anything his imagination could have thought about. his heart skipped more than one beat at the thought that maybe he had arrived too late.

but no, your eyes fluttered open while the medics were still yelling orders at each other, meaningless words that were only background noise for bokuto. his hands gripped the edge of the stretcher, even though they were longing for the touch of your skin, no matter how scratched and wounded it was.

« hey, hey, stay with me, alright ? » he articulated in a hoarse voice as your hand found its way to his cheek. seeing that, one of the medics started reaching for your arm - you had too many broken bones for him to allow you to move so carelessly. but one of his colleagues, a tall woman with the kindest eyes, stopped him before his fingers could wrap around your wrist. and the look she gave him was screaming for his indulgence. ‘let them’.

although the opaque windows were filtering most of the ambulance lights, faint beams of red and blue were still dancing on your face. it was true that bokuto did not need anything to trigger his memories of the first time he saw you, but the alternation of the two colors on your features were a bitter reminder of the purple neons that had lightened your face in that bar, where everything had begun.  and so were his sweaty palms, warm and shaky against your wrist which he had grabbed as carefully as if it had been made of porcelain.  but the blinks of your eyes looked nothing like when you tried to guess the numbers he had written on your arm. they were desperate movements of your lids that were painfully trying to stay open - because if you had one last wish, it was that bokuto’s face would be your last sight.

your facial muscles only allowed a few painless movements, and luckily for the both of you, a faint smile was one of them. « h-how was practice ? » you asked, the left corner of your lips curling upwards. he let out a sorrowful laugh, ignoring the tears that were prickling his eyes as he started to kiss your palm at an alarming pace, like he was so desperately trying to get something out of the feeling of your skin against his lips.

« you’re gonna be okay, i promise… i love you » he told you, eyes intensely locked with yours like it was the first time these words were leaving his mouth. « i love you. so much. i love y- i love you. so fucking much, i really love you » he repeated like a prayer, words mixing up in his mind that was too focused on your eyes to think clearly about anything else.

« kou… listen to me » you whispered, still trying your best to keep your smile when it felt like every fiber of your body was being torn apart. your thumb caressed his cheek, but so stiffly that you knew it probably did not even feel like your touch. « thank you for everything, for being you and for loving me. i love you too, and you deserve to be happy… »

no. this didn’t feel right. this wasn’t a promise of love, it had the bitter taste of goodbyes, of words that are said just to alleviate the pain of the living. « don’t say it like that, please » bokuto pleaded, hating himself for ordering you when you were in such obvious distress. but for the first time since that god-sent night at the bar, he hated the sound of every word that had left your mouth. he would have given anything to go back to just a few seconds ago, when you were still joking about his practice. because back then it didn’t feel like you were going to leave.

« you’re gonna be ok. i love you, kou », you said in an almost maternal tone. « stop saying my name like it’s the last time ! » he exclaimed with such vigor that even the medics stopped for a second. but you didn’t flinch, your eyes were still kind and peaceful. and they still were when your thumb progressively started moving, and when your lids slowly closed.

──

the hall of the hospital was cold - in every sense of the word. akaashi was nervously playing with the lid of his coffee, sat upright on a chair even though his legs felt restless. bokuto, on the other hand, had refused to eat, drink or even sit for one second until he had talked to one of your doctors. it had now been almost two hours - and every second felt like torture.

but oddly enough, akaashi was the first to react at the sight of your surgeon that was coming towards them at a frustratingly slow pace.

« how did it go ? » he asked, the joint of his hands white from holding his coffee cup so tight.

« they made it. our nurses brought them to a private room where they will be watched v- »

bokuto didn’t need to hear more. he had no idea of which room you were in, but it didn’t matter - the hospital was not that big, he’d find a way. he always found a way.

running like a madman, he couldn’t even hear akaashi yelling at him to come back. his heart was throbbing with happiness at the thought that you were patiently waiting for him in a room. safe and sound.

he had spent so much time hammering the most terrible scenarios in his head that he had almost started to believe some of them were true. in a sense, he had already felt how it would be like to live without you - and he was now promising himself to never feel that pain ever again.

tired of running around without knowing where he was headed, bokuto eventually asked a nurse to indicate him the room you were kept in. and, although it did not respect the hospital’s privacy policy, she gave him without thinking twice ; because just like every other member of the staff, she knew about the boy that had spent hours crying and waiting for his loved one. her eyes were blurry with tears when he thanked her about three time before heading to the said room.

and there you were. laying on your back, staring at the ceiling with your fingers fiddling with the sheets - just like you always did when you waited for him on his bed.

« oh thank god » bokuto breathed out, taking a few seconds to admire your features before running to your side. his hands were still wet from his tears and his eyes were red and puffy, but he had never felt so happy to hold you. his lips immediately found their way to your hands, completely ignoring the strong smell of betadine, and they stretched in a grin at the familiar feeling of your fingers that seemed so tiny against his.

when he finally looked up at you, he felt like the luckiest man alive. just the sight of you breathing was something he had started to give up on. your chest was slowly heaving and your eyes blinked exactly four times before an embarrassed chuckle left your lips :

« excuse me but… who are you ? »

@toworuu @catwithangerissues

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #bokuto angst #haikyuu x gn!reader #hqxreader

[nightshade-minho]

-Blue Book- (3)

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Chan being an ass.

Over the next two days, Chan found himself spending nearly all of his time with you. You had warmed up to him a lot, but was still a little cautious. He had to build up trust...somehow.

Spending time with you was excruciatingly boring. All you seemed to do was draw, and sitting next to you while you did was getting tiring.

However, whenever he would come close to giving up, something would happen to put him right back on track- whether it was Miyoung smiling at him from across the hallway, tucking her hair behind her ear like she always did...or Minho, shamelessly asking her out for a fucking date. Right in front of his salad.

No, literally.

He watched in horror as Minho chuckled, speaking to her on the phone in that raspy voice of his that was the fakest shit Chan had ever heard.

"Yeah, okay, babe. Bye~" Minho cooed, cutting the call and putting his phone down, resuming his meal as he dug into his chicken nonchalantly.

"Babe?" Changbin asked, smirking from the opposite end of the table.

"Hmm, yeah. Got a problem with that?" Minho asked, seemingly replying to Changbin but staring right at Chan as he said it.

"No." Chan lied, voice a little shaky.

"Oh, but don't embarrass him like this, Minho. He's only been wanting to ask her out for like, two years...yet you did it in five minutes." Hyunjin said, laughing.

Chan's grip on his fork tightened. He prided himself in being a patient person, more or less...yet these two definitely had the potential to turn him into a cold-blooded murderer.

"Where are you taking her?" Jisung asked, mouth full.

"To the carnival, tomorrow afternoon. I'm going to win her one of those giant plushies. I've always been good at those games."

"How romantic~" Jisung smiled. "You know we'll be there too though, right?"

"Uh huh." Minho grinned at Chan. "Don't worry! I won't leave my best friends for a girl. We'll be right there with you, the whole time."

"Sounds great. Don't know if Chan will like that idea, though..."

Minho tilted his head, tutting.

"Channiee~ you know I'll back off if you get the book, right?"

That was it. Chan stood up, spoon and fork clattering onto his plate as he left the table, fuming. His stomach growled with hunger as he pushed open the café door, walking out onto the street with his bag slung over his shoulder.

He'd just have his dinner at home.

***

"Wow. You really pissed him off." Jeongin noted.

Minho rolled his eyes, stabbing his chicken with the fork. "I swear, he has such bland taste in girls. Miyoung is the most brainless creature I've ever met."

"Why would you put up with that, then? And why do you seem so intent on irritating him lately?" Felix asked, frowning.

"I'm not really putting up with anything. She's hot, and she has a smoking body. Brains don't matter when you look like that."

"You know Chan likes Miyoung for more than her appearance. Although I can't, for the life of me, imagine what that might be..."

"Whatever."

"You didn't answer my question."

Minho sighed, raising an eyebrow at Felix.

"I just don't like the way he's been lording over us all lately. He acts like he's our 'leader' or something. I feel like I can barely breathe around him- at least this gets him out of the way."

"See? It's a battle of the alphas, after all." Jisung guffawed, high-fiving Hyunjin.

"So this is all just some power struggle?" Felix asked, disbelief lacing his tone. "Why the fuck did you drag an innocent girl into it, then? She has nothing to do with any of it-"

"Eh, she just gets on my nerves. Two birds with one stone." He shrugged.

Felix shook his head. "You're an asshole."

He smirked. "I know."

***

Chan knew exactly where to find you.

True to form, you were on the same park bench as always, legs crossed as you listened to music with your eyes closed.

"Hey..."

You opened one eye slightly as you realized who it was. Taking the earbuds out, you smiled.

"Oh hey...I didn't expect to see you again until tomorrow morning."

"Yeah well, I kinda knew you would be here."

You patted the spot next to you, and Chan hesitantly sat down.

"Where's your book? You're not drawing?"

"It's too dark for that." You pointed out, a lopsided smile gracing your face.

"Why are you here then?"

"My mom and her date went to this fancy restaurant." You explained. "And I didn't want to be all alone at home, so I just came out here."

"Ah. This place is just as pretty at night..."

"Mmhmm."

Chan sighed as he watched you play with your hair. It was kind of cute, how you tried to mask your nervousness by occupying your hands with meaningless actions.

"So what will you be having for dinner, then?"

"Probably ramen out of a packet. I hope we still have some left..."

Chan pressed his lips together. "Would you...um, would you like to come join me for dinner? At my house?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Oh..." You blushed, looking down. "I mean, yeah, sure-"

"Great!" You looked up, the smile on Chan's face so kind that you almost teared up.

God, Y/n, get yourself together...

You had no idea why he was being so nice to you at first, and had been wary initially...but the last few days had changed that. He seemed to enjoy spending time with you, and that was somewhat of a novelty- a person showing interest in you, that is.

Chan grinned at you, grabbing your wrist as he pulled you up. "Let's go!~"

***

"This is my room."

You gasped. "Wow, it's so big!"

"Yeah." He chuckled. "It used to be a gym, I think...but my parents let me change it up."

"That's so cool." You went over to the posterboard, smiling as your eyes ran over all the polaroids and memorabilia Chan had collected over the years.

"My room isn't as personalized as yours...but this makes me want to give it a makeover." You smiled, going over to the window and marvelling at the size of it.

"Wow...you must get a lot of sunlight in the mornings..." You said in awe, pressing your nose up against the glass as you looked down.

"I do." He said, mind blank as he watched you fangirl over his room. You were so overly enthusiastic about everything...he wished he could be the same.

You turned around, that wide smile ever-present on your face. As you opened your mouth to say something else, you were interrupted by the sound of your stomach growling.

"Ah, I almost forgot. I brought you here to feed you." He winked, opening his door as he stepped back out.

"Come on, we can visit my bedroom some other time~" Your cheeks heated up at his words as he went back downstairs.

"Wait for me!" You followed him quickly as he made his way to the dinner table.

"Where are your parents?" You asked as you sat at the table.

"They're on a business trip, princess, and my siblings are at their friends'. So...we have the house all to ourselves." He winked again, and you quickly looked back down at your empty plate.

You thanked the maid as she served the food. It was pasta, and your stomach growled again as soon as you laid eyes on it.

"Wow, you're hungry, huh? Sounds like there's a baby bear living in your stomach~" He teased. You giggled, shaking your head as you took a bite.

"Oh wow, it's delicious."

"It better be, my parents don't pay her for nothing." He said, starting to eat.

There was silence for a while as the two of you filled your empty stomachs...but somehow, it wasn't awkward. Chan looked up at you from time to time, chuckling at how fast you ate.

"Slow down, babygirl."

Your eyes widened as you looked up at him. That pet name, fuck.

Chan raised an eyebrow, picking up on how affected you were by it.

"Hmm, you like that name?"

You shook your head vehemently, going back to your meal- but your cheeks never stopped burning.

He hadn't expected to see you so flustered, when he'd literally just called you a name.

Wrapped around his finger, indeed.

***

"It feels weird hanging out without Chan." Jeongin sighed, adjusting the pillow under his chin as he lay on the mattress in Felix's basement, watching as Changbin and Jisung faced off in Call of Duty.

"Yeah? I feel like it's better. I don't feel like I have to walk on eggshells." Hyunjin shrugged, prompting Minho to smile widely.

"See? He gets it."

"I don't know, Chan being here sure keeps these guys in line." Seungmin flicked his thumb towards Changbin and Jisung (the two of them mock-wrestling as the latter suspected that the former had cheated), not looking up from his book.

Changbin looked up from the headlock Jisung had him in.

"Oh shut up. Guys, I don't really understand why we pick on some random girl in school when we have our very own nerd right here." He sneered.

"There's a difference between being a nerd and having brains...something which you clearly don't know much about. I'll cut you some slack." Seungmin smirked.

"For fuck's sake, stop fighting." Jisung said as he poked Changbin's side, squeezing harder.

"Oh, the irony." Jeongin groaned, rubbing his forehead as he watched the two roll around on the floor.

Felix sighed as he buried his head in his hands, too tired to follow the conversation anymore.

What had happened to them?

***

"You should come over again."

"Yeah...I will. Some other time. My mom's expecting me, unfortunately." You said apologetically.

"At least let me walk you home?"

You paused, smiling slowly. "Alright."

The two of you walked side by side, the cool night breeze ruffling your hair.

"What are your hobbies?" You asked after some minutes of silence, curiously.

"Well. I like swimming, and also football." He paused, wondering if he should tell you more or not.

"I...I also like making music."

"Woah. That's amazing. Next time, you should show me some of your songs."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Some of them are kinda private, though..."

"That's okay. You only need to show me what you're comfortable with letting me hear." You said.

Chan smiled softly, nodding. For a second, it crossed his mind how you were willing to respect his privacy...and yet here he was, trying to violate yours by attempting to steal something that was clearly precious to you.

Miyoung. Think of Miyoung, He reminded himself.

You suddenly stopped, turning to him with a grin.

"We're here. Thanks for walking me home!"

"No problem..."

"See you later~" You waved as you walked backwards, turning around to open the gate.

"Wait-"

"Hm?" You twisted your neck to look at him questioningly.

"Uh...I was wondering, would you want to come with me to the carnival tomorrow? It'll be fun-"

"Yes! Sure!" You said, a little too eagerly.

"Great. It's a date."

"D-date?"

"Yeah." He smirked. "See you then, babygirl."

With that, he walked away, the image of your flustered face in his mind.

Miyoung would be his in no time.

#chan angst #chan series #chan fluff #chan smut #bang chan angst #bang chan fluff #bang chan smut #chan imagines #chan x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #skz fluff #skz angst #skz smut #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids smut #stray kids #skz #kpop smut #kpop fluff #kpop angst

[hazbinhotelandchill]

We have fun ideas in this server

Part two can be found here.

Finals. The very word made you cringe. You hated the stressful time of the semester, dreading it each time it began to creep up. This year had been no different, and now the awful time was upon you.

You sat at your desk, hunched over an ocean of books and papers. You held your head in one hand, gnawing absently at your bottom lip as your eyes drifted over the text in front of you. You had been at this for the past three hours now, and somehow you felt you had gotten absolutely nowhere.

Groaning, you leaned back in your chair, head rolling back. You hated this. Rubbing your eyes, you let out a soft sigh into the room around you. It didn't help that this was your least favorite subject- chemistry. It was just so complex, leaving you confused with each new topic you learned about. The professor didn't help either. He was a rude middle aged guy who was constantly complaining about the younger generation. He never explained things well the first time, and the second time was never any better. It made reviewing everything on your own that much more difficult, leaving you to slave tirelessly for hours over textbooks until the late hours of the night.

“Oh dear! You seem to be having quite the difficult time over there.” Tensing at the sudden voice, you sat up to look over your shoulder. There, tall and imposing as always, stood the demon you had had the misfortune of accidentally summoning one day. You had delved a little too deep into the occult, and one thing led to another and suddenly you had an all powerful, deadly demonic force looming over you in your bedroom with one of the most sinister grins you had ever seen on its face. How you managed to live that day was beyond you, but what baffled you even further was when this demon- Alastor - chose to come back on his own accord a few days later. I just find you to be quite whimsical darling, he had said when you questioned why, giving no further explanation then that.

He had continued to visit you, his visits always random with no pattern that you could follow. You had actually come to grow quite fond of him, finding his charming personality and chipper attitude quite endearing. You'd never admit this, however- he was dangerous. You didn't know how dangerous exactly, but there was no denying the power that radiated off him in waves. Admitting to feelings for him would lead down some very dangerous roads, ones you were very hesitant to follow.

Narrowing your eyes, feigning disdain, you gave a quiet huff. "I'm busy." You turned back to face your desk, planning on throwing yourself back into your studies. You heard Alastor laugh, the echo of prerecorded laugh tracks ringing through your ears.

“Hostile as ever, I see. You wound me with your words, darling." You rolled your eyes, placing your head back into your hand as you began to once again read over the textbook on your desk. You heard his footsteps behind you, and within a moment you felt his looming figure at your back. You tried not to stiffen at his presence being so close, doing your best to focus on the words on the page instead.

“You’ve been at this for quite some time.” You felt his body lean over yours, his chest hovering just above your head. Still, you kept your body relaxed, flipping the page of the textbook.

"You been watching me?" He hummed, and then placed his hands on either of your shoulders. That was when you tensed, feeling his fingers lightly curl, his nails digging into your skin just slightly. He shifted so that his lips were close to your ear, his breath dancing across your skin. You fought the desire to shiver.

"I watch you quite often, my dear. You just pretend not to notice." You bit your lip, feeling your cheeks warm at his proximity. The smell of blood and brimstone brushed against your senses. "I think it's time you take a break. It won't be long now until we start smelling smoke." You heard a couple of laugh tracks and rolled your eyes.

Shrugging his hands off, you waved a hand dismissively in the air. "My exam is tomorrow and I can't afford to fail. I have to study as much as I can." You reached for a highlighter, taking it and popping the cap off so you could run the neon yellow tip over the book's page.

"Well, I'd hate to leave you in such a state of stress. Why don't I help you relax a little while you study?" You were confused by this, and went to ask him what the hell he could do for you, but then you noticed the shadows around you begin to shift. Suddenly Alastor was no longer at your back, and you watched in shock as a dark shadow moved across the floor beneath your feet. Then, a short gasp escaped your lips as the shadow quickly grew into a dark figure under your desk, taking shape and then there was Alastor, his grin wide and sharp.

You went to push away from your desk, to get away from him, but he grabbed onto your chair, keeping it in place. There was wickedness glittering in his eyes as he moved his hands up to your knees, slowly pushing them apart.

"What are you doing," you hissed, hands grabbing at his, cheeks burning red. You couldn't believe what was happening, what he was doing. He had never done something like this before- sure, he didn't necessarily keep his hands to himself. He was constantly touching you, taking your hands, spinning you around or dragging you along. He clearly didn’t know a thing about personal space, but this was another level of intrusion you didn’t know he’d ever reach.

“Why, I’m helping you, my dear! Now, go back to studying, we wouldn’t want you failing now would we?” You stared at him, at his sharp teeth and glowing eyes. You blinked, hands still grasping his but not moving, thinking over what exactly you should do in this situation. You knew what he was suggesting, what he was planning. A beat of time passed, and in seeing that you had yet to to move your hands, Alasor's eyes narrowed. It made you stiffen, and for a knot to form in your gut. "Darling. Do I need to repeat myself?" You shivered.

Slowly, you brought your hands out from underneath your desk, placing them stiffly on top. Alastor hummed in approval, and you watched as his hands slowly made there way up your thighs. They briefly passed the band of your shorts, and you felt his nails brush along your stomach. You bit your lip, eyes darting away from him and to your book. You couldn't watch.

"Be a dear and lift yourself up for me." With every muscle in your body pulled taut, you used the arm rests of your chair to push yourself up, allowing Alastor to pull down your underwear and shorts. You shivered as the air hit your skin, fighting back the desire to whimper. You'd never thought you'd ever be bare before him, much less like this. Slowly you set yourself back down into your seat, hands gripping tightly at the sides of the chair before you forced them back onto the desk.

You heard Alastor humming, an unfamiliar tune you were sure was from far before your time. You felt his hands brush along your thighs, nails scraping along your skin. Your leg muscles tensed at the sensation, and in an attempt to focus your attention elsewhere you began to gnaw at the inside of your lip.

"Tell me darling," he began, his hands drifting up and grasping your hips. With a jerk, he pulled you forward, forcing you to the very edge of our seat. You breathed in sharply, your whole body going rigid as you grasped the edge of your desk. Your heart hammered in your chest, but Alastor didn't notice- didn't care- and instead you heard him speak, his breath brushing along your skin, "What are you studying, hm?"

"E-equations," you stuttered quickly, your mouth begining to go dry. "For redox reactions." You breathed out a shuttering breath, flexing your fingers atop your desk, trying to force yourself to release the tight grasp you had on it. You tried to count numbers in your head, attempting to steady your breathing by inhaling for four and exhaling for seven.

"Why don't you read aloud to me. We must make sure you are focusing, after all." Swallowing, you nodded your head, prying your hands from the edge of your desk and placing them on either side of the book. You licked your lips, your eyes wandering until you found the spot you had left off.

"The losses and gains of electrons must balance in- fuck." You whimpered, hands balling into fists, body shuddering as Alastor dragged his tongue along your lower slit. You could feel his smile, and you gasped as he ran his tongue along your folds once more, curling in on yourself slightly. Already you were so sensitive, so warm. Your breaths came out uneven and weak.

"Don't forget to keep reading, dear." You felt the words on your skin, and your bottom lip trembled as you nodded your head. Dangerously, his nails brushed along your hips, before his hands took hold of your hips, grasping you tightly as he began to devour you slowly.

"To apply this... this principle, let's examine the r-reaction that occurs when a- ah- when a piece of copper wire is placed... placed in-" You whimpered, resting your head atop your book, eyes shut tight as you listened to the sounds of Alastor eating you out. Your body was on fire, your cheeks flushed crimson, and your every nerve was alight with pleasure. You were having the worst time focusing, the words all smearing together on the page. At your lingering silence, Alastor’s nails began to dig into your flesh, illiciting a whine from deep within your throat.

“Keep going darling, I wouldn’t want to have to punish you when you've been doing so well.” You swallowed, saliva grating across the dryness in your throat. Raising your head, your body weak and heavy, your eyes wandered the page, trying to find where you had left off.

“The solution gradually takes on t-the blue color-“ One of his hands was wandering from your hip now, nails causing goosebumps to raise on your flesh. “-of a solution of Cu plus ions and- Alastor.” You gasped on his name, body arching slightly as one of his fingers pushed through your folds and buried itself deep inside you. You whined, teeth digging painfully into your lip, and you tried to steady your breathing. In for four, out for seven. In for four, out for seven. “And branchlike structures of- of solid- fuck- of solid Ag form on the copper wire. In this- this- oh, god I can’t Alastor please,” you whispered pathetically, eyes squeezing shut as he inserted another finger into you.

He hummed; you felt it vibrate on your clit, causing a wave of pleasure to roll through your body. "Are you sure, dearest? My punishments are far from kind.” You didn’t doubt it. Whimpering, you shook your head- you didn’t want to be punished. You had to read, had to focus.

“In this chemical reaction, Cu m-metal is ox-oxidized to- mmh- to C- ah- Cu t-two plus i-ons and- fuck, please don't stop." Your orgasm was fast approaching, rushing at you with a fierce intensity. You wanted it- desperately wanted it, your whole body craving the waves of pleasure that awaited you upon your release. "And Ag plus ions... ions are fucking reduced to Ag fucking metal- yes, yes God yes-" You moaned loudly, body falling back into your chair, arching forward as your orgasm began to roll through you. Your fingers wound themselves into Alastor's hair, holding tight at an attempt to keep some sort of stability as you felt everything shatter and slowly begin to build back up again.

Alastor didn't stop his onslaught until you were mewling and begging for him to stop, small spasms racking up your body. As his fingers exited you, you gave his hair a light pull, feeling the soft strands against your skin. Before you could even let go, he had faded into a shadow once more, and in an instant was standing behind you. Still leaning back in your chair, your face pointed to the ceiling, you saw the wide grin he wore as he regarded you with lidded eyes. You bit your lip at the sight of your slick around his lips, and couldn't help the soft whimper as his tongue rolled from his mouth, running slowly across his lips as he enjoyed the taste of you.

"Very good," he purred, his hands busying themselves with straightening his suit. "Now, why don't you tell me where you keep your toys, hm? I have a wonderful idea to help you study." You shuttered, too wound up over the thought of Alastor using your toys on you to wonder much on how exactly he knew you had them. Tonight was setting up to be a long night.

You could only hope that you were prepared to face what he had planned.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #lemon

[mytastessuck]

Gorillaz: Plastic Beach

mAh, nostalgia. This album was my high school years. I got a digital copy for my birthday from my mom and became obsessed with this album well into college. The dominance of electronica, the use of people with great voices, the expansion of the lore, Lou Reed...this album was all of music when I got it. It's my favorite Gorillaz album and it looks like it's gonna stay that way for a while. But how is it on a not even approaching semi-objective level? Let's find out.

1. Orchestral Intro

You can probably guess it by my awful taste but I'm not really into orchestra. This opening though, with the sound of waves and the mourning instruments, really tipped me off that I was in for something different. This album wasn't going to start off with something chill or even a zombie movie clip. No, at this point, Gorillaz were officially done fucking around.

10/10

2. Welcome to the World of the Plastic Beach

Then we get the brass leading us into a good beat and then HOLY SHIT, SNOOP DOGG?! He leads us in like a bandleader while a chorus of women back him up Just Like That while he goes with his usual flow. He adds the needed touch of instant cool to an album that's practically frozen with the artists already on it and with this song, it feels like you're walking past the gate into Disneyland.

9/10

3. White Flag

Some nice Arabian sounding instruments on this one. Pretty cool for Gorillaz to keep engaging in world music. Anyway, this was a really cool instrumental but it's time to move on to the other son---

Huh?

Suddenly, we get beeps and mixes backing up Bashy and Kano as they kick so much ass talking about pacifism for the sake of survival. This song kicks an undisputed amount of ass and it barely even tries.

9/10

4. Rhinestone Eyes

What I like about this song is that I keep finding new things to like about it as the years go back. First, I liked the weirdly-threatening nature of the song along with the woman moaning in time with the verses. Then I liked the video (even though it was insanely shady of EMI to release that without Damon's and Jamie's permission and it ended up being the thing that led to Phase 3's premature ending and Gorillaz going on hiatus). Then I liked the continuation of the moaning that I first noticed in live performances then finally heard in the song itself. This song is like Rolexes falling from the sky.

10/10

5. Stylo

Ah, the first single from the album. I remember telling my dad about this when I first saw the video for it. I was about to write off Gorillaz as a relic of my past before I saw Murdoc and 2D get run off the road by Bruce Willis. This song has an awesome bridge by Yasiin Bey, nice crooning by Damon Albarn and incredible back-up by Bobby Womack, who manages to lift the entire song over his head using just his voice. Damn, wish he had another song that put his voice on full display. Maybe later in the album...

10/10

6. Superfast Jellyfish

Yeah, De La Soul is back! And they're singing about TV dinners! Seriously, these guys can make guessing crossword actually fun instead of a dredging experience and have Shiny Toy Guns frontman Chad Petree singing about radioactive seas brings the whole thing home. It makes you want to really go out and eat a random jellyfish but don't do that. It'll hurt.

11/10

7. Empire Ants

Okay, before I give this song its totally fair score, it should be noted this is my third favorite song of all time. I love Damon's reassuring lyrics in the beginning but the switch in the middle to a more upbeat electronic pop tune pushes this song past perfect.

Then there's Little Dragon...

This song introduced to me to Yukimi Nagano's voice and wow...I didn't think humans could sound like that, let alone an Asian woman singing soul. If you think the instruments are carrying her here, obviously there are clearly no other songs on the album that showcase her talents so I have to recommend After The Rain, Twice and Constant Surprises by Little Dragon. Seriously, this woman's voice will water your fucking crops.

500/10

8. Glitter Freeze

Where is north from here? Don't ask me, I'm not a compass. Anyway, this song has Mark E. Smith from The Fall and they use him to his fullest extent...by which I mean letting him make an absolutely evil fucking laugh somewhere near the end. The instrumentation makes it feel like you're in a storm on a shaky ship and you're definitely going to feel like you need some pills after you're finished. This stuff will put hair on your chest.

11/10

9. Some Kind of Nature

This song introduced me to Lou Reed and I'm grateful to it for that. Lou was a shitty dude but damn his voice really made things better than they should have been. Fuck, I was one of the eight defenders of Lulu for this reason. But Damon doesn't sit with his thumbs up his ass on this song. He holds his own and makes the chorus sound legitimately dreamlike. All we are is stars, indeed.

100/10

10. On Melancholy Hill

This song is awesome to chill to...unless you're escaping a cruise ship while being gunned down by fighter jets. But other than that particular example, I recommend this song for anyone trying to relax while thinking of someone special. But be careful with the last note of this song. That gong can be a real eye opener.

9/10

11. Broken

Bummer of a song but if there's one song you absolutely NEED to learn on melodica, it's this one. Aren't we all broken? Well I am. And this song speaks to me.

10/10

12. Sweepstakes

Yasiin's back and there's gonna be trouble. He plays a carny in this track and you know that no matter how many times you listen to this song, you'll always gonna fall for his schemes. He's gone on to say that this is one of his finest achievements as a MC and I can see why.

10/10

13. Plastic Beach

Holy shit, they got the 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover guy on this track. Makes since because this, outside of Empire Ants, is my favorite song on the album. The harmony, the little imp they got for the bridge, the triangle...everything makes this song better than it has any right to be on an already awesome album. Damn, plastico indeed.

200/10

14. To Binge

Shock of all shocks, Yukimi's back! And it's a duet with Damon! And it's a song about a relationship torn apart by addiction! It's not my birthday so it must be Christmas. These two manage to drown the listen in waves of audio goodness that leaves them feeling like they spent 3 minutes and 56 seconds standing under a waterfall.

20/10

15. Cloud of Unknowing

Okay, I cried to this song. And now, with Bobby Womack's passing, I cry even harder. This song should be an anime ending with how solemn it is but you need to listen to the end to hear, "It may bring sunshine on its wings." Also, Damon covered this song live after Womack's passing. I suggest you look it up because it is tear-ripping.

50/10

16. Pirate Jet

Eh. Pretty average song compared to the others on the album but I appreciate the message. Sweet Lord, people. Turn off your shit when you're not using it. We only got one planet and I don't trust Elon Musk.

8/10

Album Score: 60.1/10

Whoo! No biases! Anyway, next week is The Fall, otherwise known as the album Albarn did on his Ipad. Otherotherwise known as the album a significant portion of the fandom has a hate-on for. Does it deserve the hate? We'll find out!

#gorillaz #plastic beach #music #review

[zuffer-weird-girl]

"No. Absolutely not. Cancel it." He growled while you made a hurt and desperate sound at the immediate answer of your boyfriend.

"Kai please! My sister don't have anyone else to take care of her kids, and she is desperate!" You pleaded while he only arched one eyebrow at you.

"Then she should had hired a babysitter. Not give trouble for their sibling." He scoffed and returned his attention to the papers in front of him.

You sighed out loud and burried your face a bit in your hands.

"Then I guess I'm sending her a message to take them to my old apartment instead..."

He stopped abruptly on his reading to look at you.

"That won't be possible either." He said nonchantly while you arched a eyebrow.

"W-why not?"

"I sold your apartment." He said normally whil eyou widen your eyes in horror at your boyfriend's words.

"wHAT?!" you almost shouted while he sighed for you to lower your tone of voice "K-k-Kai! Why?!"

"First, you are living in here long enough, so that place won't be useful for you anymore. Second, we were in need of money and I talked to you about it."

"I don't remember you saying ANYTHING about selling my apartment!" He lifted one finger for you to wait before showing you in his cellphone a chat that you two exchanged.

Damn your distracted brain...

"Why do we again need that much money?" You sighed in hopeless.

He... wouldn't talk much about that issue right now... he was first going to talk with Pops. Later you.

"Is just a project from the yakusa angel, nothing to fuss over with."

You sighed again before frowning at your cellphone nuzzling on the pocket of your jeans.

"Anyway. The kids and I are staying in here aparently."

You merely deadpanned at his glare before you heard a muffled honk from the outside.

"You know, I can talk with that sister of yours and then-"

"Kai, no. Thanks a lot, but no. I know how my boyfriend is." You giggled while he frowned and debated with himself if he should lock the door or not...

He never met those one, but... he wasn't a fan of children... in the slightest.

It didn't take much for you to enter house with one girl and one boy holding each hand of yours, the girl had a wary look on her face while clinging to you while the boy looked around with nothing but interest.

"Its such a big place in here auntie (Y/n)!" The boy exclaimed while you laughed at his energy.

"Alright guys, remembering that this house has extremely importance; and quite honestly I have no idea how your parents let me take care of you two in here; so please be careful alrighty?" You crouched down to be eye level with the children, teh girl nodded while the boy smiled and high fived your hand.

Kai watched with a wary look on his face your interactions, sighing in defeat and choosing to place his hands on his pockets and come to you.

"Ah! Kai!" You smiled at him while the boy chosed to tilt his head at him while the girl stared blankly at him back "Those two little precious thing are my nephews! (B/n) and (G/n)!" You looked at them back with a smile that made both ease a bit their nerves.

"I see. Just instruct them to not cause any messes. You know how much I despise it." He said nonchalantly while making his way out... only deadpanning when he heard the boy asking why he said that and you simply answered that he was a cleaning maniac.

He is going to have a long talk with you.

~

Your laughter along with the kids made him lose focus more than once...

What it was so fun about those little pests? Children are loud, annoying, never follow your orders correctly and dirty... he couldn't get why and even how you could be genuinely happy around one of those.

After two screams of the kids he made his way out, thinking about the worst and his heart almost jumped at seing you layed on the grass with eyes completely closed and the kids shocking you a bit.

"I told you it was a bad idea you idiot!" The girl said in irritation while she shook you and begged you to wake up.

"It was just to be a little scare! Not to make aunt faint!" The boy exclaimed while doing the same thing as his sister.

His jaw clenched as his hands turned into fists, already preparing to demand answers from those brats on what they had done with his angel before you suddenly opened your eyes and screamed to scare them.

"Ha! Think only you two can do pranks?! Take that then!" You grabbed both of the children and gave each one of them raspberries on their necks, the boy succumbed into laughter as the girl squirmed and begged for you to stop, trying her hardest to not laugh.

... huh. So he didn't needed to worry. The sign in front of him seemed almost... cozy even.

Wait... what?

~

He walked through the halls, screeching a bit his wrist from all of his writing before he heard your voice from the kitchen.

"So you kiddos want what for eating? Already warning that junk food is not a option..." he heard nothing for a bit seconds before you whined "I'm sorry! Please dont do the pouts! I can make something else though!"

"Oh!" He heard the boy's voice "I know something then!"

Curiosity spoked louder than his knowledge so he peaked a bit on the kitchen, enough to look but the necessary for not being caught.

"Peanut sandwich!" The boy exclaimed while the girl arched a eyebrow at him.

"Mommy doesn't let you eat those things." The boy pouted at her before making a 'shh' sound to her while she rolled her eyes at him.

"Thanks for the honesty (G/n). Mommy also told me this due to your allergy mister!" You poked teh boy's nose as he poked his tongue out with a smile.

"Hum..." you brought your hand and poked your chin a couple of times with your index finger a bit before snapping your fingers "How about some sandwiches that are not all boring healthy neither much junky then?"

The kids looked at eachother before nodding while you giggled at their actions and quickly made their specific ones.

He noticed that the girl was by one or two even years older than the boy, and was definitely more reserved than her brother while the boy was simply the energy itself. But even the two being so different, both widened their eyes in awe after they took their bites when you handed their lunches.

"Amazing auntie!" The boy exclaimed before unpolitely digging his food while the girl simply stared in awe.

"Aunt, please cook instead of my mommy. Please."

"God no." You said in exasperation "She might kill me for that sweetie, dont do that."

He smirked a bit at that as he made his way out with hands on his pockets.

"I can see that when we have children she is the one spoiling the brats..." he muttered to himself before abruptly stopping on his tracks and widening his eyes in horror of what he just said.

Him? You? Children? You guys weren't even marriage! Why the hell was he even speaking about damn brats?!

No way that you and him were going to have a kid. Those gave much work, planning and pacience-

"You kiddos want me to what?" His attention got back to you as he listened your voice this time coming from the living room... aparently you just got there since minutes ago you were in teh kitchen.

"Tell is a story!" The boy exclaimed while the girl hummed in agreement.

"You always comes with the best stories aunt, please?" Teh girl asked while he followed your voices, catching the you had sitted down and the kids on both of your sides.

"Alright then..."

You chosed a fairly tale, a not much know of but it was slightly impressive how calm and... gentle you were with your words, the way you carresed the kids hair was similiar with how you carresed his own hair on a bad day..

He never noticed neither catched that you looked like the best example of a... real mother. Caring and loving... his own mother he couldn't point neither convince himself of only one time that she acted like this way with him.

He had so many troubles with his biological... that he never thought that true love with a child was even possible. He owned his life to Pops, but the yakusa was almost deprived of womans, and even some of them were generally like their atmosphere. Rigg, cold, reserved...

Yourself acted like that as well when the necessary time came... but never with him. And aparently you loved your nephews to treat them like he did.

He immediately got out and walked through the houses with a frown on his forehead... thoughts of you holding a baby on your arms and being just as or even more gentle and lovingly with a child that was also... his. A child thhat he had no shame neither disgust to have with you...

Dear lord what was happening?! When his heart started to beat so fast? When he started to care for children in the first place?! God you two weren't even marriage why on hell he was-

"Chisaki?" He snapped from hsi thoughts to see Pops looking at him with a concerned face "My boy, I called you at least five times and you didn't even listened?"

"I'm sick." He said nonchalantly to the elder "I need to find a cure or a treatment."

The old man only got more concerned as he looked at his sucessor.

"What do you mean? You seem perfectly fine at least physically. What is the issue?"

"Ever since (Y/n)'s nephews got here it started." He brought his hand to hold his chin in thought "Maybe it was because of them... I'm not sure, they are too young to have a quirk so it's not that either."

"You're feeling like you have a fever then young man?"

"No. Is not that. Ever since they came I can't stop thinking of (Y/n) with a child on her arms, a toddler or even a infant. That looks like me and her, a mix or whatever."

The elder let out a disbelieving laugh which only triggered Chisaki even more.

"So you're telling me that you're having baby fever?" Thhe way Chisaki's eyes widen in horror were quite concerning for Pops and he almost went to speak if it wasn't-

"You're joking that is a actual illness... Fuck, I need to find a cure, buy it or something-"

"Kai. I raised you better than this... please." The elder interrupted while Chisaki only glared at the man, whose face was just as unimpressed as his.

#overhaul x reader #overhaul scenario #fanfic overhaul #overhaul #chisaki kai imagine scenario #kai chisaki x reader #chisaki kai x reader #chisaki kai #kai chisaki #bnha imagine #bnha characters #bnha villains #bnha x reader #bnha #my writing #zuffer writing

[d-xs]

PROMPT:

Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Catherine Todd

Warning: implied/referenced child abuse.

Jason Todd makes no attempt to eat his burger or even take a sip from his soda, despite the loud rumbling of his stomach. He clutches the bag tightly, bringing it closer to his chest when he sees Bruce staring, like he's afraid Bruce would take offense and demand his food back.

Bruce Wayne does not understand him. His threadbare clothes do nothing to hide the skin stretched over bones. He can see the outline of the boy's ribs through his red hoodie. He is clearly very hungry and going by the way he can't seem to take his eyes off the bag of fast food or even how he keeps taking lungs full of the aroma wafting from it, like if he breathes deep enough, he will be filled. He would bet his entire fortune that this kid has not had a good meal in weeks, or even months. Even one as unhealthy as greasy fast food.

The child is clearly starving. Yet, he has not made any attempt to help himself.

Bruce does not have any experience with poverty or homelessness. Even at the lowest point of his life, he had access to basic human needs. Still, he knows enough about human behavior to know that Jason's behavior right now is not the norm. When he gives a clearly starving person food, they usually devour it immediately.

There are only a few reasons why he would not want to eat the food he had enthusiastically accepted from Bruce. Either he plans to use the food as payment for his safety, in which case, Bruce needs to start looking into gangs exploiting kids, or he has someone, most likely a younger sibling in his care. Considering the fact that Bruce had caught him trying to jack off the fourth tire of the batmobile, after successfully getting away with the other three, Bruce is not sure what is most likely to be the case.

"You going to turn me in now?" Jason asks him, once Bruce's burger is out of sight.

"I promised you I wouldn't," Bruce tells him as earnestly as he can manage.

It doesn't convince the child at all.

"Yeah, right," he scoffs. "That's what you all say."

"Don't you think it would be counter-productive to have you arrested for trying to survive? I'm trying to make Gotham safe for kids like you, Jason. Not put you in jail. I might take you somewhere safe, so you don't have to keep living on the streets, but--"

"I'm not on the streets," Jason cuts in defensively. The fear and worry in his expression is clear now. "I live with my mom and we're fine. If you're not going to arrest me, then I'll be on my way."

A mom. Bruce can't decide if it's a euphemism for Boss. He has seen some awful things since becoming Batman. He also knows some parents take advantage of their kids and force them into crimes as a way to 'earn their keep'.

Jason is most likely taking the food to this person, if he's not eating it, and Batman needs to separate them if the child is being exploited.

The child doesn't wait for Bruce's response before he starts his trek back to the Narrows.

Making a snap decision, Bruce calls out to him.

"Common, I'll drop you off wherever you want," he says, knowing Jason would never let Batman drop him off at home. The child is too suspicious, and rightfully so.

Jason stops in his tracks, but he makes no attempt to accept Bruce's offer.

"It will be morning before you make it all the way across town," Bruce points out. "That's <i>if</i> you don't get attacked for the food."

With that, Jason agrees to let Bruce give him a ride.

Even though he was quiet for the first couple of minutes, Bruce could see the wheels turning in the boy's head. Jason has a very expressive face that tells Bruce he is gearing up to say something, as he takes in the interior of the batmobile.

Jason doesn't take as long as Bruce thought he would.

"You're probably rich, huh?" Jason observes.

Oh God, Bruce hopes this kid is not about to proposition him.

"Not really." Bruce's answer is terse to discourage further probing.

"So it's true what they say?" Jason continues, either missing Bruce's reluctance to continue with this conversation or ignoring it. "That you're fucking Bruce Wayne for money?"

If Batman didn't have such a tight rein on his microexpressions, he would have choked. "That's not language suitable for a child."

Jason turns in his seat so that Bruce doesn't miss the elaborate eye-roll.

"I guess you've had to pay informants, huh?" Jason asks. "You know, like in the stories, where a dude is rewarded for giving the cops valuable information for solving a crime. You do that?"

"Sometimes." Bruce is invested in where Jason is going with his questioning. "Why? Do you have information to sell?"

"Depends on your going rate," the boy sasses.

"And how much do you want?" Bruce asks.

"I read in the papers that the FBI pay up to a hundred grand," Jason shrugs. "Shouldn't be too much for you to match, seeing as you have a rich boyfriend."

"One hundred thousand dollars?" The only reason Bruce doesn't laugh is because he doesn't want Jason to think he's being made fun of.

That, and the possibility that Jason may be trying to get free from his abuser, by having Batman go after them.

"You really think your information is worth that much?" Bruce asks.

"You tell me, Batman." Jason shrugs again. "It was worth enough to cause a war between Penguin and Scarecrow. Enough to make my dad disappear, not that that's a bad thing."

Bruce doesn't think he's supposed to hear the last part, as Jason mutters it under his breath. But the cowl picks up the words clearly.

A criminal and/or abusive mother and mob affiliated but now absentee father. Bruce is debating calling Social Services.

He's also aware of the war between Penguin and Scarecrow. A few months ago, there were rumors of a collaboration between the two factions to take over Gotham, before accusations of betrayal.

If it wasn't for the lives being lost, Bruce would be grateful for their misunderstanding.

Still, a hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money for someone like Jason, and is most likely to draw the wrong attention.

"I'll give you five thousand," Bruce tells him.

"Out of a hundred? Are you really that cheap?" Jason snorts. "You roll around in a ride like this and can't even pay for information? Okay, I'll do you a favor and take seventy."

"Ten," Bruce counters.

"All you rich assholes like taking advantage of poor people," Jason grumbles angrily. When Bruce doesn't budge, he relents. "Fifty."

"Fifteen."

"Fifty," Jason repeats firmly.

"Alright, twenty five thousand dollars and that's my final offer."

"Deal!" Jason agrees immediately.

Bruce watches him spit on his palm before extending it to Bruce for a handshake.

"Come on," he urges when Bruce makes no attempt to shake his hand. "We gotta shake on it to seal the deal."

In the face of that logical argument, Bruce spits in his own hand before clasping it to Jason's in a handshake.

If Jason believes he has information that can help, then twenty five thousand dollars is not too much to pay someone who clearly needs it. The cash in the batmobile isn't up to the amount, but it should be enough to buy the time he would need to get the rest from the manor.

"Alright." He follows Jason's directions on where to park. "What's this information?"

"Wait here," Jason instructs him, undoing the seat belt. "I'll bring it to you."

Bruce gives Jason a minute head-start before he takes to the rooftops, to trail the young boy.

After a few twists and turns, he comes to a stop in front of a dilapidated building. A woman rushes out and pulls Jason into a hug.

"I've been looking all over for you!" she scolds. "Where were you? Chris said some man took you. Is that true?"

She is rail thin, her threadbare clothes hanging off her body, but she sounds genuinely distressed as she checks him for injuries.

"I'm fine, Mom," Jason says in comfort before shoving the food at her. "Look, I got us food and I found a way to get away from the men looking for dad."

The woman -- Jason's mom -- shoves the food back at him, before pulling him into an apartment with the door barely hanging on a hinge.

It's hard not to notice the woman's limp, or the way Jason supports some of her weight as they go.

Bruce takes a second to process everything.

Judging by the environment and what he's seen and heard, Jason isn't being abused, but he's in even more danger.

Whether he plans to pay off his father's debt with the money or not, Bruce knows he has to get mother and son away from this place before they end up as victims of mob violence. Whether Jason really does have information to sell or not.

With that, Bruce hops down to the street from his perch on the roof.

Despite how mindful he is of the door, the moment his fist to connects with the door, it falls off the hinge holding it in place, exposing Jason and his mother having either a very late dinner or a very early breakfast in their one bedroom apartment.

They both jump at the sight of him, and once realization dawns on them, their reactions are wildly different.

Jason's mom cowers with fear, shrinking into herself while attempting to wrap herself around her son, but Jason won't have it. He is livid.

"What the fuck, Batman!" the child hisses angrily. "I told you to wait for me."

"Jason, stop," his mother pleads, pulling Jason behind her.

The boy is unmoved. His mother's frailness is no match for his strength.

"You broke our door! Why the fuck would you do that?"

Despite his obvious anger, they're both careful not to raise their voices. Bruce imagines that getting a visit from Batman isn't a good thing in this neighborhood.

"Calm down," Bruce growls.

Both mother and son freeze where they stand.

"We didn't do nothing wrong, Batman," the lady tells him in a trembling voice. "If you're looking for my husband, we don't know where he is."

"I'm here for Jason," Bruce tells her, registering her distress just before he turns to Jason. "You were taking too long," he lies. "I wanted to make sure you were fine."

This seems to placate the boy a bit, but not his mother, who demands to know what the hell is going on.

Bruce watches silently as Jason explains his plans to his mother.

Apparently, his plan is to sell the information his father stole from Scarecrow to Batman, in exchange for money that will get them out of Crime Alley.

His mom doesn't look thrilled, but she lets Jason climb into the ceiling to retrieve what her husband had hidden there.

"You won't arrest him when you have what you want, will you?" she asks with a fierce look.

Bruce can't help but admire that about her. Not a lot of people have that look about them when Batman is staring them down.

Must be where Jason gets his spunk.

"Jason is a good boy," she continues. "He did a bad thing, but it was for a good reason. His heart is in the right place, I swear."

"Mrs Todd--" Bruce starts, but she interrupts him.

"Catherine."

"Catherine," he repeats. "I don't plan to arrest your son," he continues as calmly as Batman's voice will let him. "We made a deal and I intend to uphold my end."

"So you're just going to hand Jason twenty-five grand?" Catherine asks suspiciously. "Just like that?"

"Yes," he tells her simply. "But I don't have twenty-five thousand dollars in cash right now. I can give you a thousand tonight, and a safe place for the night. Seeing as I broke your door. Tomorrow, you will get the rest of the money and I will call someone to fix your door."

As he talks, he pulls out the bills from his utility belt and hands it to her.

Of course, he has no plans of letting them return here. But if he has learned anything from being Batman, it's that, sometimes, all some people have left is their pride.

Poor people hate being treated as charity.

Siccing Alfred on her would be more productive. All he has to do is make sure they meet. Dick would probably appreciate having someone young in the manor, too.

"And you swear Jason will be safe?" Catherine stresses, eyes flickering between the money and Bruce's face.

"I swear," he vows solemnly. That much, he can promise.

A few minutes later, Jason returns from the ceiling, an envelope clutched in his hand.

"Jason," Catherine calls softly, pulling him into her arms before he can give Bruce the envelope. "Baby, there's something I have to tell you about…"

#cara writes #ojtserversunday #Jason Todd #bruce wayne #catherine todd #Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne #Jason Todd & Catherine Todd #Catherine is a trying mom #She loves her son #Catherine Todd lives

[stovetuna]

I really want to ask for stevetony + Exes AU? I'm so weak for the pining and angst of the getting back together trope

same??? I know I shouldn’t but I am nothing if not weak. I hope you like it! I want to say this is 616, because Tony’s self-loathing here feels like peak 616!Tony to me, but not set at any specific point in time. 

- - -

For six months, nobody knew that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were dating.

Which means no one knows they broke up six weeks ago.

Looking back on it now, those six months were just stolen time, a pocket-life Tony knew he’d never get to live out to its fullest, but he likes to think he took advantage of every second of it.

That’s a lie. He wasted it. He knows that now, better than he’s known anything in his entire life, and that includes JARVIS’s coding and what it felt like when Obie forcibly removed the arc reactor from his chest. He spent six incredible, heartwarming, spine-melting, almost-picture-perfect months in a relationship with Steve Rogers, a man he’d been in love with for years before that, and no one knew about it. 

Because as it turns out, Tony Stark is a coward.

Tony puts down the razor and stares at himself in the mirror. A mask of dread with a freshly sculpted goatee stares back. It’s too early for that much feeling, but this is the position he’s put himself in.

It’s also his first day back in the city after spending the past six weeks in Malibu, “to make sure SI feels equally loved,” as he told the team at their last group dinner (while pointedly ignoring Steve sitting across from him at the table and the fact that even then he couldn’t not see the way the man’s face fell at the news). 

Obviously that’s only half of the story, but no one needs to know about how Tony spent most of those six weeks moping around in that big empty house wearing grubby shirts and eating pints of half-melted Half Baked ice cream out of the container (and then exercising himself sick to make up for it).

Now, he’s got a fresh full-body tan from time spent in the sun, a slew of new tech ideas for the team (including an infinitely better low-profile tracking device for Natasha, because who says he doesn’t do nice things for people), a mostly-rested brain, and a packed schedule that will allow for very little—if any—interaction with Steve. 

It’ll be fine, he tells himself, watching condensation streak through the remnants of steam on the mirror. This is just like any other breakup, only slightly complicated by the fact that he leads a team of superheroes with his ex, and was best friends with his ex for years before they got together, and still thinks the world of his ex, and still wants his ex, and is still madly in love with his ex. 

Just like he did in California, Tony doesn’t think about the bottomless pit of empty taking up valuable real estate in his stomach as he wanders from the bathroom and starts arranging himself into a vaguely Tony Stark-shaped person. 

Autopilot is as useful a function in the Iron Man suit as it is in the rest of his life, especially these past six weeks—buttoning his shirt, Tony notices but doesn’t worry about how he can’t feel the fabric under his fingers, or the pinch of his dress shoes as he pulls those on; the world has been slightly out of focus ever since he and Steve broke up, and the feeling of walking through life with only half the lights on upstairs and a black hole where his viscera used to be is all too familiar. 

It’s how he felt years ago, dying slowly, then quickly—not quickly enough—of palladium poisoning. 

The device that is keeping you alive is also killing you.

He chooses a pair of gunmetal grey sunglasses with fluorescent red lenses to go with the Tom Ford suit he somehow managed to put on right. Before walking out the penthouse door, Tony checks himself in the massive, frameless mirror: everything is in its right place. He looks like had a nice vacation and came home without a care in the world. He doesn’t look like a man who broke his own heart out of cowardice and is now walking through life with self-inflicted blood poisoning. 

If he tries hard enough, harder than he did back then, no one will notice anything is wrong. 

It’s just Tony’s luck that the first person he runs into is Steve, glowing from a workout (it’s Thursday, Tony remembers, which mea ns cardio and time on the heavy bag) and just as beautiful as the last time Tony saw him. 

“I’ll give you space, as much as you need, I promise. Trust me, this is for the best.” 

Steve’s not crying, but it sounds like a near thing. His face is drawn, flush with emotions Tony doesn’t want to read into, but even distraught Steve is still the most gorgeous thing Tony’s ever seen. Then Steve is reaching out with both hands and he has to back away. “Tony, just, wait—”

He looks almost small, vulnerable in a way Tony isn’t used to, and the only thing he really wants to do in that moment, standing in Steve’s bedroom surrounded by moving boxes (an hour ago they were getting ready to move in together—funny, how quickly things change), is take Steve into his arms and keep him there where it’s safe. But that vaguely possessive urge living constantly under his skin is what led to this, this crossroads which finds Tony doing the one thing he never wanted to do: “I can’t, Steve, I’m…I asked you for all the wrong things and now you’re miserable, and you—God, you of all people deserve happiness. The least I can do now is let you go so you can find it.”

Tony manages to say it without dying, which might be a miracle. He’ll call the pope later and ask. When he leaves Steve’s room, it’s to the miserable sound of Steve’s voice breaking in the middle of Tony’s name. By the time he shuts the door behind him, it’s too late to wonder if this is all a huge mistake, but Tony still feels part of his heart splinter off to stay behind with Steve, where it belongs.

Funny how after six weeks away with no contact of any kind, all that R&R and R&D and B&Js and G&Ts, one look at Steve is enough to put Tony right back where he started, heartsore and winded like the hurt is forcing the air from his lungs. 

Steve looks—he looks good, of course he does, but Tony was always especially weak for slightly disheveled and endearingly domestic Steve Rogers wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. It doesn’t help that Steve looks happy, like the past six weeks have done exactly what Tony dreaded and hoped they’d do when he broke up with him, like Steve’s had time to finally breathe freely, spread his wings a bit, experience the world in ways he never got to with Tony when they were together.

He looks lighter. Younger. Fuller. More. It’s enough to crush something in Tony that feels remarkably like one last ember of hope, the bitterly selfish hope that Steve was as wrecked by the breakup as Tony.

“Welcome back!” Steve says with a bright smile, wiping sweat from his brow with an end of the towel hanging around his neck. “How was California?” 

Tony is distantly aware of his mouth hanging open, but he’s too caught up in how awful he feels seeing that smile on Steve’s face to respond. He shouldn’t be surprised, after all, that Steve is happier not dating Tony—it’s why Tony broke up with him in the first place. Steve was miserable, and now he’s not. Mission accomplished. 

“Hey,” he finally manages to respond, even as he ducks out of Steve’s path toward the kitchen to make coffee (he’s already had a cup, but he needs to busy his hands and have something to look at that’s not Steve’s perfect fucking face). “California’s the same as it ever was. Rhodey says hi.” 

Behind him, Steve hums thoughtfully. “Hi, Rhodey,” he says, knowing Tony will pass it on, because of course Steve would, and of course Tony will. Tony scoops ground coffee from a bag, not caring which one he’s dipping into, and fills the bottom of the French press as the electric kettle comes to a hissing boil. 

“Anything happen while I was gone?”

When Steve speaks again, he’s much, much closer, and Tony wishes like hell that that didn’t make every single hair on his arms stand on end, that the low baritone of Steve’s voice didn’t make Tony shudder and want to bend himself over the counter. That part of their relationship is over. He has to move on.

“Not much,” Steve replies, easygoing, like having this conversation isn’t the last thing he wants to be doing this morning. Tony knows deep down that this is just Steve playing nice, doing his best to mend fences for the sake of the team. If possible, the knowledge just makes Tony feel worse, which he didn’t think was possible. “I’ve been working on putting together intel on possible new recruits, like we discussed. Want to take a look?” 

Like we discussed, he says, Tony thinks to himself as the kettle clicks off, ready to pour. Steve’s sense of diplomacy is truly on another level, considering how this exact topic of conversation came up in the first place. 

“I’m not saying we’re not enough, Steve,” he says, willing his hands to stay at his sides, “I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt to have more bodies on the team so that the next time we get hit with a Galactus or something like it, we’re not scrambling for reinforcements at the last minute.”

Steve, still sitting at the now-empty conference table, pinches the bridge of his nose and frowns. 

“What we need is for the team—our team—to work together better. We need to cultivate what we have, not pad the ranks and hope for the best.” 

“And we will! But we can also think ahead and save ourselves a lot of stress and pain and suffering down the line.” Tony knows his frustration has reached its boiling point the moment he snaps: “I mean for fuck’s sake, Steve, I thought you were good at multitasking.”

The look Steve gives him is dark, but not exactly angry. It’s the kind of look he gets whenever he wants to make Tony listen to something Tony thinks he doesn’t want to hear. Usually it involves compliments or Steve verbally placing value on Tony’s life. It also usually involves—

Tony isn’t surprised when he blinks and finds himself pinned to the wall, Steve fitting himself in the space between his thighs like he belongs there (which he does. He absolutely does). One month in and the experience of Steve manhandling him like a pro still hasn’t lost its electric thrill; if anything, it’s only gotten headier, more dizzying, the best high Tony’s ever experienced, and it’s heightened by the fact that he’s the only one who gets to have it. 

He opens up for Steve’s bruising kiss like he’ll die without it. Groaning, Tony falls deep into the pleasure of it, of Steve’s tongue fucking into his mouth like he owns the place, hot, wet suction unraveling any lingering arguments Tony might have. He throws his arms around Steve’s neck and a leg around his waist, a question in the gesture that gets answered immediately when Steve picks Tony up by his thighs and wraps both legs around his hips.

Everything is heat and the raw, jagged edge of their mutual frustration, Steve scrambling at the zips on Tony’s undersuit with fumbling fingers even as his clever tongue continues its single-minded precision assault on Tony’s. Tony whines when he feels the skin of his ass and thighs meet the open air of the conference room. They’re thousands of feet above ground aboard the helicarrier, about to fuck in a public space, and even as Tony moans lewdly at the thought of being discovered in flagrante delicto with Steve Rogers, a small and insidious part of him reels at it, desperate to keep this whole thing under wraps and to themselves. 

Steve is the best thing—person—Tony’s ever had. He’s been half in love with him for years and now, having him like this, Tony can’t believe how much time he wasted. Sometimes he catches himself thinking about how it’ll be when they’re old and grey and married, the soft domesticity of their well-deserved retirement, Tony working on vintage cars in the garage while Steve fills the top floor of a house with paintings, and it doesn’t scare him as much as it probably should. 

But he hasn’t told Steve how much the thought of going public scares him. How terrified he is of losing Steve to the rest of the world, which will tear them limb from limb the moment it learns of their relationship. The Stark PR machine will kick into overdrive to smooth things over, and on the surface everything will appear fine, but it won’t change the fact that they will never know privacy again; every photo taken of them in battle, out in the world, together or separate, will be subject to a level of scrutiny Tony knows only too well, but which Steve has never experienced. It’s horrible. Infuriating. Invasive, demoralizing, and not a little bit traumatizing. When Tony told Steve about Princess Diana’s death, long before any of this—them—started, he couldn’t wipe the memory of Steve’s devastated and furious expression from his mind for weeks.

They’ll talk, eventually. For now, Steve takes Tony apart with his fingers, slick with lube he keeps in his belt, his other hand curled over Tony’s mouth so he can press up hard against him and whisper things in his ear, dirty promises that make Tony’s toes curl: “Always like riling me up, don’t you, Stark,” he grunts, fucking his fingers up into Tony like it’s his job, slicking him inside and out and grinding the heel of his palm against the sensitive spot behind his balls on every third thrust until the only coherent thought running through Tony’s mind is Steve’s name. 

Silenced by the hand over his mouth, Tony expresses his feelings by pushing back against Steve’s hand in perfect synchrony as he squeezes his bared thighs against Steve’s waist, which, fuck, he’s still wearing the suit, they need to have post-mission arguments more often. “Yeah, that’s it,” Steve rumbles against his cheek, burying a third finger, thick and dripping into Tony’s ass as he does, “you just want me to fuck you like this all the time, don’t you? Keep you pinned and open so I can slide in any time I want.” Tony keens against Steve’s palm, nodding so hard he dizzies himself; Steve groans and moves his hand to open Tony’s mouth with his thumb. “Say it, Tony,” he orders, and that’s definitely his Captain America voice, fuck—

“Want you to keep me open,” he gasps, helpless to stop from drooling all over Steve’s thumb still perched on his bottom lip as his other hand drives Tony into a frenzy, hard and insistent but not hitting him where he needs it, it’s not enough, “never want you to stop fucking me, want you to fill me up until I leak, plug me u-up—ungh, fuck, Steve…”

“I would,” Steve says before kissing Tony again, slow and sensual the way his fingers aren’t, fanning out and plunging in again and again and again until Tony can feel how exposed he is, gaping and trembling and so, so wet. Steve’s still kissing him when he pulls his hand out and, after a moment’s fumbling, drops his belt and opens the front of his uniform pants. 

Tony moans into the scorching kiss when Steve drags the head of his massive cock through the lube dripping out of him, fisting the rest of his length with what’s left on his hand from fingering Tony open. “Can’t imagine a world where I wouldn’t want to,” he whispers, covering Tony’s mouth with his hand again as he guides his dick into that too-empty place inside Tony. He slides in, watching Tony’s face with a possessive gleam in his eye, cheeks and ears red with arousal and exertion. That hot, slick slide makes his head spin every time, the stretch an incontrovertible reminder that this is Steve, Steve who slots so perfectly into place like he belongs there, who fills Tony to absolute capacity and then fucks him so good it’s any wonder Tony can keep quiet. He holds Steve’s hand over his mouth and presses down to smother the noises leaking out him, high-pitched whines and gasps as Steve drives in deep and pulls out to the tip, looking down to admire the view with a dangerous smile before plunging back in hard and fast, pinging Tony’s prostate spot-on every time like it was a fucking doorbell. He does it once, twice, slow and steady as he considers the angle and the pace, watching his dick glisten before disappearing back into Tony’s all-too-willing-body, and then he gives Tony a look, and Tony knows he’s doomed. 

It’s quick and dirty and wet and Steve has to bite Tony’s neck to keep himself quiet; Tony hangs on for dear life as Steve bounces him ruthlessly on his cock, holding him up against the wall by the strength of his chest against Tony’s and his broad, heavy hand over Tony’s mouth and the constant, driving force of his hips as he fucks him. The belly of Steve’s uniform brushing up against the head of Tony’s otherwise untouched dick every time Steve plunges into him is the most erotic kiss, a damp buss of sweat and pre-come against kevlar and leather that sets every one of Tony’s nerve endings on edge.

“So good, Tony, oh, fuck—” Steve groans under his breath, palming Tony’s thigh before pulling the leg out wide to better accommodate his bulk. Tony can’t think; he can only barely remember to breathe. He might be making a noise, but if he is only dogs and supersoldiers can hear it, probably. What were they fighting about again? What’s his last name? The only word in his head is Steve, SteveSteveSteveSteveohfuckSteve…

“Take it so good, Tony, yes, baby, yes, yes…” Steve holds Tony close in his powerful grip as he comes, shaking and gasping, inside Tony’s ass. Tony can feel the throb of it against his rim, the heat and heft of Steve’s dick inescapably everywhere inside him, and then he keeps going, fucking Tony with his big, beautiful cock in a rapid battery of thrusts, loud and sloppy with his come, never letting up on Tony’s prostate even as he trembles and gasps against Tony’s shoulder like he’s just run a marathon. Tony’s eyes roll up inside his head. Everything is buzzing, his blood pure fire with the need to come; he hasn’t shot off untouched in years, but trust Steve Rogers to surprise Tony every which way from Sunday. Steve is whispering in his ear again, praising him as the fingers of his free hand drift down to feel where they’re connected, the froth of Steve’s come easing the roughness of that touch. Tony chokes on a cry. The knot of orgasm is right there in his pelvis—all Steve has to do is fuck him, there, right, there, yes, oh, fuck…

“So beautiful, Tony. Love watching you come for me.” 

Steve pulls his hand away as Tony comes and kisses him, swallows the desperate sounds of his orgasm like he’s starved for them. He keeps Tony pinned safely to the wall as Tony’s legs give out and shoots ropes of come all over his own chest. He’s shaking like a leaf from head to toe and can’t even muster enough bandwidth to feel shame—Steve loves it, after all, and says so, kissing the words one by one into his mouth like tiny prayers. Loves the way Tony lets go, loves how he trusts Steve like this, how he looks when all he can feel is the pleasure Steve gives him. 

“Could hold you like this forever,” he says, once Tony can open his eyes. Tony smiles, his bruised and tender lips straining: there’s a drop of come on the underside of Steve’s jaw. He brushes it off with a sigh and sucks it off his thumb. The glimmer of interest in Steve’s eye is echoed by the twitch of his cock, still buried hilt-deep in Tony’s ass. 

“Deal,” Tony hums, leaning forward to kiss Steve long and heartily, one last time before they have to go back out into the world and pretend this—their relationship—isn’t a thing that exists. 

They’ll talk, eventually.

Tony pours the hot water into the press and watches the grounds float up and swirl around in the dark. 

“Sure,” he says, not turning around to look at Steve, as much as he wants to. It’s for the best, he reminds himself for the thousandth time that day. The less he looks at Steve, the easier this will be for him. For both of them. “Send ’em through the server so JARVIS can throw them up for me when I get back to the lab tonight.” 

There’s a moment of silence so immense it’s any wonder Tony can’t hear his own heartbeat. Then:

“Tony.” Oh, no. He knows that ‘Tony,’ and it’s everything he can do to not shut his eyes as he braces himself for what comes next: “Could you—turn around?”

Steve doesn’t even have to use his Captain America voice to get Tony to do as he asks. By the end, it was like that all the time: Steve would ask, and Tony would oblige, and the ease with which they learned to communicate as a couple was unlike anything Tony could have hoped for, except for the part where Tony didn’t want to go public with their relationship and could never get Steve to understand why. 

Looking at Steve now, Tony withers, wishing the kitchen floor would open up and swallow him whole. Steve still looks a million times better than Tony feels, but there’s a pinching around his eyes that Tony recognizes as concern, and it shouldn’t make his heart sing to know Steve can still feel that about him, but it does. Backlit by the morning sun coming in unobscured through the mansion’s massive windows, Steve looks like an angel come to earth, bright and warm and golden. Tony feels small and twisted and hollow in comparison. Weak. A coward, who let this man slip through his fingers for fear of losing him later on down the line.

“Are you doing okay? I know we—things kind of…ended, abruptly.” Steve says the word ‘ended’ like it tastes bad. His face screws up like he’s sucked a rancid lemon. It’d be endearing if it wasn’t directed at Tony for Tony’s sake. “I’ve been worried about you.” 

Tony waves a hand at him, smiling beatifically like the words don’t make him want to drop to his knees and beg Steve’s forgiveness. 

“I’m fine, Cap,” he replies, not Steve, and even Tony can tell Steve is pained by the change of address by the way his fingers clench around the towel in his hands. “You?”

Steve visibly swallows. “I’m fine,” he says, and he sounds like it. He certainly looks like it, smiling like the free man he is. Fine might actually be the truth, in Steve’s case, even if it isn’t in Tony’s.

“Glad to hear it!” Tony almost shouts as he pivots back to his coffee, pressing down on the plunger too soon, but he’s so harried by being there in the kitchen with Steve on his first day back to worry about a weak brew. 

“Sir, I’m being told to remind you that your ten o’ clock is waiting for you at your office.” 

Tony winces. “What time is it, J?” 

“The time is currently ten twenty-nine.” 

“I’ll let you go, then,” Steve says, already leaving the kitchen before Tony can respond with anything. He manages to catch Steve’s eye as he waves back at Tony on his way out. He looks happy, Tony reminds himself. You let him go so he could be happy. You have to let him be happy.

The coffee scalds when he drinks it, but the burn is good. It reorients the pain currently trying to wring the blood out of Tony’s heart, gives him something to focus on that isn’t this unbearable, overwhelming sense of regret. Heat to burn away the creeping chill that breaking up with Steve was the biggest mistake Tony’s ever made in his life. 

After four months of pushing the conversation off for another day, four months of dating in secret—sneaking touches when the others have their backs turned, never spending the night in each other’s beds even after bouts of sex so intense they can’t remember how their legs work, pretending not to care more than is reasonable when one of them goes down in a fight—Steve finally sits Tony down and asks him why. 

Or, more accurately, he makes love to Tony slowly and sweetly for what feels like hours, until Tony is literally crying from pleasure and the overwhelming need to come, and then when Tony finally, finally breaks and whispers that magic word, “Please,” Steve bends him almost in half with a groan that shakes the bed and then plows home until Tony is sobbing and tearing the sheets as he comes. 

Then, when they’re both sated and clean and curled up on the dry side of Tony’s California King, Steve places a hand on Tony’s stomach. Tony can feel it shaking, and he knows what Steve’s about to say. 

“I want to tell the team.” 

Tony closes his eyes and groans. “Steve…” 

“Please, Tony. We need to have this conversation. We should have had it ages ago.” 

So much for enjoying the afterglow. Tony sits upright in bed, warmed by Steve’s hand coming to rest on his thigh. The other man stays laid out next to him, looking up at Tony like he’s his guiding light when all Tony’s done is drive him to this point: Steve, nervous, looking guilty for asking for something of Tony he doesn’t have the courage to give. 

“I just…you remember, when I told you about Princess Diana?” 

Steve looks confused for a moment. When understanding sets in, smoothing his features out to an expression of wary comprehension, Tony feels a rush of love so intense he has to lie back down just to keep the blood from rushing to his head. Steve Rogers is so much smarter than anyone gives him credit for. It’s Tony’s second favorite thing about him. 

“You’re worried I’m going to get killed being chased by paparazzi?” He says, moving in close and reaching out for Tony’s hand. Tony takes it, weaves their fingers together in a perfect fit. He stares at Steve’s fingers instead of looking him in the eye. Steve’s fingers are his fifth favorite thing about his boyfriend. 

“In a sense,” Tony replies. “I’m worried about what happens to us when ‘us’ no longer involves you and me, but everyone—the team, Pepper, the board, the government, our enemies…I’m worried that once the press gets a hit of us, they’re going to drain us dry, and all of it—the gossip, the speculation, the invasiveness…it’s going to drive us apart.” 

“Tony,” Steve sighs, leaning forward to kiss Tony’s forehead. Tony can’t help but press into the gesture. He can feel Steve’s lips curve up in a smile when he does. “You’ve been holding on to this all this time?” 

“It’s a valid concern, Steve.” 

“Maybe,” he replies. “And maybe it’s something you could have discussed with me before unilaterally deciding to keep our relationship a secret.”

There’s a deep undercurrent of hurt in Steve’s voice, and Tony would beat himself with the Hulk’s fist if Steve would let him for putting it there. Tony wills himself to meet Steve’s gaze then—even in the semi-darkness of his bedroom, light seems to spill out of Steve. His eyes are bright and focused, tracking Tony’s face like he’s reading a tactical map. Naked, post-coital glow is a good look on Steve, as is pretty much anything, if Tony’s being honest. 

“Can you blame me?” 

“Tony,” Steve sighs again, like it pains him, and Tony winces at that tone coming out of Steve’s mouth. “I wish you loved yourself half as much as you love me.” 

Wow. “Wow,” Tony says, jerking backward like Steve just gut-punched him. Already Steve is scrambling, tangling his legs up in Tony’s expensive sheets as he sits upright. 

“That’s not—hell, Tony, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“And how did you mean it, Steve?” 

“I just…you think this hasn’t crossed my mind before? Going public and losing our privacy in the process? You’re talking like you’ve already decided that the end of our relationship is inevitable because the world is going to drive us apart, and I know the reality is something else, something you feel like would be your fault, and I don’t like you thinking so little of yourself that I would let that happen.” 

Tony gapes up at Steve, floundering like a fish for words that won’t come. Steve bends over him, brushing their lips together in the gentlest caress of a kiss in order to kickstart Tony’s brain. 

“Just talk to me, Tony.” 

Tony places a hand over Steve’s heart to feel it beating. It’s comforting in a way nothing else is. His heart’s far and away Tony’s favorite thing about Steve Rogers. 

“It’s—this is my whole life, Steve,” he says. At Steve’s confused expression, he goes on: “The press. The world, thinking its owed every piece of your life story, including and especially the things you’re still trying to work through.” He thinks back to when he read an article about Sunset Bain shortly after her betrayal, an “investigative exposé” on their relationship and her seemingly-overnight rise to success. It was tabloid pablum, at best, but it still scraped at something raw and vulnerable in Tony. Or, even worse, the explosion of press following his parents’ death, the countless headlines, the day-in, day-out of it all, phone calls and bell ringers and paparazzi camped outside the tower. The cumulative effect put a stop to a healing process that had barely begun, and Tony was still dealing with the fallout of that. 

“I’m also terrified you’ll wake up one day, look out the window and see a throng of paparazzi outside waiting to grill you about the latest cheating scandal or accuse you of abusing me because someone saw bruises on me after I fought a Skrull wearing your face, and you’ll decide you don’t want to put up with any of it anymore.” Tony takes a deep breath. “But all of that? That comes with me, Steve. I wish it didn’t. You can’t know how much I wish it didn’t. But that’s the reality we live in, and I wanted—I just wanted to keep you to myself for as long as possible, before they got their hooks in you and you decided I wasn’t worth it.”

Steve looks at him for a long time and doesn’t touch. He stays in place, leaning over Tony, one hand next to Tony’s head, the other trapped underneath it, and just reads Tony like the open book he’s revealed himself to be, cowardice and all. When the silence reaches the point of suffocation, Tony lets his hand fall from Steve’s chest. 

That’s that, then. 

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” he says, moving to work his way out from under Steve when the other man stops him with a hand on his hip. Tony pauses and looks up, sees Steve staring down at him with all the love and consternation Tony’s used to seeing there in his smiling blue eyes. 

“Stay,” Steve whispers before leaning down for a kiss. Tony gives it to him. He’d give him everything if he could. He’s helpless to do anything else, not when he loves Steve Rogers this much. 

Tony finishes his meeting with the clean energy consultant—an engaging, exciting discussion about bringing arc reactor tech and associated jobs to underserved communities in the mid-west and Appalachia, for starters—just in time for a text from Rhodey: Don’t turn on the news. 

He’d just managed to scrounge up a good mood during that meeting. It would be a shame to ruin it so soon. Naturally, he does exactly what Rhodey told him not to do and turns on the TV in his office. He does it expecting reports of a stock drop, or Stark weapons being sold on the black market. He doesn’t expect to come face to face with footage of Steve laughing freely with his arm around Sam Wilson’s shoulders, Sam’s hand wrapped snug around Steve’s bony hip, the two of them walking together down 5th Avenue in the sunshine.  

The entertainment “news” “reporter” says this footage was taken minutes ago on a bystander’s cellphone. Tony sinks into a chair in front of the widescreen TV, helpless to stare as he watches the 15 second clip repeat itself over and over as the airbrushed talking heads gush and gossip about Sam and Steve, two all-American good guys making up the hottest couple since sliced bread. 

Of course Steve would end up with Sam, Tony thinks. Sam is the kind of good Tony could never hope to be—no blood on his hands, at least not like Tony has and can never wash off, no matter how many lives he saves. He’s Steve’s age, and smart, and stable, and trustworthy down to his core. He’s also hot as hell, Tony can easily admit, even if Steve burns hotter than anyone who enters his orbit. Tony once joked with Steve that Tony was the ugly one in their relationship, but Steve’s sour expression had stopped Tony from expanding on that particular line of self-deprecating humor.

And, god, when did Steve ever laugh like that with Tony? Sometimes he got close, coming up with little bon mots that made Steve throw his head back and guffaw, but that beaming smile and the way his laugh booms and echoes across bustling 5th Avenue is unlike anything Tony ever saw when he and Steve were together. 

He looks relaxed and happy in all the ways he never was with Tony. Because you never let the world see you together, a little voice reminds him. It sounds remarkably like JARVIS. Steve deserves happiness. It’s why Tony let him go. After their heavy-duty pillow talk (and another memorable round of lovemaking, with Tony taking the reins and fucking Steve on his stomach through the mattress until he was crying and begging for release), he’d asked for a little more time to work through his issues. Steve, ever the patient boyfriend, had granted it to him. Tony had offered up moving in together as a compromise, which had thrilled Steve endlessly. But when two weeks became a month, and a month became two, and Steve’s mood only soured further and further until every conversation became an argument and every argument ended in slammed doors and heavy silence, it became clear to Tony that this wasn’t an issue he was going to be able to work through in time to keep Steve, keep him happy, keep him his. 

So he let him go. And now Steve’s with Sam, who’s seized the opportunity to show Steve off to the world, and who can blame him? If Tony had been stronger, more self-assured, more defiant of the assumptions placed on him by the world around him—if he’d loved himself even half as much as he loved Steve Rogers—that would be him taking Steve shopping, making him laugh and smile as he tucked his hand around that lovely hip and held him close while the world watched on in envy. 

But he was a coward, and now he’s watching footage of Sam on a date with Steve play on a loop while vapid, boneheaded commentators speculate about their relationship. 

Tony’s phone buzzes again with another text from Rhodey. I told you not to watch. 

He tosses the phone away and buries his face in his hands with the beginnings of a sob, a sound he chokes down like the booze he kind of wishes he still drank. He’s not proud of the thought, but the misery of truly losing Steve—and any hope of fixing what he broke between them—has opened a window to everything he’d ignored while in Malibu, sunning himself and pretending he hadn’t wounded himself beyond repair. 

Tony leaves the TV on, hunches over on himself, and just as he’s about to let the tears fall, an obnoxious beeping rouses him. 

“Wha—?”

“Sir, there are reports of an attack on 5th Avenue,” JARVIS announces. Dread drops a block of ice down Tony’s throat, so cold and horrible it almost freezes him in place. What if Steve…

Tony is up and calling the suit before the thought can finish itself. It’s waiting for him in the lobby by the time he steps off the elevator, rushing to fill the vacancy as panic claws at his throat. “J, cross-streets.” 

“The Wrecking Crew are currently being engaged at the intersection of 5th and 26th.” 

Engaged is a nice euphemism for attacking, and Tony knows without having to ask JARVIS that the focus of the attack was on Steve and Sam, whose location was just broadcast to the entire world. 

He flies faster than he’s technically allowed within city limits, but the law can wait. Steve’s life can’t. Unlike the armor, Steve can’t call his uniform to himself, nor can Sam sprout wings and fly them out of there at the drop of a hat; they’re two against four heavy hitters, and as much faith as Tony has in Steve and Sam’s abilities, those are odds he’s not willing to gamble on. 

“For the last time, Tony, I’m alright.” 

“Oh yeah, Cap? Tell that to the eighteen inches of rebar SHIELD medical just had to surgically remove from your thigh.” 

Steve is struggling to sit upright in his hospital bed, one leg fixed firmly in place by a mummy’s worth of bandages. Tony keeps himself to the far wall so he can look at Steve—alive, thank Odin and Thor and any other Asgardians whose names Tony can’t remember—and not be tempted to touch him, hold him, kiss him like he wants to, has wanted to for years and has never admitted to. It’s hard to keep himself away when Steve almost just died, but he manages. He always does.

“Did everyone make it out okay?” Steve grunts. Tony knocks his head back against the wall hard enough to hurt.

“You got everyone out before you let the building fall on you, remember? Oh, of course you don’t, because a whole building fucking fell on you while you were still in it!” 

“Tony…” Steve is squinting and holds a hand up to his head. Tony didn’t even consider Steve’s concussion when he started shouting, fuck. 

“I’m sorry, Cap—fuck.” He wipes a hand down his face. “That rebar missed your femoral artery by a quarter of an inch. You’ve got a concussion and broken ribs and the only reason you’re still alive is because of the serum. Watching—ugh, I need to sit down for this.” 

Tony takes the shitty plastic chair next to Steve’s bed and sits down hard enough he wonders if it will break. He’s close enough now to see the mottled bruising that’s made an Impressionist painting out of Steve’s handsome, perfect face, but somehow the discoloration doesn’t detract from the beauty of this man. It just makes him seem more human—precious, even. Tony folds his hands in his lap and does not look at Steve’s hand hanging over the side of the bed in front of him.

He draws a deep breath and lets it out with a rush of words: “Watching you almost bleed out on the street was the most awful thing I’ve ever seen, Steve. The thought of losing you was even worse. So don’t tell me you’re alright when you’re not, because I’m definitely not alright, and I wasn’t just shish kabab’ed by a rusty piece of metal through the thigh.” 

Steve hums thoughtfully, like he always does when he’s thinking something new and meaningful for the first time. Tony looks up and catches his eye, or rather Steve catches his—like a fish on a hook. When his lips turn up in a knowing smile, Tony knows something is up.

“You called me Steve.” 

“Uh,” Tony frowns, “Yeah, ‘cause it’s your name.” 

“You must have been really scared if you’re upset enough to use my name.” 

“Don’t tease me, Cap. I don’t respond well to teasing.” 

Steve’s eyes light up with something Tony might hazard to call joy. 

“And what do you respond well to?” 

Tony looks at Steve, then at Steve’s hand, which has turned upside down, fingers hooked ever so slightly inward—an invitation if Tony’s ever seen one, and he’s seen more than his fair share. He stands up from his crap chair and steps in close enough to breathe Steve’s air and feel the warmth—the life—radiating off of him like rays off the sun. Steve looks like hell, beaten and bruised and only a couple hours removed from standing at Death’s door, and Tony has never seen anything more beautiful. Steve’s resilience is a wonder to behold, let alone draw from. It’s his…fourth favorite thing about him. 

But can it really be this easy? 

Tony opens his mouth and says it. “Positive reinforcement?” 

Steve’s answering smile cracks his lips again from where they split during the battle, but Tony is too caught up in kissing them—kissing Steve—to care. And then Steve takes his hand and holds it, and Tony vows then and there to never, ever let go. 

The HUD is a brightly colored mess of information: live police reports from the ground, vital signs of wounded civilians, schematics of every building between 28th and the Flatiron, but all Tony needs to know is where Steve is, and if he’s okay. 

Please, please be okay. 

He dials into the Avengers main comm line as he scans each building for heat signatures. “Cap, pick up.” 

“Tony!” Steve’s voice comes through loud and clear and audibly relieved, which melts some of that frozen terror still lodged in Tony’s chest. “124 5th Avenue—we managed to lure the Crew down to the basement, but—” Steve’s report cuts off with a startled, agonized cry. Tony curses and heads for the address, flying right through the front entrance (which isn’t really an entrance anymore so much as a giant hole in the wall) and dropping down through the gaping hole in the center of top floor all the way to the basement. The Wrecking Crew did some heavy damage in a short amount of time, as is their way, but Tony isn’t worried about the bill right now.

“Cap!” 

A sound like a hammer on an anvil echoes through the basement, followed shortly by another cry. Angry, this time, not at all like Steve’s. Tony floods the place with light from the armor, both arms up and ready for action, drawing the attention of the four behemoths fighting blind all the way in the back. 

“Candygram for Mongo,” Tony chirps as Thunderball takes a running start at him. He brings him down with a power-dampening electric net, which drops him like a sealed sausage onto the cold basement floor. Bulldozer is next, rushing Tony on his left flank while his hand is down. Classic mistake, thinking that just because Iron Man’s gauntlet is down he’s defenseless: Bulldozer takes a swing and clips Tony’s shoulder, which only unbalances Tony for a moment before he recovers and fires a volley of flares right into Bulldozer’s masked face. 

Bulldozer roars and backs away, tears streaming as he tries to see his way past the fiery sparks. 

“Cap, report!” 

“Over here, To—agh!” 

Fuck, no. Tony shackles Bulldozer with twin sets of reinforced power-dampening manacle and leaves him writhing on the floor in pain next to Thunderball before going off into the dark expanse of the old basement in search of Steve. Sam he finds on the way, locked in hand-to-hand combat with Wrecker—Tony pauses on his way to Steve to knock Sam’s opponent out with an iron hand to the back of the skull. 

“I had him!” Sam shouts, even as relief washes over his strained features. Iron Man shrugs, hovering a few inches above concrete. 

“You can take all the credit,” Tony says. He tells himself it doesn’t come out as bitter and envious as he feels, knowing that Sam has what Tony was fool enough to let go of, but now’s not the time for any of that. He jets off to look for Steve, Sam in hot pursuit; the basement is a labyrinth the further in they go. Old brownstones and their ridiculous planning are the bane of Tony’s existence, both as a landlord and as a superhero currently trying to find his ex-boyfriend in the maze of bricks. 

He banks hard around a corner when he hears Steve curse, gauntlets up so he can see: Piledriver at Steve’s back with an arm around his neck, and even against Steve’s considerable size the guy looms large, threatening the choke the life out of Steve with a smile on his face.

“Ah, there’s your knight in shining armor!” Piledriver cackles, squeezing his arm harder around Steve’s neck. Steve is turning purple, scratching and kicking at the body behind him to no avail. It’s hard to get a good shot in a dark, contained space like this—a bullet might ricochet and hit Steve, or Sam, and absolutely no way in hell is he firing off a bomb down here. Tony doesn’t linger on the knight in shining armor comment. He lowers his hands, repulsors whining as they power down. 

“What do you want, Piledriver?” God, seriously, the names these schmucks come up with…

“Just waiting for the cavalry to arrive!” With a bloody grin, Piledriver reveals his other hand: in it, an old Stark bomb that went off the market years ago. 

That cold block in Tony’s chest spreads to his extremities. Oh no. 

“Alright, Piledriver. You let Captain America and Falcon go, you can have me. Deal?” 

Steve struggles harder, gritting his teeth against the pressure cutting off his air supply. Piledriver holds the bomb out to his side, cackling again—that manic laugh always unsettles something in Tony. All he has to do is drop the bomb on its tail to hit the pressurized switch and in seconds, they’re all goners. The only good news is that the blast radius itself isn’t significant: if he can get Steve and Sam far enough out of the way, that should be enough to save them. 

“JARVIS,” he says, switching over to private comms, “single shot to the head should do it.”

“Sir—”

“Now, J.”

The concealed gun in Iron Man’s shoulder appears with a hiss of metal—the bullet is out in less than a second, hitting Piledriver square in the center of the head. It’s not enough to kill him, but it dazes him long enough for Steve to escape his grasp and knock him back with an elbow to the sternum. Tony rockets forward and grabs Steve, one eye still on Piledriver behind him. 

“Tony!” Steve rasps, holding onto the suit like a lifeline. 

“Falcon!” Tony shouts. Sam appears from behind the corner. “Go long, and take care of him.” 

Even in the HUD display, Steve is the most beautiful thing Tony’s ever seen.

“Tony, what—”

Without another word and with all the grace of a major league pitcher, Tony pivots and launches Steve bodily at Sam, who catches him in his arms in a full bear hug before hauling him around the corner behind the brick wall. By the time Tony turns around, Piledriver’s hand has gone slack. 

The bomb drops. In the spare second he has to react, Tony grabs Piledriver and hurls him across the room, mostly out of harm’s way, then launches himself on the bomb just as it hits the floor. 

Even as the world whites out in a deafening blast of fire and stone, Tony thinks he hears Steve screaming his name. 

I really do love him, Tony realizes, watching from his spot at the breakfast bar as Steve busies himself removing an entire cookie sheet’s worth of bacon from the oven. The oven mitts are the same shade of blue as Steve’s uniform and dotted with little shields, a novelty gift he bought Steve years ago that apparently has yet to yield the desired levels of embarrassment Tony had originally hoped for. He’s also wearing nothing but boxers and a white cotton tank, showing off the mountain range that is Steve’s shoulders to their fullest effect. 

“How many pieces do you want?” 

“How many you got?” 

Steve laughs. “Enough for you, anyways.” He’s still glowing with happiness, hair mussed, pillow lines still etched into his cheek. They took a risk last night—slept together in Tony’s big bed and woke up to the sun shining through the bedroom window and an empty mansion. Steve was so excited, he could hardly wait for Tony to get his bearings before he was slipping underneath the covers and taking Tony into his mouth. 

For once, Tony didn’t worry about how much noise he made in bed. 

Now, he gets to reap the benefits of one of his favorite aspects of Steve Rogers: his enviable cooking skills. There’s bacon and eggs and waffles and whipped cream and homemade blackberry jam and lemon butter and toast. It’s enough to feed the Avengers twice over, which means it’s just enough for Steve, and more than enough for Tony. 

They eat together side by side, playing footsie under the counter even though there’s no one here to see them, giggling like naughty schoolboys as they lick cream and jam off each other’s lips and fingers between bites of actual food. Steve still has a lot of eating to do even as Tony’s finishes, but that doesn’t mean Tony has to leave his mouth unoccupied in the meantime. 

He says as much, and Steve’s eyes darken to that perfect shade of dark blue. He spins his seat around just enough for Tony to fit between his legs and still be able to eat off his plate. Before Tony starts to kneel, Steve drags him in for a buttery lemon kiss that almost makes Tony think twice about going anywhere that isn’t Steve’s lips. He steadies himself with both hands on Steve’s massive thighs, being careful of Steve’s freshly-healed puncture wound, before using one hand to take Steve’s cock out. Steve’s had two orgasms this morning already, but he’s hard and hot and leaking like they never stopped. 

“God, I love you,” Tony gasps before licking into Steve’s mouth. He fits in Tony’s hand like he belongs there, big and hard, hot and wet. Tony works him slowly, firmly, the way he’s learned Steve likes: thumbing the frenulum in little circles until Steve is shuddering and making soft little ‘uhn-uhn-uhn’ sounds in the back of his throat, then slicking the shaft with pre-come with long passes of his palm and then taking him fully in hand to fuck him hard and fast within the tight circle of his fingers. Tony’s calluses bump over the gorgeous, pronounced vein in Steve’s dick, and Steve whimpers like he’s being driven out of his mind with pleasure every time they do, right into Tony’s waiting mouth. 

Finally, Tony starts to pull away from Steve so he can kneel and put his lips to better use, but Steve groans and wraps a hand around Tony’s wrist as he jacks him, stopping his descent by pressing a desperate kiss against Tony’s lips with a whine and gasping: “Please—stay up here. Stay with me.” 

Steve is so sweet like this, rumpled and needy and moving his hips into Tony’s touch with little hitching breaths, faster and faster as Tony speeds up his strokes. Tony says it, says I love you Steve, always loved you, always will, love you, love you, his hand a noisy blur over Steve’s big, slick cock, his own head cradled delicately in Steve’s big, soft hands as Steve kisses him and kisses him and kisses him like this is everything he’s ever wanted, ever needed, ever will. 

His thigh is shaking violently under Tony’s hand. Steve’s cock swells and he moans into Tony’s mouth, pulling his face even closer to him by the scalp. “Love—oh god, Tony, I love—I love you,” he says, voice watery, breaking as he tips over the brink headfirst into orgasm, “Don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop, I love you, love you, love you—” 

One day, Tony will let Steve shout it from the rooftops—when he does, he’ll be right there next to him. 

If there’s beeping, Tony thinks, he must be in Hell. That’s the only possible explanation for it. It doesn’t cross his mind that he’s in a hospital until he hears a sound like a relieved gasp somewhere out there where the world isn’t pain and nausea and everything spinning in the wrong direction. 

“Augh, fuck.” 

“Try—oh thank God, try not to move, Tony, hold on.” There’s a hand cradling the back of his head, all of a sudden, and a cold plastic cup is being pressed to his lips. Ice chips, he realizes. He remembers cold, a freezing sensation, terror, Sam, Steve—

“Steve…” 

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.” Steve urges him to eat some of the ice chips with gentle nudges of the cup against his mouth. Tony obliges him, because of course he does. The water soothes his sore throat and clears the fog from his brain a little, enough to get a better sense of his surroundings. 

He’s in a SHIELD recovery room. Nothing is immobilized, which means nothing’s broken, which is a relief. He can hear and see, but his head hurts like a building fell on it. 

“That’s because it did,” Steve tells him. 

Oh. “Was I talking out loud again?” 

God, he missed Steve’s laugh, especially his Yes, I’m laughing AT you, Tony chuckle. He also missed that gentle brush of fingers against his forehead, right under his hairline, the way Steve knew exactly how to gentle Tony with his touch and voice and presence. 

“I missed you too,” Steve says. Tony blinks but still can’t really see straight. Those bricks really packed a wallop. “Rest, Tony. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

True to his word, when Tony wakes again, Steve is there, sitting in the same crappy plastic chair Tony sat in last time and holding Tony’s hand, watching him come to like Tony is something magical to behold. 

“Hey, mister,” Steve smiles. His eyes are red but otherwise clear. “How’s your head?” 

Tony winces. “Harder than it looks.” Steve laughs, so, mission accomplished there, but he won’t let go of Tony’s hand. If anything, Steve just draws closer, brushing his thumb against the back of Tony’s hand like a metronome. 

“Doctor says you can come home in the morning,” he says in a low voice. The lights are dim, Tony notices, and the blinds are shut. There are more ice chips on the table next to the bed, which Steve hands to him without prompting.

Swallowing around the nameless knot in his throat, Tony blinks up at Steve and asks, “How’s Sam?” 

Steve smiles. “Sam’s fine. A little pissed off at you for not giving him enough of a heads up before you threw me at him like a glorified football, but he’ll live.” 

Tony’s relieved, of course he is, but the knot in his throat starts to taste sour the longer he thinks about Sam waiting up at home for Steve while Steve fusses over Tony, who only has a concussion and a broken heart to show for having a building dropped on his head. 

This time, he manages to keep all that to himself. Instead, Tony cracks a little smile and says, “Good. That’s…that’s good.” 

Steve, however, looks puzzled. “You told him to take care of me.” 

“I did? When?” Tony wheezes. He occupies himself and his mouth with ice chips and doesn’t look Steve in the eye when he answers: 

“Right before you launched me at him.” 

“Like a glorified football?” 

Funny, the room has stopped spinning, but Tony still feels off-kilter, like everything is a little unbalanced. Or maybe that’s just Steve, and the way he’s looking at Tony, hard and scrutinizing but relieved. Tony’s felt the same relief before, with Steve—the knowledge that despite a dangerously close call, the man he loves most in the world is still alive, and is here with him, despite everything. 

“Tony,” Steve says, leaning closer, squeezing Tony’s hand, “I’m not with Sam.” 

Oh. “Oh. No?”

“No, Tony. And to spare you the suspense, I think the cat’s out of the bag in terms of you and me.” 

“Uh. What?” 

That cold feeling floods him again, freezing his heart in place as Steve reaches for the TV remote. The screen flickers on, vibrant colors taking shape as a reporter recounts the events of that afternoon’s attack by the Wrecking Crew and how Iron Man saved the day. The footage captures the moment the bomb exploded, windows blowing out onto the street and the structure collapsing into a heap of rubble and brick dust; it had been fully evacuated by the time Tony showed up on the scene, apparently, and thank goodness. 

But what steals the show isn’t the bad guys being paraded out into the waiting SHIELD trucks, still immobilized by Tony’s tech—it’s Steve, carrying Iron Man out onto the street in a bridal carry while Sam waves bystanders back. Both of them are covered in dust, but Steve catches the camera’s particular attention: it zooms in on his dusty face, which is streaked with crisp lines of tears as Steve lowers Iron Man onto the pavement and rips off his faceplate. The camera is too far away and there’s too much ambient noise to hear it, but Tony can see Steve’s mouth shaping itself around Tony’s name, can see him gritting his teeth as he begs Tony to wake up and cries all the while like his world is ending. 

Paramedics rush in even as Steve bows his head to Tony’s chest, palm covering the arc reactor in a vice as they try to pull Tony away from him. They’re trying to move him away gently, but Steve is inconsolable, throwing hands and spitting mad, all but launching himself at anyone who dares put a hand on Tony. 

Unwittingly, Tony squeezes Steve’s hand, just to know he’s okay. They’re okay. 

The reporter is breathless as she gives the play-by-play of everything that happens next on screen: Tony’s helmet coming off in Steve’s hands, Steve sobbing openly over his unresponsive body, Steve leaning down and kissing him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, right before Sam and Thor come up behind him and pull him away so the paramedics can get to work. 

Steve turns off the TV with a sigh. “It’s been playing nonstop for almost twenty-four hours,” he says. He won’t look Tony in the eye. “I’m sorry.” 

“What—” Tony’s brain is still rebooting, recovering from the concussion and now trying to parse what he thinks his eyes just saw. “Why are you sorry?” 

Steve looks at their hands where they’re joined next to Tony’s thigh on the hospital bed. Tony can’t help but think how much better it would be if they were at home, in bed, together. 

“We broke up because you didn’t want the world to know about us,” Steve grumbles. “Now everyone definitely knows, and it took you almost dying for them to find out.” 

He sounds—god, he sounds miserable, is what he sounds like. Tony can sympathize, since he feels just as awful, and that was before he jumped on a bomb to save Steve’s life. 

The good news is, he and Sam aren’t dating. So. 

“I’m sorry, Steve.” 

“Don’t be, it’s my fault for losing my head. Heat of the moment, you know how it goes.” 

“Yeah, I do.” Tony squeezes his hand again, hard so Steve will look at him. He loves it when Steve looks at him—no one’s ever looked at Tony the way Steve does. He can’t even quantify it with words. There’s just Steve, and the way Steve looks at him, and Tony knows he’d do anything to keep Steve looking at him like that. Like Tony is everything, the way Steve is to Tony. “But I’m sorry, because I should have told the world about us ages ago.” 

Steve blinks. Even struck speechless and dumbfounded, Steve is the most gorgeous thing Tony’s ever seen. 

“What about your issues?” 

Tony husks a laugh. When the coughing subsides and the ice chips ease a path down his throat, he says, “I’ll probably always have them. The press is awful and it’ll only get worse. Just means I’ll need you to reassure me more often.”

Steve leans forward. “Reassure you of what, Tony?” he asks, like it’s important that Tony says the words outright. 

Tony lifts Steve’s hand and kisses his knuckles. He has so much making up to do, but now’s as good a time to start as any. 

“That you love me,” he says, “as much as I love you.” 

He can’t even finish grinning before Steve is on top of him, kissing every last trace of cold right out of Tony’s heart.

- - -

read it on AO3!  

#ishipallthings #prompt fill #steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony #stony #superhusbands #nsfk #EYES EMOJI #wow I hope this doesn't suck I wrote it in a marathon session today and did absolutely nothing else I should have done #NO RAGRETS #rachel writes fic #I also just realized that I definitely quote IM2 even though I said it was 616 #because I LOVE MESS

[tracle0]

hello hey hi and a splendid saturday to you, I come bearing a question for the wip4 gang and that question is: what is each of their most significant memories? additionally, are there any memories they would jump at the chance to get rid of? ok bye please have an excellent day \o/ (and before you yell at me I'm going to sleep now I swear)

I’m glad that when you even LOOK at me you think ‘oh sleep time’ I am Pavlov and you are my dog and this metaphor is stupid I will answer your question now

I’m gonna... assume this is uhh pre-story question because I know for a fact that at least three characters would change their answer to at least one question if it was post-story. My house, my rules. 

Keaton’s most significant memory is p r o b a b l y the time when he was in year 12 (17), and he was called to the head of sixth form office. He’d been at this school since year 7 (11), and had realised he was trans in year 8 (12/13), and had then been fighting for the right to use his bathroom ever since. This had previously resulted in punishment. In year 10 (15), he made progress, being allowed to use the disabled bathroom, but he wanted the men's bathroom dammit. 

Anyway, called to head of sixth form, assumed it was related to that issue. Pessimistic about the whole ordeal. 

Turned out there was another student in like year 9 who had come out as trans as well, and the school had gone ‘UHHHHHHHHH LET’S DO BETTER THIS TIME’ so Keaton, being the only other trans student in this rural Norfolk school, was assigned as her... mentor??? I guess? 

He was half like ‘fuck y’all’ and half like ‘I will not let this young woman go through the same shit you all put me through, I will guard her like a HAWK’. He was still not allowed to use his bathroom, but he makes her fight a little easier; she’s allowed to use her bathroom in year 10, after he left. They still meet up every now and then for coffee. 

Memory to be rid of: First day on a Professional Set, he walked backwards whilst taking a tea order and fell into a bin. Terrible first impression. He still got jobs afterwards, but sometimes people will be like ‘oh yeah I’ve heard of you you’re the bin guy’ and he wants to punch them. 

This is getting long already I’m gonna put the rest under a cut

I know you’re here for Mika so I’ll go to them, most significant memory: probably his first pride? He didn’t intend to go to pride, but he was in the city on the day of pride and just walked past all these rainbows and flags and people being so open and proud and themselves. He was maybe fifteen, and had been having those fun Gender Feels that you try and hide at age fifteen, because you’re only fifteen and most people tell you you’re not old enough to know anything about yourself, yknow? 

Someone gave him a flyer at one point, and when he got back to his Ultra Christian Household, he hid it and would read through it some nights. When he had it memorised, he started to explore more about queerness online. He’s the guy who can tell you all about LGBT history due to this research. This was only done in the city on the library computers, where his trail couldn’t be tracked. It gave him some sort of start for labels, some sort of safe space, some sort of New Approach to everything he’d been feeling. 

Memory to be rid of: last day in Ultra Christian School. He was raised Catholic and went to Catholic school and it wasn’t awful until he was about fourteen, at which point he started to grow his hair. They told him to cut it constantly. He was punished for it. He kept the hair. 

It got bad but it wasn’t until he was about seventeen that it really buckled; first real notable psychotic episode. He told people, they were convinced it was some sort of possession, convinced he’d sinned, convinced of all these horrible things about him and drove him out until he could ‘act normally’ again. He did not go back. 

In all honesty, the second he turned 18, he took his savings from various dead grandparents and a part-time job, bought a second-hand (maybe third-hand) camper-van and left home. 

He goes back for Christmas only. 

Mooooving on, Lynne! Who I do not talk about enough; she’s also part of the documentary squad, and actually the reason the whole squad exists. Producer and director, she’s very cool okcoolthanks

Most significant memory: That one time she was thirteen and her parents had officially declared their divorce. She was living with her dad and it was really, really weird and she was not enjoying it. Divorce is a big deal to some families, and this family was one of them, and she was really unsure about her entire future. 

Cue Mika, young and mostly obedient, kicking down the door (not literally) and kidnapping her (again, not literally) to come pick blackberries with him (very literally). They stayed out until the sun went down in early Autumn. She forgot about the divorce for a small amount of time. They ended the day eating fish and chips straight from the paper whilst sitting in a tree and talking about nothing important at all. 

They made jam out of the blackberries the next day. It was gross. Both of them refused to admit it was gross. 

Memory to be rid of: She went camping one time with friends from school. Lynne is Muslim and so did not go to Catholic school with Mika, they just lived near each other, and so school friends went ‘hey we’re going camping you should come’ she did come. 

It was a mess. They were fifteen and determined to drink, and English peer pressure to drink is weird, so she did take some drink but didn’t drink it. Someone threw up on her tent and blamed it on her. No-one bought any food or water, the only thing she was able to drink was lemonade bought for mixing and that had ants in it within two hours. 

She woke up first and left them all there, then walked home because she was meant to be lift-sharing. It took an hour and a half. She preferred that to being in the car. 

That group wasn’t her only group of friends, but it was her main group, so things were awkward for a while. 

Moving on from Documentary Squad, Percival! Percy Percival who I wish I could call Percy because it’s so much easier to write. 

Significant memory: winning an art contest when he was like. Eleven. Really living the high-life, ol’ Percival. It was a city-wide contest, with various age categories. He was part of the 11-18 clump, which put him at a disadvantage, but he still won. As a reward, his art was replicated on a mural in one of the shopping malls in town, and he got some fancy vouchers for a fancy art shop in the city. 

Winning the art contest made him go ‘oh wait I’m actually good at this thing I really like doing I should learn how to do that more’ and you could barely pry him away from his sketchbook from that point on. 

Those vouchers were stored away until he was 14 and doing art GCSE, at which point he bought a nice sketchbook and oil paints. He’s now very good at oil painting. I hate him for being good at oil painting. Oil painting SUCKS. 

Memory to be rid of: I’m torn between three and they’re all similar so I’ll go for all of them. 

#1 - losing an eye to Abby’s experiments. You read the lil short story I think (I know I checked just now) - she’s a very kind and loving sister who sometimes moves his body parts around. One time, he lost an eye and went blind for a few weeks. He had nightmares about it for months. It was very painful.

#2 - losing a finger. To Abby’s experiments. It was the middle finger on his left hand and it didn’t go back into place quickly enough - now it’s always numb and discoloured. Good news is he’s right-handed and not a musician so no worries about losing dexterity on that hand. 

#3 - losing two ribs. To Abby’s experiments.  There’s a very clear trend here. She wanted to try moving things she couldn’t see around. She moved two ribs away. She decided it was more dangerous to put them back. Now they just have two of Percival’s ribs lying around. 

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

On that note, final person, this is very long. Abby! She’s fun. Most significant memory;

okay the word ‘significant’ has caught me off-guard several times cause like wow how do you figure out significant memories for people. I don’t have just one, yknow? But I think I know one for her. 

She’s the eldest out of her and Percival and, for a while, people wanted her to set an example for him, which she tried to do, but she wasn’t good at what people wanted her to be good at. She’s good with people. She’s good at very specific parts of biology. She’s good at psychology. She’s not good at school and tests. 

So, when Percival started to beat the standards she set for him, her parents almost... egged competition on. Played favourites, compared the two siblings. Nobody really noticed what she could do, they only cared about what she struggled with. And the parents were rarely around to help out with what she was struggled with. So she struggled on and tried to keep her head high.

Cue a family wedding, she was snooping around the snack table at the reception and overheard her parents talking about her. And how they were almost disappointed in her. How they were annoyed that she couldn’t be more like Percival, honestly, what did they do wrong? 

She got bitter. She pretends she doesn’t care but she’s bitter, and with no parents around to lash out at, she lashes out at Percival, who isn’t even aware. Good times. Not good times. Significant times. 

Memory to be rid of: Honestly? Probably hearing her parents talking about her at the family wedding. It stings. 

A n y w a y this was extremely long I like going into detail with short stories, if you read this far then thank you I appreciate it I will give you a feather from my feather collection. Probably a swan feather. I have a lot of swan feathers. 

#wip4 #keaton #mika #lynne #percival #abby #all five of them wowza #'hey trade are you doing sts should you answer the other questions in your inbox' #I should but I won't I'm going to sleep soon but thank you for asking #this was fun! thank you logan this was helpful and fun and now I know more stuff about the characters