#and feel free to explain why you think a robot would need glasses in the first place

[yupthatsoundsright]

Yet another thing I noticed while rewatching murder drones in episode 6 when V hit the robo dino she asked if she hit it and she wasn’t wearing her glasses does that mean for the majority of the show she’s been going around not being able to see fully

#murder drones #feel free to answer #what you think? #and feel free to explain why you think a robot would need glasses in the first place #at first I just thought that they liked the asethic but do some actually need glasses #I mean they clearly got most of their clothes off human corpses so it’s not to outlandish to think they snagged some glasses too

[unluckiefriday]

Buttons

A bright, white light stood in front of me so I instead opted to stare down at the two colored buttons on the table in front of me.  Both were dull shades of a beautiful primary color, on my right being a sad baby blue and the left an almost blood red color.  They were screwed down to the thick, metal table that had rusted over a long time ago.  A stale taste filled the ancient air as I breathed in heavily.  My own breath echoed in my ears and seemed to amplify itself in an attempt to make me go deaf. I counted the seconds as they passed by to calm myself, remembering the constant ticking of a clock.  The sight of my breath in the air told me just how numb my bare arms were.

Long, metal chains connected both my arms to the chair allowing me to reach the  buttons, but nothing more.  The clasps on my wrists were relatively loose and hung like bracelets off my slender arms.  They were just tight enough to not make it past my wrists and off my hands.  I could feel the chill of the cement floor through the soles of my tennis shoes.  My imagination ran rampant allowing the cold to run up my legs and stop at my heart which was beating far too fast to freeze over.

I wondered why I was here.  I didn’t remember how I got here or anything about myself at all really.  My own name was on the tip of my tongue but I couldn’t figure out how to say it.  It didn’t help that I had no idea what I looked like.  Was I blonde with blue eyes or did I have obviously dyed black hair and freckles?  I couldn’t see or feel my own hair on my neck which told me it was short or pulled back loosely.  What about my parents?  Did I have any? Was I rich or poor?  Judging by my clothes, sweatpants and a white t-shirt, I wasn’t dirt poor.  My pants were relatively clean but they had one red stain that had faded a bit.  There was a blue ram on my white socks which were originally covered by the hem of my pants.  My own mouth tasted of mint, like I had just swallowed a whole box of breath mints for lunch; a stark contrast to the dirty air.

Thinking back to my past in a panic, the only thing I remember from my past was a black clock on a calming green wall.  I didn’t understand the symbols on the clock in place of the numbers but I could still read the time, or maybe I just knew it on instinct.  This only served to confuse me more as it had nothing to do with the situation I was stuck in.  Why was a damn clock so important to me?  Why could I still hear it clicking?

“Welcome, Subjects 32 and 74, to the testing room,” a robotic female voice spoke over the intercom.  I wondered which number I was.  The light that had previously been shining in my eyes turned off allowing me to see what lay behind it.  A large sheet of glass with lights mounted on top separated me and another person in a similar situation.  He was struggling with his restraints unlike me, yanking feverously on the chains.  He hadn’t seemed to notice me yet as he was too focused on freeing himself.  His blonde faux hawk flopped back and forth as he squirmed.  I noticed he seemed a bit blurry and decided I needed glasses.

“In front of you are two buttons, red and blue,” the voice continued.  The guy finally noticed me as he looked at his own set of buttons.  He raised an eyebrow and I shrugged to convey I didn’t know what was happening either.  “The rules for this game are simple: whoever hits their button first after the countdown, wins.  If you press the red button, the opposing player will be killed.  If you press the blue button, you will be killed.  If you press a button early, you will be killed.  One player must die for the other to leave the arena.”  The voice was extremely monotone as it explained the situation.  I looked down at the buttons in utter fear, terrified of what would happen if I didn’t press it first.  “Players ready,” the voice said and I panicked.

“Three,” my heart beat like a drum in my ear.  “Two,” the other guy tensed up so badly I could see the veins in his arms, hand twitching.  He eyed me carefully and I knew which button he was going to press.  “One.”  My hand moved surprisingly fast as I slammed down on the button, my hand aching from the force I exerted.  I looked up to see the guy with his hand on a glowing red button, staring at me in shock.  I looked down to see my own button glowed a bright blue in contrast to his red.

“Well I guess either way, I win,” I chuckled without humor.    

[pagesfromthevoid]

False God | m.m. | 1

Matt Murdock x Avenger!reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Language, therapy, talks of emotional distress sort of

Author’s Note: I had to stop because it was a bit long and my plot didn’t make sense if I kept going in one place. Sorry???

Series Masterlist

“This is a joke, right?” She demanded, leaning forward on the table, handcuffs clinking against the metal. “I don’t need a lawyer.”

She absolutely needed a lawyer, in all actuality.

Ever since Sokovia, her life had been nothing but chaos. And with her stupid decision to help Steve fight for Bucky, life only got worse. You’d think being an Avenger would have cut her some slack, but since she ran…well, governments weren’t exactly nice. She knew it was a only matter of time; they had caught Scott Lang before they caught her. He probably ratted her out on accident.

“You definitely need a lawyer, miss,” Matt countered as Foggy opened her file. “You understand you’re considered an international terrorist, right?”

“It’s not my fault Stark built a robot that destroyed a country —“

“You also helped Sergeant Barnes escape —“

“He’s an innocent man —“

“And so are you.”

She knew he couldn’t see her staring him down, but god she hoped he could feel it. Hoped it burned a hole in his stupid, pretty face. Foggy was looking between the two, waiting for one of them to act; but she wasn’t going to hit a blind man. Not yet, anyway.

“Why do you want to help me?”

“Honestly, you’d be our biggest case yet. It would do us wonders,” Foggy explained, folding his hands on the table in front of them. She narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists, resisting the urge to flick him off.

Matt adjusted his glasses though, a light smirk on his lips. She wanted to wipe it off his face. “And I’m Catholic; I have a thing for lost causes.”

“You’re both assholes.” The lawyers in front of her shrugged half heartedly, clearly not insulted by her. “You realize I’m a former SHIELD operative, right? And an Avenger? Both of which can get me out of this.”

“‘Former’ is the key word,” Matt pointed out, resting his hands on the table now, folding the them neatly over each other. “SHIELD fell in 2014; you should know. You were there for that too.”

“Okay but Fury —“

“Is not here to help you. Nor do I see Mr. Stark or Captain Rogers.” Matt leaned forward some and she could see his jaw tighten. She was getting under his skin; good. “Though I don’t think the former would help you regardless.”

“You can’t see anything so you don’t know whose here or not,” she countered, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

“Are you making fun of a blind man, miss?”

“I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

Foggy ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “We’re just trying to help you.”

“No, you’re using me for good press. But I hate to break it to you,” she leaned in once more, narrowing her eyes. “Not only am I not going to pay you for shit, but I couldn’t if I wanted to. It’s not like I got paid to be a superhero.”

“We work pro bono,” Matt explained, his demeanor relaxing once more.

“They wanna offer you a plea deal and we think you should take it.”

“If I’m innocent —“

“By the extent of the law, Miss, you’re not. You have harbored a fugitive, run from the government, and caused massive amounts of damage across the world,” Matt explained, sliding her file over the table. She peered over it, frowning as she read ‘DANGEROUS: DO NOT APPROACH’ in red, bold letters. “While your actions might be justified, in the eyes of the court…”

She reached out and took her file, thumbing through the pages. A lot of the information was redacted —how she came to work for SHIELD, how she joined the Avengers. Her addresses and family members were redacted, as well an entire blacked out page about her medical history.

That she was thankful for. No one needed to know that.

However, her various missions with the Avengers —ranging from 2012 up until recently were free to read. As well as several of her missions through SHIELD prior to joining the team. She was considered dangerous, and a threat to society if not under someone’s thumb. What a sad life to live, honestly.

“I’m a criminal,” she finished for him, closing the file and looking up at him. “What’s the deal?”

“If you plead guilty, we have negotiated to have you placed on house arrest like Mr. Lang. Yours would be more lenient; you’d be able to go to the grocery store on the corner, to parts of your apartment building, as well as your court mandated therapy sessions —“

“Fuck therapy, I’m not criminally insane —“

Matt continued, simply ignoring her. “And it would only be for the year. Since you have no prior record, as well as the positive work you’ve done for the country as a SHIELD operative, the UN’s general assembly and security council is willing to skip a trial if you accept this.”

She pushed the file across the table, and Matt caught it without issue. She watched him carefully, considering her options. Plead guilty and be trapped inside for a year —and barely, for that matter. Scott was stuck for two years minimum and couldn’t go anywhere. She could go to the store, at least. And therapy. She’d have to go therapy. Did she really hate the idea of therapy so much that she was willing to go to prison over it?

The correct answer should be no, she didn’t hate it. But she was really considering it.

“There’s like two more things though,” Foggy quickly continued, watching her closely. She frowned. “You can’t break the Sokovia Accords again; if you do, you will arrested and will be sentenced to two to three years in prison. However…if you tell us where Captain Rogers or Sergeant Barnes are —“

“No,” she snapped at him. “Even if I knew where they were, I wouldn’t give them up. But they dipped and I haven’t seen them since.”

It wasn’t a lie; there was no need to lie. Steve knew better than to put the rest of his team at risk any further. When they were released from the Raft, that was the last she had seen of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. For now, at least.

“I believe you,” Matt responded, his tone light and calmer than it had been their entire meeting. “If you don’t know, you don’t know. But your options are limited now.”

Be a hero or be a government tool. That’s what her options were.

She sure as hell wasn’t going to let someone like Ross have any control over what she did.

“Fine,” she finally caved, running her hands over her face. “Fine, yeah. I’ll accept the fucking deal.”

“This is the best decision you could have made,” Matt offered as reassurance.

She watched him carefully, eyes narrowed some. “Whatever. Just get me out of these cuffs so I can go home.”

Matt stood, adjusting his cane to ensure his stability, then laughed some. “You should be a bit nicer to the people who just got you off.”

“Maybe if it had been in the fun way, I would be.”

Matt opened his mouth to retort but Foggy made a gagging sound. “Don’t you respond to that, Murdock. I swear to god,” Foggy pushed Matt out the door before any other comments could be made.

*****

House arrest wasn’t necessarily the worst thing in the world, she decided a month or so into her sentence.

Following all the protocols was annoying. She had to call Jimmy Woo every time she wanted to go to the store. And every Thursday when she went to therapy. Sometimes, she’d have an escort when they felt she was going out too much (“How many boxes of tampons does one woman need?” “Do you understand that I have to use like two a day, right? And that like, with all the medical stuff, sometimes my cycle will last like three —“ “Please stop it’s fine. Let’s just go.”).

But otherwise, she was okay. Her bookshelf was finally getting a dent in it. And she had forced Woo to go buy her paint so she was painting various rooms. She was considering starting an online degree; something to fill the time. After all, if she was being forced to retire, she’d need to enter the workforce somehow. But she spent a lot of time in the apartment gym, and on the roof. And at the pool. Things were okay. She was okay. She could do a year of this.

Therapy wasn’t okay. And a year of that might kill her.

She wondered if she would ever actually enjoy talking to her therapist. Every time she went, all she wanted to do was stuff cotton in her ears. It was all coping mechanisms and trying to get her to admit she was filling a void somehow with vigilantism. They kept saying they wanted to help; that if they could diagnose her with PTSD or anxiety or something —that could explain her behaviors.

Of course she had PTSD though. She actively worked in a field where she watched people die. Where she let people die. Where she killed people. And she’s had diagnosed anxiety since she was 16; she tried explaining that and the therapist didn’t seem to listen. She knew exactly why she did the things she did; there wasn’t a need for some government appointed therapist to tell her.

“Could it be related to your…abilities?” The therapist had asked her today.

“Could what be?”

“Your anxiety.”

“I mean when you’re forcibly experimented on from ages 10 to 16, probably.”

That was an admission though. She had finally admitted something that the therapist didn’t know. And she cursed under her breath when she realized it. The therapist seemed thrilled that she finally got something from her though.

“Can you elaborate on that?” They asked.

“I’d rather not.”

The therapist glanced at the clock and sighed, taking off his glasses. “Next week then. Maybe write it down; it could help.”

She gave him a clearly faked smile and stood, exiting without a word. Jimmy sat outside, waiting for her like he always did. Coffee in hand, he held it out to her as he stood up.

“Your lawyer is outside.”

“Which one? Weird name or blind guy?”

“Blind guy.”

“Phenomenal.”

She took her coffee from him, following close behind as they exited the building. Jimmy wasn’t lying (not that she thought he was, but she had kind of hoped he was), as Matt was leaning against the wall, cane resting against his shoulder.

“Agent Woo, thank you for letting me wait for her,” he offered with a polite smile, extending his hand.

“How did you —“

“Lucky guess; I’ve tried it on a few people so far.”

She watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, frowning some as the men shook hands. Jimmy explained that Matt had requested a meeting and with given permission from the courts, she was left in his watch. Jimmy was relieved to be given a break, but warned that she was to be taken straight back to her apartment. Matt promised and they were off.

“Two things,” she started, standing there for a second. “We don’t have a car, so we have to walk. And also, how can I be under your watch if you can’t see me?”

Matt laughed, shaking his head. “May I?” He asked, touching her arm lightly. She hesitated then nodded. “If you nodded —“

“Fuck, sorry. Yeah go ahead.”

He laughed again, and she hated that she was starting to like the sound of it. Relaxing, she let him hold her arm and they began to walk down the street. His grip was sure but gentle, and she couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling.

“I don’t need to see you to keep watch over you,” he explained, allowing her to take the lead. His cane was resting against his chest again, just enough to not be in the way of them walking but enough for him to use it if needed. “And what are you gonna do? Hit a blind man?”

“I’m tempted every time we meet, Murdock.”

“I’ll pray for you then.”

She laughed this time, unable to help herself. “What do you want?” She finally asked, looking at him as they stopped at a cross walk. “You did your job and if you’re trying to bill me —“

He shook his head, smiling as he instinctively looked down. “No, no I’m not here to bill you. Much to Foggy’s dismay.” She watched him, taking in the bruises that seemed to be healing over, but noted the others that were just forming over his cheeks and neck. “I honestly just wanted to check on you. House arrest isn’t easy on anyone.”

“House arrest isn’t bad. Take half a step to your right.” She nudged him over some, stepping over someone’s leg that was sitting out in the walkway, someone asking for money that she didn’t have. She moved back towards the center of the sidewalk. “It’s the therapy that’s probably gonna kill me.”

He thanked her for avoiding the person, then chuckled at her dislike of therapy. “It can’t be that bad. Have you actually opened up?”

“If you think I’m gonna tell you anything I’ve told them, you’re blind and stupid.”

“You really could stand to be nicer, you know.”

“I’m walking my lawyer to my apartment, after he lied to my court appointed babysitter to talk to me. Why should I be nice?”

“Because I lied to your court appointed babysitter and now you have a friend to talk to.”

She scoffed, elbowing him in the side. “I thought it was a sin to lie.”

“I’ve been to church a lot since I met you.”

Something about his tone shifted when he said that, and her heartbeat picked up as she flushed. Unbeknownst to her, Matt picked up on her reaction immediately, feeling her pulse quicken in his grasp on her arm. Hearing her heartbeat faster. Whatever the implication there was, she wasn’t sure what to do with it; what was she supposed to say? Sorry you’re going to hell because of me? That seemed cross, even for her.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” was what she managed to say.

Jesus Christ.

———

Series Masterlist | Request are OPEN

———

Taglist: @thebisexual-disaster @chims-kookies @bigdinosaur0 @ferxaniti @heybabyshae @notalxx

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil x reader #daredevil #matt murdock imagine

[magecrafts]

requiem for a hex.

hello! a reader suggested i expand to tumblr for shorter fics and perhaps some imagines — so here i am. you know who you are . . . this one’s for you!

RATING: E FOR EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT (18+ ... MINORS DNI).

agatha x fem!reader ; agatha frees you from wanda’s hex because she’s bored and she wants an accomplice. it’s not the most productive arrangement. ( request: agatha thinks she’s stronger than wanda. the reader disagrees. agatha doms the hell out of the reader. )

warnings: nsfw, explicit smut, manipulative power dynamics, legal age gap, humiliation, mentions of exhibitionism, mentions of object insertion, brief mommy kink, cnc (only a little — keeping it light), anal play, butt plugs, strapwarming.

i do take requests but please give this a read before doing so!

Agatha Harkness is a fool.

Not a fool with a heart of gold, mind you, that much you can attest to. You’d say a heart of coal, maybe, if you didn’t think she’d slap you for it. You almost want to say it because of that.

“You’re not going to beat her,” you tell Agatha for what feels like the thousandth time in ten minutes. “She’s bonkers strong.”

“I’m stronger,” Agatha says, giving your ear a playful tug as she passes behind you. “I’ve seen things that would wilt even her prettiest flowers.”

Sure. Maybe. Whatever Agatha needs to tell herself to sleep at night.

You still think Wanda will wipe the floor with her if it comes to blows. Even if they level Westview in the process, which is a substantial risk. According to Agatha, if Wanda manages to free the chaos within her from behind the shield of grief there’s no telling how much magic she’ll actually be able to wield and weaponize. There is a risk, too, that Wanda’s magic might overtake her, age her a hundred years in sixty seconds, and put her in an early grave. Which, also according to Agatha, would be a horrific waste of perfectly good magic.

Magic is new to you. You had no idea it existed until Agatha broke you from the hex and explained exactly what was happening. In her words: “That pretty little tart with the robot husband has this whole town magically enslaved. And I thought we as a society had grown since the eighteen-sixties.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Wanda, darling. The witch doesn’t even know what she’s got.”

“Hold on,” you said, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hands. Your head felt like it was under fire. “Her husband is a robot?”

Agatha looked at you like you were a petulant child. “Keep up, would you? I didn’t break you out for you to waste my time.”

In the days that followed she told you more, though always on her own time which would have been inconvenient if there were actually anything else to do in Westview besides wait for whatever Wanda wanted to happen to happen.

It was the Scarlet Witch’s world and you were just living in it.

You’d been participating in it until just recently, a pawn against your own will, a game-piece for Wanda to move around when things got dull. And Agatha hadn’t yet said why she chose you out of everyone else in town to set free.

“You’re young,” she told you when you worked up the courage to ask, “and Wanda likes you, so I’ll be needing full reports on anything and everything she’s dumb enough to say to you. And you aren’t awful to look at.”

“Do I need to restore your faith in me?” she asks now, settling across from you at the kitchen counter. She’s cradling a wine glass and smirking over the rim, perfectly sculpted eyebrows jumping as you open your mouth to respond, think better, and close it. “Got something to say, little one?”

Yes.

No.

You press your lips into a thin line and muster up a glare, unimpressed. You’ve got perhaps a million things to say, maybe, but if you’ve got time to count them all then you’ve surely got time to think of something that won’t land you in hot water.

“I don’t know that I ever had faith in you to begin with,” you say after a moment. Caution to the wind.

Agatha drags you to her office for that one.

Throws you over her desk, too, and yanks your shorts and panties down to your knees in one rough tug. You don’t feel entirely bared, only mildly embarrassed, until she spreads your cheeks and pulls the lips of your cunt open with her thumbs.

“I don’t actually need you to have faith in me,” she says after a moment.

Just from her tone you can tell she’s inspecting you, staring at the needy hole between your legs while she holds you open. She hasn’t fucked you in — what? a week? You haven’t been counting the days, it isn’t worth it with Agatha; she’s too unpredictable, her surface moods are rarely consistent, and she’s made it very clear that if she’s going to fuck you it’s going to be on her time. You can ask, plead, beg, whatever, but even if you fell to your knees and spread your own cunt open in offering there’s no guarantee she’d actually take it.

“I just need you to do what I tell you to,” she says next, prodding at your cunt with a finger. She presses in to the first knuckle and wiggles the tip inside of you. It almost feels clinical. “If I told you to spread yourself out on the front lawn with a ripe cucumber stuffed up this itty bitty little hole, would you do it?”

God, you hate that. Even though it sounds so good in her voice. All velvety-smooth and so condescending.

“No,” you say, nearly choking on the word.

“You would if I forced you by magic.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Do you want it to be?”

You’re not going to dignify that with an answer, and not just because you aren’t certain what your answer actually is. You don’t doubt that she’d do it, you know she would, and she’d love every second of it, but it takes a moment for you to process that you might like it, too. It’s the not knowing who could stumble upon you, who might stop to watch your pussy stretch around a foreign object while you were held in place by Agatha’s magic that makes you tingle. It starts in your belly and spreads quickly down between your thighs and before you can help it you’re leaking around Agatha’s finger.

“Squeeze for me,” she tells you.

You clench around her finger and feel yourself leak a little more.

Agatha hums, murmuring, “Now that’s a beautiful sight,” as she slips her finger free and pulls you open again. “And what if I told you to offer yourself to Wanda? Like this? With your pants down and this” — she makes a sound like a growl and spits right into your cunt — “pretty pink thing just begging to be fucked. Would you do it?”

“Yes,” you say, “but Agatha—”

“Oh, please,” she says, words disappearing into a laugh that is equal parts mocking and amused. “So quick to say yes when it’s Wanda who’s hypothetically involved. Why is it that ‘no’ is such a big part of your vocabulary when it’s me?”

“You like when I say no,” you mutter, eyes fluttering shut as she drops her hands and slaps at your thigh. “Jackass.”

She really does.

Like when she retrieves a glass plug from the top drawer of her desk and drags it between the lips of your cunt until it shimmers with slick and you gasp out, “no — not today — still so sore,” as she pushes the tip against your puckered asshole.

“Should’ve thought about that before you started running your mouth about how strong Wanda is,” she says, grinning, and slowly eases the plug into you. It doesn’t hurt, but you are indeed still sore, and no matter how many times she plugs you up it always feels like a foreign stretch, something new to get used to all over again. “Mommy doesn’t want to hear about that. All I want is for you to shut up and take it because that’s two-thirds of what you’re good for.”

You don’t have it in you to ask what the final third is.

Before the widest part of the plug pushes past your rim Agatha stops, holds it there, keeping your poor asshole stretched around it. Your cunt throbs, pushing fluid from your hole each time your muscles contract, and you hate how good it feels. Then she lets go of the plug and it sinks all the way into you, the circular base seated between your cheeks.

Agatha leaves you like that, bent over the desk with your ass plugged, for a short while. You suspect she went and had a glass of wine while you were alone in her office, not daring to move past folding your arms beneath your head and letting your eyes wander the room. It’s easier not to fight it, and it does feel good.

When she comes back she’s got a silicone cock strapped to her — a new purple one that’s scarily realistic and intimidatingly thick — but she doesn’t fuck you. No, she just relaxes into her leatherback chair and pulls you onto her lap.

“If you’re good I’ll think about actually fucking you later,” she tells you, nestling the head of her dildo against your empty weeping hole. She stuffs your pussy in one rough thrust; it’s tight, another thing to get used to, especially with your asshole already full, but hell if it isn’t gratifying.

You can’t remember the last time you felt this full or the last time she put something so big in your cunt. All of the fight has left you — no more snark comes to mind, no more back-talk. You’re doing what she wants: sitting there and taking it in both holes with one of her hands rubbing slow circles on your belly while the other thumbs through the pages of a magazine. If you know Agatha at all you reckon she’s going to go through the damn thing cover-to-cover twice before she even considers allowing you any real satisfaction.

Every time you twitch she reaches up and twists one of your nipples without missing a beat. It’s awful, and you’re so fucking wet.

You hate that there’s nothing you can do about it. You hate that it feels so good to have your holes so casually violated. And yet you just sit there, so full, pussy gushing around Agatha’s big silicone cock, waiting and waiting and waiting for her to give you anything at all while expecting little more than drawn-out torture.

And, for the record, you still think she’s a fool. You still think Wanda’s going to get the best of her in the end, and maybe, if you’re lucky, you might make it out alive when all is said and done. In the meantime you figure it isn’t the worst thing in the world to let Agatha use and abuse your holes like a ten-dollar whore. There are certainly worse things you could be doing.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x reader smut #agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x female reader #wandavision smut #marvel smut #marvel imagine #agatha x reader #rated: e #!fic #agatha

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I'm sorry but i'm addicted to our boy Spamton- I have a little unique request here. So this takes place where Spamton just moves in the Queen's mansion, he meets the reader and immediately falls for their kind words and gestures. Weeks pass, and he goes to see them, but catches them talking and hanging out with Swatch.. He gets really jealous to the point of changing his style to match Swatch's

"Oh [y/n]! Have You Met Our Newest Guest?"

"Uh, I don't believe-"

"He's An Interesting Addison Who Made A Big Name For Himself! Ohohoho!" Queen laughed joyously, pausing to sip her glass of battery acid. "I Wonder How He Got So Rich...No Matter. As My Peon, I Order You Greet Him......Whenever It's Convenient For You."

"Sure thing. I'll go now." With a respectful nod, you set off to the mansion's guest chambers to meet this newcomer. You've lived here for a long time--and somewhat reluctantly since Queen decided to make you one of her peons one day. But life was actually pretty good.

It wasn't like you had anything better to do, so if she needed someone to help her with plans that..didn't seem all-that urgent, you'll offer your assistance. She let you stay in the mansion for free and never made you do anything if you weren't feeling up to it.

For a tyrannical ruler she was rather kind.

Yet you didn't wanna take advantage of her hospitality, so you'd just listen to whatever she says. And if she wants you to meet this celebrity as part of her endless lists of requests, then you'll happily oblige. But you were eager too since you've seen his face on TV a lot. It felt like an honor.

After wandering the corridors of deactivated puzzles, Mona Lisa-esque portraits, and meticulously-placed pottery, you finally arrived at the guest rooms. You hummed a small tune as you passed by each one, stopping when you noticed one door was open.

Peeking inside, you saw the Addison still setting up things. A phone was tucked between his shoulder and ear as he moved a box whilst rambling to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"Yea! I promise I won't let you down, okay? Soon I'll be bigger than ever before! I know I'm already a big shot but....haha, yeah, I shouldn't get carried away. Okay. Right..we'll discuss more of this tomorrow. Thanks!"

After hanging up the phone and returning it to the receiver, he finally noticed you and smiled. "Hey, hey! Haven't seen your face around here yet. But surely you know mine, right?"

"Yeah." You smiled, not wanting to shy away from talking with him. "Spamton, right?"

"Everybody's favorite number-one rated salesman!!" He laughed. "It's good you know me..'cuz soon ALL of Cyber World will know my name! It's a pleasure to meet you...?"

"[Y/n]. I'm one of Queen's peons." You shook his hand politely. The energy that radiated from him was so bright. Just as much as his pearly smile was.

Stepping inside, you glanced around at the luxurious furniture. He definitely got the higher-class rooms, with the addition of a large window that showed the neon green meridians that stretched across the night sky. It was certainly a beautiful view to fall asleep to. "Need help unpacking?"

"Oh--sure!!" At first Spamton seemed surprised by your offer, but he nodded. "If you want, be my guest. And while we unpack, I gotta ask you..how's it being Queen's peon?"

............

Weeks passed, and you've gotten to know Spamton more and more. You realized he was actually a sweet down-to-earth guy all around. Although he was on the phone a lot, he'd make time to hang out with you, so you two became fast friends.

He was truly living the best life. Posters of his car advertisements were littered all over the city, and the Swatchlings attended to his every need. Though one thing was hard to admit, even when it seemed like he had it all:

You were his only friend now that everyone else is intimidated by his status--as they would shy away from conversing with him--and the Addisons, well, abandoned him out of jealousy.

Obviously that made him worry about driving you away, especially when he's on the phone nonstop. But...the fact you've been so kind to him in every word and gesture, treating him like a regular person and not some untouchable celebrity, was quite endearing. Most admired him for his products, not his personality.

Your kindness made him fall for you hard and fast, ever since day one. He wasn't sure if this was a good idea; to let it get in the way of his business.

But what the hell? He was a big shot! He can afford to go a bit bigger and take more risks. Living in this mansion with someone who loved him would be the perfect dream.

There was a much bigger dream that his valued caller insisted he focused on, but that can come later.

So this morning, Spamton set out to find you to address these feelings once and for all. Yet he was rather nervous. Addisons were most confident in selling products, not so much...everything else. But he didn't wanna back down. He kept smiling no matter what.

As he checked inside the color café that he usually frequented, he saw you eating at the table. He noticed you weren't alone but with Swatch, talking and...

Laughing with them?

And just like that, his smile faded much like his hope.

Of course, the head butler had their ways to swoon people. He tried not to think of it as anything more than just their personality. It's just their way to entice returning customers.

That's all...right?

Spamton ducked behind one of the displays, listening in on your conversation to determine if he should proceed or not.

"By the way, we've known each other for a while and..I've always wanted to ask you something.."

"Yes? What is your inquiry?"

He held his breath. This is exactly what he feared. Knowing that you've been here longer, it's obvious you'd be closer to that damn bird-

"Your outfit."

Then he exhaled shakily, relieved. 'What are you getting so worked up for, idiot?' He thought in the back of his mind, but he continued eavesdropping.

"Did the Queen make it or give it to you? It's very stylish and really makes you stand out from the other Swatchlings."

"Ah, in fact I decided this look for myself." Swatch chuckled softly, raising a wing to adjust their glasses. "The tailor did marvelous work with my vision: black suit, tinted glasses. Very fashionable, is it not?"

"It is. I like it a lot."

"Why thank you. I see why our Lady Grace admires you. Just for that compliment, I'll give you a discount on any of our products in the gift shop."

"Should be every day if you ask me." You joked, earning another chuckle from them.

Seeing all of this and the way you two spoke like close friends was a jab in Spamton's heart-shaped object. 'So [y/n] likes people who stand out? Well I can stand out, too..' He thought bitterly as he stormed out of the shop without either of you knowing he was there.

Why should he settle with being a blank-slate Addison like the rest of them? He didn't consider himself one anymore.

Today, he told his valued caller, he was gonna be a whole new person.

It would help him get closer to both of his dreams, but there was only one on his mind now.

............

Later that night as you were getting ready for bed, you heard a knock at the door. You huffed in annoyance, assuming Queen needed you for something.

She had a knack for disturbing you at ungodly hours. But knowing better than to ignore her, you went to answer the door anyways-

To some strange black-haired guy in a black suit and white turtleneck sweater.

"Hi, um...can I help you?"

"[Y/n]? It's me."

"....wait....Spamton?"

"Yeah!" The salesman laughed, throwing his arms out and making a pose. "Whatdya think of me now?"

Perplexed, you looked him up and down. He ditched the lime-green pants, instead wearing white trousers. And his hair was slicked back. But what was most peculiar about him were his glasses, tinted with pink and yellow lenses.

Had you not known any better, you would've thought Swatch suddenly shrunk and became robotized.

"Cool but..you kinda look like Swatch a little bit. Was that on purpose?" You mused.

"...haha....yeah uh..funny story. Um.." He dropped the act, losing his trademark grin as he wondered how to explain himself and this sudden transformation. You could tell he wanted to talk inside the room, so you let him in and shut the door.

"I don't recall Queen mentioning any costume contest-"

"It's not a costume." He muttered, uncomfortably rubbing his hands together as he looked at you with sadness. "This is who I am now. The new me."

"..huh? You serious?" When he nodded, you frowned slightly. "I'm confused. You don't look like an Addison anymore-"

"That's the point...! I...I don't wanna be associated with them anymore. I decided to stand out, y'know? If you're gonna be a big shot, ya gotta stand out from the crowd!" He forced a laugh that sounded rather glitchy.

You didn't buy it. It wasn't like him to do this out of the blue.

"Spamton, why imitate Swatch of all people? And why out of the blue like this? I mean..I don't mind if you like their style. But I didn't even recognize you until you spoke."

Try as he might, he couldn't make any better excuses. So seeing that he was cornered made him finally admit his jealousy, overhearing your conversation with Swatch while he was browsing--when he really wasn't, but he didn't wanna come off as creepy.

His voice glitched further due to stress, accidentally blurting out some kind of...flirtatious term as he explained how much you meant to him since day one.

You weren't sure if he meant to say "hot single" on purpose. Though you were flattered that such a famous guy like him...actually had a crush on you, an ordinary Darkner who just fetched the Queen's stick wherever she threw it.

You found it hard to believe he thought of you that way..so you kept your own feelings buried. So to see that it's mutual was a relief, and it made you smile.

Spamton, on the other hand, was stressing the hell out. So much so he didn't even see your smile. He just saw himself being stupid the more he rambled on.

It was such a stupid, stupid reason to get insecure--to the point of changing his entire appearance without warning. All because you were friends with a butler who was doing their job???

How selfish can he get when he already had everything he wanted and more?

When he did acknowledge your small smile, he thought you were holding yourself back from laughing. But you had every right to laugh and call him a joke for thinking this will get your attention.

As he finished talking, he could see your smile fade and huffed. He waited for you to tell him how stupid he looks and to go back to being the plain old Addison you met.

Instead of ridiculing him you...hugged him?

At this point you were sitting on the bed together. Of course yours wasn't as massive as his was, but it was big enough for you two to share.

"Spammy, I'm flattered you like me in that way but...you didn't have to do all of this to get my attention. I promise there's nothing going on between Swatch and I. We're just friends. They're not replacing you or anything."

"I know, it's just.." Taking off the glasses, he set them aside before hugging you tightly, head buried in your chest. "I don't wanna lose the only person in this damn place who makes me feel like myself. Who loves me for me, not my success. And...I-I felt like I had to change something about myself to make sure of that."

"Well..you don't need to change anymore. I love you no matter what you look like."

He blinked, his face turning as red as his cheeks.

You could sense his embarrassment from the way he tensed up in your arms and chuckled, patting his hair softly. "Just..don't feel pressured to change for me..or anybody for that matter, okay? Or at least let me know if you're gonna change things up again."

"You don't think..I look stupid or creepy like this?"

"No. Honestly you look pretty handsome. Black hair suits you well."

Hearing those words made him breathe a small sigh of relief. He nodded and hugged you tighter.

His new looks were staying for good.

#clanask #anonymous #deltarune x reader #deltarune spamton x reader #spamton x reader

[toosicktoocare]

emergency contact

pt 1 of 2 and also found on ao3!

(i promise i’m not ignoring my prompts- this idea just kinda popped into my head)

“Hi, may I speak with Mr. Evan Buckley?”

Frowning, Buck pulls the phone away from his ear. He doesn’t know the number; however, the area code is local, so he can probably rule out a scam call. At least, he thinks, the woman on the other line sounds very much real and not a robotic recording about to lead in with a cruise ship he didn’t sign up for.

“Uh, yeah. This is Buck—I mean Evan. This is Evan Buckley.” He clears his throat. He can hear a lot of background noise—a lot of muffled speaking, intercoms crackling. He’s heard it before, but he’s struggling to equate the noise to a particular memory, only having a small rock of dread burrowing low in his stomach to go by.

“Hi, Mr. Buckley. I’m Nurse Johns at LA General. I have you listed as the second emergency contact for Christopher Diaz.”

Buck’s stomach bottoms out, leaving him nauseous, weightless, and far too cold despite the LA sun beating in through his window and warming his bed. He shivers and forces himself upright in bed, muscles rigid, jaw a tense, jutted line.

“His father,” Buck starts into the phone, shaky, “Eddie—Edmundo Diaz—”

“—didn’t answer. You’re next on the list. Sir, if this is incorrect, I’ll need to move on to the next person—”

“—no!” Buck jerks to his feet, nudging abandoned clothes around with his foot until he finds a pair of gym shorts. “I’m… His father’s on a shift with the LAFD. Is Chris okay? What’s going on?” Composure, he thinks, is out the window. Then again, he’s never been capable of the whole ‘cool, calm, and collected’ thing when it comes to Chris. He snags the same shirt he tossed to the floor when he climbed into bed this morning after his 24-hour, a short-sleeved, blue shirt, and slips it over of his head, careful of his phone.

“Sir, I can’t disclose that over the phone.”

“Right,” Buck mutters, nodding more to himself. “I’m on my way now. Tell Chris—tell him Bucky’s on the way, okay?” He ends the call, taking the steps down from his loft two at a time. He’s only faintly aware that he’s shaking, and the rock of dread’s grown triple in size and sits heavily against his gut. He fumbles with his keys, pockets his wallet, and just remembers to slip on a pair of sandals. If he weren’t moving against a rush of fear, he’d take the time to give a mental ‘look who’s laughing now’ to everyone who’s made fun of the sandals in the last two months since he purchased them, but, the fear is a cold hand that’s pulling on him, disrupting his thoughts, chiseling against his composure.

He doesn’t dwell. He races out of his apartment, and in seconds, he’s in his jeep and whipping out of his parking spot. He knows LA well, knows the traffic patterns, and he’s unfortunately hitting lunch rush, which, he thinks, is probably similar to some twisted second layer of hell. He wishes, more than anything in this second, that he had an engine, that he could dominate the road with the power of a siren, but his jeep will have to suffice. Still, his grip on his steering wheel is tight, his knuckles fading white, when he hits the first of many red lights.

He uses hands-free to call Eddie, not surprised to get his voicemail after only two rings.

“Eddie! Chris is in the hospital—They didn’t give me any details, and I’m on my way now. They called you first. I’m next on the list?” Buck pauses briefly on that, gets lost in that fact, but then he shakes his head. “Look, he’s at LA General—just get there when you can, okay?”

He ends the calls, somehow feeling even worse, and then he tries Bobby. Logically, he knows that if Eddie’s not answering, Bobby probably won’t either. Still, when he’s teetering on the edge of panic, Bobby can talk him down, can ease him safely back to the present.  

“Buck?”

Buck’s foot slips a little too hard on the gas, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Bobby? Bobby! Where’s Eddie?”

“Currently? He’s probably making his way back to a second story window, hopefully with one of the victims of an expansive house fire.” A pause. “What’s going on, Buck?”

Buck peers around, swallows back a groan at the cars on every side of him. “Look, can you get Eddie to LA General ASAP?”

“You’re at LA General? Are you hurt?”

“No! I mean, I will be, but it’s not me—it’s Christopher. Bobby, I don’t…” Buck sighs, drags a free hand down his face. He can feel his lungs constricting. The pressure of panic’s a bitch.

“They didn’t say anything over the phone. They tried Eddie first, and then they called me. I’m—”

“—Buck, take a breath. I’ll get Eddie there as soon as possible. You be careful driving there, okay? Keep us updated.”

Buck comes back down to earth with a low breath that’s been trapped in his lungs. “Thanks, Bobby,” he says, and he means it, pushing his gratitude hard into the two words. The call ends, and Buck forces his focus onto the road, onto making it to the hospital in one piece because Christopher needs him.

***

Concussion.

It’s the only word Buck keeps coming back to. He’s being led down hallways that are too bright, too loud, and annoyingly familiar, and the nurse is explaining that Christopher took a tumble at school and is currently being monitored for a possible concussion. Buck nods when appropriate, offers a few non-verbal affirmatives, and then he’s stopping before two large, glass windows, and behind them, Chris is sitting in bed chatting with another nurse. His hand finds the glass, fingers spread out, anxiety spread even to his palms.

“You’re welcome to go in. We’ve told him you’re coming.”

Buck nods absently. He’s going to go in—of course, he’s going to go in. He just needs to take a single second to fully capture the image of Christopher alive and breathing in his mind, an image that can break through the muddle, clear his head, bring breath back to his lungs.

“Mr. Buckley?”

“Sorry,” Buck mutters, nodding. He turns when the nurse opens the door for him, and he wills away any and all fear etched deep in his face the second he crosses over into the room.

“Bucky!”

“Chris!” Buck’s no stranger to concussions, so though animated, he keeps his voice soft, and he walks toward the end of the bed, glancing at the clipboard. “How’re you feeling, bud?” He asks, satisfied to see that the doctor’s notes are promising.

“My head hurts.”

“I bet it does,” Buck mutters, sympathetic, and he drops onto the edge of the bed, one hand resting atop Christopher’s covered knee. “What happened?”

“Me and Caleb were playing firefighter, and I fell down a step.”

Buck sucks in a sharp breath, holds it in his lungs to brace for the familiar wave of guilt that’s soon to tangle in his breath, jab past his rib cage to his lungs. “Is that so?” He settles for, breathless, and Christopher’s face falls, his eyes dropping to his lap.

“Don’t tell dad. He’ll get mad.”

“Chris—”

“—Mr. Buckley, I presume?”

Buck’s never been more thankful for a doctor to walk in for he wasn’t sure how to unpackage Christopher’s quiet plea in a way that wouldn’t be considered as overstepping Eddie’s parental authority but also in a way that wouldn’t have Christopher demanding he leave.

“Uh, yeah—It’s Buck.”

“Okay, Buck. Want the good news?”

“Will it be followed by bad news?” Buck asks, one brow arched, stomach twisting. “Because his father—”

“—no bad news today,” the doctor interrupts, and Buck huffs out a quiet sigh of relief and gives Christopher’s knee a squeeze. He gives a nod, and the doctor plucks the clipboard up.

“Christopher’s been cleared of a concussion. He’s got a few scrapes and bruises, and his head will probably hurt for a few more hours, but otherwise, he’s fine. I’ll leave a note at the front desk to begin the discharge papers. He should be out within the hour.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Buck mutters, and he nods when the doctor and nurses exit, giving him space to breathe; though, he’s not sure how much he can actually breath encompassed in four, blinding walls that bring back a pressing dark cloud of memories.

“Buck?”

Buck blinks slowly, peels his gaze from the door to see Christopher smiling softly at him, poking at his side.

“Can you lay with me?”

Buck eyes the small bed, mentally works round the best way to squeeze in, to maximize Christopher’s comfort, and he slips his sandals off and climbs onto the bed, impossibly gentle when he adjusts Chris. When he’s got Christopher against his chest, he sighs, and Christopher sighs with him, content, safe.

***

“That’s the last of them, Cap,” Eddie coughs lightly, tugs his helmet off. His lungs burn faintly from smoke inhalation. It’s not bad by any means, but he’s dabbling with the idea of having Hen look him over anyway.  

“Should I help with fire…” Eddie’s words trail off when the 122 pulls up onto the scene, their members already hopping out of the engine and working the hose. “Was backup necessary?” He glances back over his shoulder. Sure, the fire’s large, but he doesn’t think it’s classified as a level high enough to warrant local support.

“Are you okay?”

Eddie whips back around, squints at Bobby. “Yeah, why?”

“Let me clarify: are you okay to leave the scene right this second, or do you need to a look-over now?”

Eddie’s still struggling to read Bobby’s tone for it’s always frighteningly composed, even in the face of emergency. “I’m okay now.” He nods slowly, and then Bobby’s turning on his heel and wordlessly gesturing him toward the engine.

He slips into the back, pausing to see Bobby sitting in the back with him, stationed across from him.

“Cap, what—”

“—have a seat.”

Eddie sits slowly, slips his headphones on, and then the engine’s roaring to life beneath him and pulling away from the scene. He’s alone with Bobby because Hen and Chimney left earlier with a patient, and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s in trouble for something. He replays his actions at the house fire, yet he can’t find an error that would warrant a private conversation with Bobby.

“Buck called,” Bobby finally says, and Eddie drags his gaze from the cars moving onto the road shoulders, now finally tuning in to the fact that the sirens are wailing overhead still, the engine demanding the street with the shrill sounds and flashing lights. The sirens shouldn’t be on unless…

“Is he okay?”

“Buck’s fine. The hospital called him because Christopher was brought in. They tried you, and he was next on the emergency contact list.”

There’s dread, Eddie thinks. Dread when he rides up to a call and gathers the first, initial assessment of the situation. And then there’s bone-deep, crippling fear—fear that twists in his gut, pools into his lungs, walls around his heart. It drains the blood from his face, freezes his muscles, steals his breath, and buries his mind in a series of what if scenarios that range from grim to downright terrifying.

“Eddie, breathe.”

He does, but only because his mind is trained to respond on command to Bobby’s voice. The breath he sucks in his short and cold, and he finally reaches in his pocket for his phone. He’s got four missed calls, three voicemails, and a series of texts from Buck, all fairly close in time to the other.

He goes through the texts—he won’t be able to hear the voicemails right now, and he really doesn’t think he’ll be able to stomach Buck’s panicked, broken voice.

[From: Buck] Chris is okay. He fell at school and hit his head

[From: Buck] no concussion. Doc said he can be discharged within the hour

[From: Buck] I’ve checked him over. There’s a bruise on his side I want to keep an eye on but otherwise he’s okay

[From: Buck] we should talk about why he fell

[From: Buck] but not until later! Sorry that last text sounded weird…

[From: Buck] discharge in 20 minutes. I’ll bring him back to yours if you aren’t able to come yet. I still have the spare key you gave me

He’s blinks around the tears pooling in his eyes, swallows thickly. “Buck said he’s okay. He fell at school.” He’s aware his voice is shaking, and then Bobby claps him on the knee.

“That’s a good thing.”

It is, Eddie thinks, swiping the back of his hand over his eyes. He works on his breathing, controlling it, counting breaths, but when they pull up to the hospital, the fear comes back, muted now, but still there, always there.

He hops out of the engine, Bobby not far behind, and in just seconds, a nurse is guiding them back. When he reaches the door and looks beyond the glass to see Christopher curled up against Buck’s chest, he breathes, deeply and fully, for the first time since he pulled himself up into the engine. Relief, he thinks, is the singular image of the two most important people in his life safe and together.

***

“Christopher!”

Buck whips his gaze from his phone where he’s got a story pulled up to read to Christopher, and he slowly turns Chris over just as Eddie rounds the bed and pulls Chris to his chest tightly. He notes, to himself, that Eddie’s in full turnout gear, that he’s got soot smudges on his face, that his jaw is a set, unwavering line jutting against his skin.

“Daddy!”

“¿Estás bien, hijo?”

“Sí.”

Buck wordlessly slips from the bed, toes his feet into his sandals. He crosses his arms and backs away from the scene, feeling all too overwhelmed, suddenly suffocated despite the brush of relief before him, and then Eddie’s looking toward him, frowning, eyes unreadable, and Buck offers a small smile.

“The discharge papers,” he motions toward a stack of papers on the end of the hospital bed. “I’ll bring my jeep around.”

“Wait, Buck—”

Buck slips out of the room, eyes cast to the ground, and he bumps right into someone, his hand coming up to fist around the turnout jacket and his head dropping against a shoulder.

“You okay, Buck?”

There are so many ways Buck wants to say no, but the one that’s most alarming, one that’s been a nagging twinge in his lungs, is the one he opts for. “I don’t think I can breathe.” His voice is breathless, and then Bobby’s guiding him with a hand to his back toward the nearest exit. The second he bursts through the double doors, he sucks in a sharp gasp that breaks way to a few coughs, and he’s being gently eased onto the edge of the sidewalk.

“Easy, Buck. Breathe with me, okay?”

Buck meets Bobby’s eyes, nods, and drags his gaze down to Bobby’s chest, watching the steady rise and fall, mimicking it, until the fog clouding his brain breaks, leaving him far too tired. His shoulders slump, and Bobby claps a hand to his shoulder.

“What’s going on?”

“I didn’t know…” Buck sighs, dropping his face into his palms. He can hear his therapist’s voice reminding him that he’ll feel better if he’s more open with others. “I’m really overwhelmed right now.” He can feel Bobby’s hand tighten around his shoulder, a wordless sign to continue. “Just… Getting that call that Chris is in the hospital really freaked me out. I know he’s fine, but just… He’s the last person I ever want to see in a hospital bed.”

“Now you know how I feel every time I get a call that you’re in the hospital.”

“Bobby,” Buck groans, lifting his head to match Bobby’s smile.

“You look tired—I don’t imagine you got much sleep before the call?”

“A few hours,” Buck admits, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Not sure I’ll get back to sleep anytime soon. I’m exhausted, but it’s definitely going to take some time for the adrenaline to die down.”

“Do you need me to take Eddie and Chris back?”

“Nah,” Buck drags himself up to his feet, yawning. “I’m going to need to physically see Christopher safe in bed before I can even think about unwinding.” He can see one of the engines not far off in the parking lot, and he laughs quietly. “Though, I bet Chris would love to be back in the truck.” He frowns at Bobby’s turnover gear. “Did you leave right after a call?”

“I requested the 122 to come in for backup.”

Nodding absently, Buck looks back toward the doors they came from, and he crosses his arms, fingers digging into the skin. He knows that he’s taken all necessary steps when faced with an abrupt situation, yet he can’t shake the underlining burn in his stomach that he overstepped, that he didn’t get here fast enough, that he should have added a step, or even removed one, when getting here.

“You did good today, Buck.”

His shoulders slump, tension falling with them, and he huffs out a low sigh.

“Thanks, Bobby.”

***

“You keep looking at him like he’s going to disappear.”

Buck jumps; he didn’t hear the shower cut off, nor did he hear Eddie slip into Christopher’s room behind him.

“I keep thinking he might,” Buck whispers, and Eddie tugs at his arm, urging him up from the chair he’s got pulled up to Christopher’s bed. He lets Eddie guide him from the room, but when Eddie tries to ease him onto the couch, he digs his heels into the floor, and Eddie turns to him, brows furrowed.

“Buck—”

“—when were you planning on telling me I’m second on Christopher’s list of emergency contacts?”

Buck doesn’t miss the deep, calculated sigh Eddie breathes, and he opts to remain standing when Eddie sinks down onto the couch, only watching wordlessly as Eddie runs fingers through his damp hair.

“It was Chris’s idea.”

Buck blinks slowly. “What?”

“After the tsunami. When we were leaving the hospital, he mentioned how you saved him. He said he wanted you to be the person who comes to save him again.” Eddie pauses, rubs smally at the shirt fabric just above his chest. “I resisted at first—I told Christopher we couldn’t ask something that big of you, but I’ve seen countless times since then how far you’ll go for him, so I called and had you added second on the list.”

Eddie takes in a low breath, and Buck’s mutely envious because he can’t do the same.

“If I can’t get to him, it needs to be you.”

Buck’s struggling to pick something to focus on. His heart wants to chase the heat of Eddie’s words, yet the guilt, as it always is, is an overpowering force that leaves him shaking his head, backing up until the back of his leg hits the coffee table.

“It can’t be me.” He watches Eddie’s face fall, but Eddie still nods, understanding even now.

“I get it. I should have asked first. I know it’s a big responsibility—”

“—what?” Buck shakes his head again, crosses his arms. “It’s not the responsibility. You know I would do absolutely anything for that kid. It’s the fact that it’s my fault he ended up in the hospital today.”

Eddie cocks his head to the side, lips in a firm line, and Buck knows this look well—it’s Eddie’s way of signaling for Buck to continue, knowing well that Buck will finish on his own, that he doesn’t need verbal prompts to guide him toward his point.

“He was playing firefighter with one of his friends at school, and he fell down a step.”

The silence that follows feels thick enough to clog Buck’s lungs. He wants to sit—his legs are shaking, but if he sits, he can’t flee as fast, and he just knows Eddie’s going to ask him to leave, to not come back. And, Buck thinks, Eddie should. Eddie should yell at him for filling Christopher’s mind with stories from work, for encouraging this imaginative behavior that dropped him onto a hospital bed.

“Is that it?” Eddie says instead, calm, and Buck frowns, jaw opening and closing, struggling for words.

“I mean, I’m waiting for the part where you tell me how this is your fault,” Eddie clarifies, and Buck sinks onto the coffee table at this, not trusting his legs to hold him upright.

“Eddie, I’m constantly telling him stories from work, glorifying the job, painting all of these verbal, detailed images that fill his mind and plant ideas.”

“And you think I don’t?”

“Eddie—”

“—Buck, we have the same job. If Chris asks me what I did at work, I tell him. I spare him the calls that don’t go in our favor, but otherwise, I tell him.”

Buck blinks slowly, mind operating around 30% capacity, and Eddie leans forward, cupping a hand to Buck’s knee.

“No one’s at fault. Kid’s got one hell of an imagination.”

“Wait, hold on. You’re not mad?” Buck expected yelling. He expected to get kicked out of Eddie’s house, and yet, Eddie’s calm before him, relaxed, a little tired around the edges, but he’s showing no signs that he’s seconds from blowing up.

“There’s nothing to be mad about.”

Buck can only blink at Eddie. He’s faintly aware that his eyes are watering, and then Eddie’s pulling him back up by the arm.

“Okay, we all know by now that you get sappy when you’re tired.”

Buck stops in the doorway when Eddie steps into the bedroom, watching as Eddie pulls back the covers and motions toward the bed. He shakes his head, one hand gripping tightly at the doorframe.

“Eddie, I’m not taking your bed. You should be with Chris. I’ll go—”

“—Chris will want you here when he wakes up. Plus, it doesn’t take but basic math to realize you’re working on only four hours of sleep after a 24, so you’d be doing everyone a favor by shutting up and getting in the damn bed.”

“Eddie.”

“Buck.”

Buck holds Eddie’s gaze, breaking it after a few, heavy moments with a weighted sigh. He shuffles toward the bed, kicking off his sandals and climbing in on the side farthest from the door, knowing that the side closest to the door is reserved for Eddie, to accommodate Eddie’s needs to be the first to act if something happens.

The bed is heaven against his sore body, and the second his head hits the pillow, he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. The adrenaline is fully fleeing now, leaving him exhausted to the core in more ways than one. He blinks slowly, watching as Eddie climbs into the other side of the bed, sighing loudly, and he rolls toward Eddie, studying the way Eddie gingerly rubs at his chest for the second time.

“You give your oxygen mask to someone during the house fire?” Buck asks around a yawn, and Eddie nods.

“It wasn’t for long.”

“You didn’t get checked over.” It’s not a question; Buck knows, based on the sight of Eddie arriving at the hospital looking rough for wear and donned in full gear, but Eddie still responds.

“No, but I’m fine.”

Buck forces himself up on one elbow, frown deep, brows furrowed. “You should get checked out now. I can call Hen—”

“—did you forget I was a field medic?” Eddie arches a brow, and Buck sinks back against the pillow.

“No, you always find a time to remind me. You can’t check yourself over, though.”

“And how many times have you ignored a fractured rib because you ‘checked yourself over?’” Eddie fires back, and Buck groans, draping an arm over his eyes.

They fall silent, and Buck’s body is urging him to give in to the fatigue draping over him. Still, he can’t fully settle. The adrenaline of the last hour and a half is a flame that’s almost completely burned out. Still, it flickers smally, and he rolls onto his side, watching Eddie.

“The bruise on Christopher’s side. We should—”

“—I looked, and we iced it until he fell asleep. Now, please shut up and sleep.”

#911 fox #9-1-1 fox #buddie #fanfic #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #evan buckley #Eddie Diaz #christopher diaz #Bobby Nash #whump #whumpfic #op is 100% not a dr #my writing #my 911 writing

[yandere--stuck]

Grim - Yandere!Grimdark!John x Reader

[Warnings: Suggestive, graphic body horror, mentions of blood and gore]

---

John had watched you die. Not long after he had died himself. 

He had seen the dead body of his father, lying on the floor beside Rose's mother. The scent of wine mixed with the stench of blood and death, making the Heir wrinkle his nose in disgust.

He didn't know why he didn't cry. He didn't cry at a lot of things. He didn't know why. Maybe he never learned how.

Or, maybe, it was the comfort of your presence at his side. The feel of your arm brushing against his, the sound of your voice hitching in shock. Even if he no longer had his father…. At least, he had you.

Maybe Dave had been right, the game had been bad news. They probably shouldn't have played it. Really, it had only brought ruin into their lives - into the lives of all it touched. 

But it's not like they were the only harbingers of the apocalypse. And if you all hadn't played it… He could have lost you. It's not like he wanted to die, or that he didn't care about his dad or his friends, but you were the most important thing in the world to him.

Really, the main reason he had wanted to play was to finally see you, one on one. Rose was his best friend, but he felt disappointed that you weren't his server player, and jealousy at Jade being your client player. But, finally, to close the loop, he was your server player.

His excitement in seeing you, taking in everything about you, made him lose himself, and he ended up smashing his face against the screen of his laptop. The exhilaration and euphoria of seeing you and serving you almost overpowered the terror at the prospect of you dying, of you not making it to your planet in time.

But, you did eventually make it. The relief made John's heart burst with joy, hugging his laptop to his chest, trying to imagine the warmth of the machine was your own body heat. He made goo-goo eyes at you through the screen, resisting the urge to kiss the pixels that made up your form.

He had to continue making progress, but he was terrified of you getting hurt - so, he alchemized his glasses to include a screen that displayed your status in the game. This way, he could check up on you and carry you with him, outside of pesterchum, at least.

Vriska kept pestering him, eventually convincing him to fall asleep on his quest bed, saying something about "god tiers", apparently it was something even higher than the usual tiers on one's echeladder. 

The next thing he remembered was awaking on some sort of chess board-esque battlefield with some little chess guys on it. Luckily, he was able to borrow his dad's car in the meantime (good thing his dad had gotten on his ass about *finally* getting his driver's license… Though, did he really need one if he was controlling it with his new windy powers?) And he had even managed to reunite with dear, sweet, precious Liv Tyler! Though… She was a lot more robot-y than before.

The thought of sharing her with you made him absolutely giddy! And the idea of you being a co-parent to Casey… God, it made him smile so hard his face hurt!

And! He had even gotten a cool hammer! You'd certainly be impressed by his strength and his cool moves. John would prove himself to be a great, protective boyfriend for sure!

A looming darkness caught his attention, and he felt himself pulled toward it. It seemed to come from a large castle shrouded in darkness. It didn't seem to be natural, like from a thunderstorm. It didn't seem to be from a fire either, the darkness neither smoky nor smelt of burning. 

His eyes widened as he focused on something in the midst of the darkness - and he let out a gasp when he realized it was you!

He kicked into gear, rushing to meet you. You were dressed in your dream planet pajamas - and you looked so cute in them! As you turned, hearing him approach, he had to fight the urge to not fling himself at you, pulling you into a tight embrace as he spun you around in his arms.

He shook himself out of his daydream as you spoke to him, explaining that you had seen the darkness, as well, and wanted to investigate. It seemed to be coming from within the castle. Of course, John offered to accompany you inside. If anything went south, he'd be there for back-up!

He had to hide his grin and blush as the two of you ventured in, you sliding up beside him for reassurance. 

Walking through the cavernous halls of the castle, you were horrified to find the bodies of so many innocent people strewn about, blood and viscera covering the walls and floors. The bodies, as alien as they may have been, were clearly. This was a massacre.

But, beside you, John felt… Nothing. It was sad, sure, but… You were still alive. And that was all that mattered, really!

You jumped when you stumbled upon a living person, John moving in front of you protectively. You held your breath as the figure turned, revealing… 

Rose?

Though, she looked much different than what little you had seen of her. Her skin had turned a ghoulish gray, her eyes as black as night, and her eyes seemed to glow, illuminating her face. And a darkness seemed to surround her. It emanated off of her, stretching above her like tendrils.

Could… Could Rose have done this?

John seemed completely unfazed, greeting Rose with a wave, saying something about her "finally going grimdark."

Rose let out a noise that sounds something like a giggle, her lips quirking upwards. She tried to speak, but the words that came out… They weren't even words, you think. It sounded fuzzy, but also incredibly, painfully loud. It didn't sound like any noise a human could make, like TV static blaring in your ears, or switching through radio stations with no signals. It was suffocating and loud and- everywhere. It felt as though Rose's voice was everywhere, all around you, inside of you.

You were sure you let out a scream, but you only heard Rose's voice - even as you screwed your eyes shut and clamped your hands over your head, all you could hear was the noise…! It felt as though your ears were starting to bleed.

John's hands clamped down on your shoulders, bringing you back to the moment. You breathed heavily, chest rising and falling heavily as you tried to ground yourself.

Rose's eyes were full of guilt and concern, a pained expression on her face as she turned away.

As you tried to ground yourself and recover, you barely noticed John caressing your shoulder with a thumb. Nor did you see the deadly glare he sent to the back of Rose's head.

It's not like he didn't love Rose, but he loved you far, far more. If she ever hurt you again… He couldn't be held responsible for what he'd do.

The both of you followed Rose through the castle, the girl not able to bare turning around to face either of you. Still shaken up, you kept your head down, not wanting to look at the bodies or gore. John held you close to him, stroking your arms up and down to comfort you.

He had to fight not to smile, the feeling of your skin on his was electric.

Eventually, Rose guided the both of you out to a balcony of sorts - and you stopped dead, gasping in horror.

John's father and Rose's mother… Both dead on the ground. Murdered.

You couldn't help it, you turned to face John. The man's face was one of shock, his breathing shallow as he processed the scene in front of him.

His dad… He couldn't believe it. He had just seen him. He was right there… He felt his heart break.

Oh, and what was worse… You had to see something this awful! Oh, you poor thing! He had to get you away from here…!

But, everything happened so fast. All at once, a figure appeared - a man with the face of a dog and the body of one of the many, murdered chess people, armed with a sword. Instinctively, you stumbled back - and John turned, reaching out for you, terrified of losing you.

Before he could even call out for you, his words got choked up in his throat, replaced with nothing but blood. Pain exploded from his abdomen and his back, ocean eyes widening as they focused on the sword going straight through him. 

The figure pulled the sword free, the Heir grunting in pain as his organs were ripped apart, blood gushing from his open wounds. As John fell to his knees, trying desperately to hold himself up, he spat out blood onto the white, marble floor. Slowly, he sank to the floor, eyes growing dim as, in his last moments, he tried to find you.

---

Coming back to life, John found, was a lot like waking up - the slow awareness of consciousness, the disorientation. A sudden burst of energy hit the man as he felt himself be rejuvenated, colors exploding across his vision. He blinked as he regained his sight, the world fading in from white. He swiveled his head, trying to find you.

In the distance, he could see Rose and the dog-man battling over the battlefield, blasting off magical attacks at one another. His heart pounded in his chest. 

If she was there, then where were you?

Looking down, he surveyed the balcony. The body of his father, Rose's mother, and-

Oh. Oh, God. God, no, please!

The Heir felt tears strain at his eyes, his mouth pulled into a pained, horrifying grimace. He fell hard to his knees, kneeling above your body.

"No, no, please!" He choked out a sob. "Please, please, wake up!"

John clutched at your body, fisting the fabric of your pajamas in his hands as he shook you, desperately trying to get you to regain consciousness. He could feel his eyes and cheeks begin to sting with tears. His breathing was shallow and fast, having to use his powers to try to even it out.

He sobbed, all words incomprehensible by now. He let out sobbing screams as he clutched your body close to him, already feeling the warmth leaving you. He pressed, desperate, messy kisses to your lips and face - but, it was no use. Your real body and dreamself had both died.

He doesn't think he had ever cried before now. Only you made him feel so strongly. He loved you. He only loved you. He needed you. He couldn't lose you.

He couldn't.

Without you, life was meaningless. You were his only reason for playing this game. His only reason for doing anything - for living, for breathing. You were perfect. You were everything.

But, without you, there was no point. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair!

Grief and rage filled him to the brim. He grit his teeth and he screwed his eyes shut, eyebrows knitting together.

The air tasted of electricity, and without his knowing, the dark clouds that swirled from above dripped down and encircled him like an inky blaze.

And John let out a scream.

Or, at least, he had tried to. His cry had been cut off by inky, black tendrils forcing their way inside of his open mouth. The tentacles came from everywhere, from the gloomy clouds from above the darkness that surrounded the man.

The eldritch beings that had given the Lalonde her current state had felt power within John's rage and sorrow, as well. The outburst had drawn their attentions - feeding off the darkness within him. They would remake him in their image, as well…

John gagged as the tendrils snaked their way down his mouth and down his throat, his neck bulging from the amount of vines forcing their way down his throat. John could barely breathe, writhing in desperation to get air into his lungs. He tried to use his powers, trying to suck in air through his nose in an attempt to somehow get oxygen through the vines' air-tight hold in his throat - only to let out a strangled, muffled scream as tendrils slipped up into his nose, reaching up into his brain. 

If he could have, John would have gurgled or spit up around the tendrils, but he didn't even have the ability to do even that. The Heir's limbs spasmed as he tried to reach up to yank the tendrils out, only for more to snap the man's arms against his torso. Even more came to wrap around John's legs, restraining his legs and tying them together. 

More tears bubbled up from his eyes as he felt the tentacles curled around his legs, thighs, stomach and chest - almost caressing him, as if gently teasing him. The tender touches only served to contrast the agony of the tentacles spreading further into his body, ripping through his throat and into his stomach and intestines. 

The pain was so unbearable that if he could have, he would have puked, but the tentacles blocking his throat and mouth would have never allowed him to do so.

John swore he could feel himself bleeding internally, but in truth it was the feel of the darkness spreading all throughout his body, taking hold of him, corrupting him. He could the darkness clog his arteries, wrap around his bones, fill him up to the very brim with itself - somehow, despite the unknowable agony he was in, John had managed to stay aware, but only barely.

Until, the tentacles that had filled up his nose plunged deep into his brain. The man's body jerked wildly, twitching and spasming as the darkness overtook and corrupted his mind. Dark grey overtook and crawled up his skin. His dark hair slowly turned from his natural hair to a stark white. His eyes, forced to say open, lost their irises and pupils as they were lost in an impossibly bright, growing white.

As the tendrils finally burrowed completely into John's body, deep inside him - a horrible scream erupted from his body, making the ground below him shake and crumble, inky darkness flowing like smoke from his open, shrieking maw, now filled with fangs.

---

You awoke with a start, taking deep gasping breaths. God, your head hurt, and your back wasn't exactly feeling any better. Felt like you slept on stone… Rubbing your head, you looked down, confirming that you had, in fact, slept on stone. It had a distinct symbol on it, and looking at the front of your new outfit, it seemed to share the exact color and symbol.

You stilled suddenly, blinking, realization washing over you. An ominous presence seemed to loom over you, making a shiver crawl up your spine. You turned, and jumped in place.

It was… John. Or, what looked like John. He grinned, looking upon with an eyeless stare. It reminded you of how Rose looked before. Had… Had whatever happened to her, happened to him, too?"

"John… What's going on?" You asked, eyes flitting around in confusion. Somehow, John had taken you all the way to your planet after you…

You…

You died, hadn't you?

"John…?" You settled your focus back on him, letting out a gasp as he pulled into an embrace.

A rumble seemed to emit from within his chest… Was… Was he purring?

You settled into his hold, trying to hide your nervousness. "What happened back there? What happened to you?"

John's expression flickered to one of nervousness, before opening his mouth to speak.

You let out a yell of pain, the sound all too familiar to you. It suffocated you, overpowering even your own yelling, incomprehensible, ear-bleeding static that seemed to drill straight into your eardrums, into your mind, and your very being.

You had only realized John had stopped attempting to speak when he clasped his hands over yours, easing them from your head and holding them in his own. Whimpers bubbled up from his throat as he leaned forward, nuzzling you.

You laughed nervously, detangling your hands from John's to pet at his now-white hair. "It- it's okay, John. We… We just need to find out how to get you back to normal, okay? And then, we can get back to Rose and the others and-"

You were cut off, letting out a soft grunt as John pushed you back down onto your quest bed. A powerful purr rumbled from within him, leaning down to kiss and lick at your neck.

You were stock still for a moment, before letting out a shocked laugh, not knowing how to react. Your hands wormed your way to his shoulders. You chuckled, trying to push him off of you. "John, I- now's really not the time-"

In one swift movement, the grimdark Heir was able to pin your wrists by your head, letting out a playful growl as he straddled you.

"John…" You could whimper, voice dying out.

John only responded by diving in, kissing and licking hungrily at your neck and shoulders, occasionally pressing hungry kisses to your face and lips, swallowing your whimpers and moans.

John's purrs seemed to surround you on all sides as he dug his teeth into your neck, claiming you as his own.

#yandere x reader #yandere hs #yandere homestuck x reader #yandere homestuck #homestuck x reader #hs x reader #john egbert x reader #john x reader #grimdark john x Reader #grimdark #grimdark john egbert #body horror tw #body horror cw #body horror #suggestive #blood mention #blood tw #blood #blood cw #gore mention #gore tw #gore cw #gore trigger warning #gore #yandere #animalistic #feral #death meantion #death tw #death cw

[bokunosimpfiction]

Kidnapped Yandere!Heisenberg x Reader Pt.5

Summary: You feel emotions other than rage and sarcasm oh my god 

A/N: The reason I took a break from this series was because I had no idea where to take it from that cliff hanger, and I felt that character development needed to be done before we dive head first into the plot. This is part of that, but keep in mind it’s not filler like Chapter 2 became. I think it’s funny that this was SUPPOSED TO BE A FUCKING ONE SHOT BUT APPARENTLY FUCKING NOT. I’ll be posting another chapter for this series soon. Also feel free to send me asks about this series. I’ve been getting comments on my ao3 that are a) genius b)hilarious and c)heartwarming. Talk to me. Please! Ask and anon should be open right now let me know if they aren’t!

Masterlist link for previous parts:

Link to this chapter on AO3:

Taglist: @localdepressedvampire​ and one person recieving updates via email

The fresh cold late-autumn air made your lungs sting. And the layers of clothes didn’t help fight the chill you didn’t know you were facing. Has it been that long since you’ve been outside, to see the sun? You stick your arms in your armpits under your outercoat. Well, Heisenberg’s spare trench coat. It was much too big, the cuffs of the sleeves going well past your fingertips and the bottom half an inch from the ground.

You were so used to the fluorescent lighting and the warm dry air of the factory, that your body went into some type of culture shock. It felt like an allergic reaction to the outside world itself. Adjusting to it once you escaped would be hard.

“You’ve clearly become less fit since you started living with me,” Karl says in a matter-of-fact tone. You’d be insulted if you didn’t hear him say weird stuff about the other lords or the occasional brain-washed villager who brought up offerings. One had sewed you a wool and fox-fur dress and brought it up in September, in preparation for the winter. He’d thought it dumb at the time, but it protected you from the November chill better than anything you’ve ever worn.

Did they think you were a woman? Whether they were right or wrong, it didn’t change the fact that it was comfortable, warm, and made you feel better than the clothes you’d been wearing before in the factory or even before. You felt safe.

“Of course, I have, I’ve been sitting on my ass,” you retort.

“Still see that sass is intact.”

“It’s something that’ll never leave me.”

“You’d make a terrible house-spouse.”

“That’s the point,” you sigh hard, and you can see the cold air in front of your face, “I had a whole ass college degree before I came here and got my ass kidnapped.”

Karl whips around and looks at you, tilting his head down to peer at you from above his glasses. “You have a college degree?”

“Why are you surprised? Did you think I was that stupid?” Even if the question is sarcastic and witty, you felt a pang of hurt reverberate in your heart. Did he really think you were that stupid? Apparently so.

“I have two masters. One in aerospace engineering and one in mechanical engineering. Double majored in those fields for my bachelors at Oxford on a full-ride scholarship of robotic engineering.”

His mouth drops open. “And I didn’t know about this because?”

“It never came up.”

He pinches his nose, “you could have been helping me this whole time in the shop, and I let you sit on your ass and play care-taker.”

“More like forced me.” At this point, you’ve stopped walking, and you’d be able to see the manor of Benviento if it weren’t for the fog.

“Besides the point.” He looks stressed. His eyebrows are furrowed, a deep frown is on his face and his whole disposition makes him look genuinely conflicted and upset. “Let’s just go.” He gestures for you to follow him and stomps up the path.

You follow him, trying not to slip in the mud. Converse doesn’t have great traction, you realized. Maybe you should have worn hiking boots. “Listen, dirty Dr. Doofenschmirtz-“

“I don’t want to listen to your dumb nick-names right now.”

You stop again, and your fists ball up at your side around the fabric of the sleeves of his coat. Your coat. The coat you’re wearing.

“Why the hell are you so mad at me!” It’s not a question. It’s an exclamation of emotion. For some reason, it hurts. Even if you despised him, hated him with all your being, having someone love you unconditionally felt nice. He was toxic at best, sociopathic at worst, and yet he loved you so strongly it tore the both of you so part. To feel that admiration has gone missing, even if for a second, sent you reeling. You can’t explain why you softened towards him.

“I’m not.” He keeps walking before he realized you stopped. He turned around to look at you. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just…” He looks for the words. He’d never been good at expressing himself, you realized. Better through actions than words. But you didn’t want him to act on whatever he was feeling.

You wait in silence, eye-watering, trying not to cry.

He sees and rushes over to you. His left arm wraps around you and his right hand gently grabs your chin, his index finger underneath to lift your chin up to look at him. “Don’t cry, you know I hate it when you cry.”

You struggle to take a deep breath, choke on it, and the world feels so much more dangerous. A million malicious eyes gazing into your soul, whispers of panic fill your brain, and flashing thoughts of running right now, of hurting him or you flash through like lightning in a foggy storm. Every damn thing feels hazy and thick and you’re choking on the lump in your throat. “I don’t want to. I don’t want you to be mad at me, I don’t want-“

“Take a deep goddamn breath.” You feel his tobacco-scented breath on your face. You can see panic flash through his eyes for a moment. You hate the smell, and it suffocates you even more. “You need to breath.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, and your breath shakes like a wasp nest about to fall from the highest branch. “Why are you mad at me?” This time you genuinely ask. You don’t want a reason, but rather a reassurance that he isn’t at all.

His lips form into a snarl that doesn’t come out before he presses them in a tight line. As he thinks. It makes you even more nervous. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the fact that I had an opportunity that went to waste.”

You look up at him. “Okay.”

He wraps his other arm around you and places his chin on your forehead. “Let me know when you’ve calmed down.”

You rest your forehead on his shoulder and breathe.

In. Out.

In.          Out.

In. OUT.

In… out

In.

Out.

 In.

 … out.

“Do you feel any better?”

You wait a moment. “Yeah, I think so.” You ponder for a moment. “I think I had a lot of pent-up anxiety from everything.”

He stays quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He places a kiss on the crown of your head, his beard ruffling your hair. “Are you not going to forgive me?”

You take a deep breath. “I don’t know yet. It’s…” How do I phrase this? “I worked hard for this anger. This anger to love me, to know I didn’t deserve this, to be kidnapped, to have my head ready to be mounted on a stick.” You continue, “if I stop feeling angry, if I forgive you, I’m afraid I’m losing that. That’s why I tried to escape because I loved myself, I wanted better for myself.”

“Was I… Was I not providing enough for you?” His question strikes you like an arrow.

“I-“ You stumble on you’re thoughts for a moment. “It’s less of you not doing enough, but more of the rough foot we started on.” You sniffle. “When I gave up, I felt like I lost a part of myself, all that I worked for. That degree included. I felt all my efforts, all my struggles that I faced outside this goddamn village had gone to waste. That it wasn’t worth it. That I wasn’t worth it.”

You had promised yourself to keep him at arm’s length, to not give him clues to manipulate you. But you poured your heart out into his. You felt him shake and squeeze you tighter.

“Never. Ever. Feel like you aren’t worth it.” You feel something wet on your scalp. “You deserved better than each challenge that you faced, and each bit of hurt you felt along the way.” It’s his turn to choke on his words. He takes a shaky breath above you, and you can feel his heart pound faster. “You, darling, are worth everything.”

Something small inside you breaks. He’s just as human as you are, you realize. In this desperate attempt to escape, to fuel this hatred that’s worn you down, you’ve villainized a man that’s felt even more pain than you. A broken man, who thinks you’re the glue to put him back together. You shouldn’t feel any obligation to, but you do, because you’ve felt a fraction of the pain he’s felt, that he’s currently feeling, and it’s made your mind and bones ache far after the situation ended.

“And so are you, Karl.”

He unwraps his arms from around you. “Come one butter-cup, let’s go. Ugly-ass-psycho-doll is waiting for you. Says she wants you for a fitting and some tea party with her demented child, Angie.”

“Angie? Who’s she.”

“Well, you’re about to find out.”

#Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg #Yandere Heisenberg #Yandere #Yandere x Reader #Heisenberg x Reader #Yandere Heisenberg x Reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil 8 x reader #resident evil village x reader #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #re8

[ithebookhoarder]

Prequel Star Wars (Head-canons): Dealing with a sick reader

A/N: After the request for these head canons for the original trio I kind of got inspired for the other trios too... oops?

Masterlist: 

Anakin:

Ok. There’s only one word for Anakin when you’re sick: worrier.

Yep. This man is on red alert real quick the minute you mention even thinking you feel a bit under the weather. In fact, he’d have you back in your chambers and buried under a pile of blankets before you can even try to tell him it isn’t necessary.

“You can’t be too careful, and you do feel rather warm. You may have a fever-”

“Anakin! Say that once you’ve felt my forehead again, but with your non-robotic hand this time.”

“Oh.”

It’s rather sweet actually, watching the way Anakin scurries about getting anything and everything you could possibly need. 

It’s also ironic considering this is the man who always insists he is fine, even when he has blaster wounds all over him. He may have been adversed to letting people take care of him, but he’s only too eager to take care of you. 

After all, since his mother died, you are all he really has in the way of family. He’s not about to let something as simple as a cold kill you. 

So, you let him fuss, knowing it’s just as good for him as it is for you, to let him play nurse maid for a while. 

“Do you need more pillows? I also can get Obi-wan to get some more of that tea you like from the market too if you want.” 

“I’m fine, Ani.”

“Are you sure? You still look pale-“

“Just come cuddle with me, ok? Just a for a while?”

Needless to say, he’s only too happy to cradle you in his arms and let you drift off to sleep against him, softly humming under his breath as he brushes the hair off of you face. 

This is how it stays for the next few days or so, until you’re finally strong enough to get back up and move around the temple. 

Even then, Anakin is like a shadow, following you around incase you’re wrong and it turns out you’re not strong enough yet to be up and about. 

“Ani, honey, I’m fine. I promise. I’m not made of glass, you don’t have to always worry something’s going to break me.” 

He knows you’re right, even if he’s reluctant to admit it. So, he settles for a kiss and a compromise that you at least let Ahsoka keep an eye on you while you work. It has been nearly a week since either of you left your quarters and people were going to start getting suspicious soon if he didn’t let you be by yourself. 

However, he doesn’t need to worry. 

It’s only a day later he starts coughing and feeling sick himself. 

It’s hard not to laugh at the irony as you take his arm and start hauling him back to bed, ready to return the favour. What was one more week of seclusion, just the two of you? At least this time you’d get to play nurse maid. 

Obi-Wan: 

Unlike Anakin, Obi-wan is rather calm when it comes to handling any kind of problem. So, when he finds you slumped over, face down, in the text you’d been trying to read in the archives, he merely chuckles.

“Darling, wake up. You fell asleep again.”

“Obi?” You blink, groaning as you try to sit up without falling over from the sudden dizziness you feel rushing through you.  

Of course, one look at you is enough to tell him something is definitely wrong with you. 

“Oh dear, you look dreadful.”

“Wow. Such a charmer.”

“I try,” he teases, helping you up and wrapping an arm around you as he starts to escort you back to your rooms. You need some rest, clearly, if you’ve become rundown enough to catch some kind of bug. It’s probably the same one that’s been going around the younglings recently.

“Here we are. Let’s get you changed and settled in to bed, alright?”

His voice is so soft and soothing as he mothers you, seeing to your every need with barely a complaint. He has you out of your robes and into something comfy in the blink of an eye. He also makes you some tea and retrieves some medication from his bathroom cabinet, insisting you take some before sleeping. 

Obi-wan is also a patient man. Being Master to Anakin for the last ten years has ensured that, meaning he is more than prepared for your whining and moaning. 

He simply smiles, laughing at the rather adorable pout you wear whenever he tries to get you to take some more medication or agree to stay in bed for another day. 

“But I have a report due tomorrow for Master Fisto-“

“I’ve already explained the situation to him. He has someone else finishing it for him.”

“Well, I also have that class with the younglings-”

“Which Master Yoda has also agreed to cover, so you have nothing to worry about except recovering, alright?”

It is alright, despite you pretending otherwise. When else do you get to spend so much time along together? In fact, despite feeling like death warmed up, you rather like letting him take care of you and entertaining you with whatever book he’s been reading lately. 

He always looks happiest when he has you nestled under his arm, and a book in his free hand. Needless to say, he has no problems reading you off to sleep every night, watching as you drift off by the time he’s finished another chapter. 

“Sleep well, my love.” 

And you do. You sleep remarkably well with Obi-wan next to you which is why, even after you’re better, you’re quick to invite him to sleep in your bed as many nights as you can.  

You’re also eager to return the favour and read to him instead, as he eventually falls asleep to the sound of your voice night after night. 

Who knew the great General Kenobi was so adorable when asleep?  

Padme:

Now, Padme may be royalty, but she is a public servant first and foremost. Her entire life is dedicated to the service of others, so when she sees you struggling to keep yourself upright at your desk, she is all over you. 

“Y/N? What is it? Are you feeling alright?” 

“I’m fine, Padme. It’s just stress.”

“Sure you are. Why else have you been staring at that page for the last hour and a half?” 

She pauses, frowning at you and trying not to roll her eyes at your stoic nature. On one hand, it’s rather ironic for her to scold you when she herself has been known to burn the candle at both ends. However, there comes a point when it was impossible to ignore your body’s obviously worsening condition. 

So, she swiftly orders you to bed and instructs a physician to check nothing is terribly wrong with you - even if you insist it isn’t necessary. 

“Well, it is to me, alright?” 

And of course, how can you say no to that sweet face when she pouts and bats her eyelids? 

“Ugh! Fine!”

One annoyingly tedious check up later, you’ve been diagnosed with a mild stomach bug and told to rest for the remainder of the week. 

“Here. I have some juice for you. You need fluids if you’re going to recover quicker.” 

You smirk at the idea that a queen is serving you as she bursts into your room the following day, carrying a tray laden with fruit and a pitcher of your favourite juice. 

You’re quick to thank her, downing the glass within seconds, much to her amusement. 

“Thirsty are we?”

“And bored,” you whine, grinning as Padme passes you a data pad with a knowing wink. “You angel!”

“Hardly. You get one hour to work, ok? Then I’m taking it back and you’re having a nap? Understood?”

It seems like a fair enough compromise as you sit up and read the briefings she’s downloaded for you. In fact, by the time your hour is up, your eyes are drooping and you’re struggling to sit up by yourself. 

“No protests? I am surprised.”

She clearly isn’t, but she’s too kind to say so as she kisses your forehead and clambers in to bed next to you as you nestle in close.

The soft scent of her perfume and the sound of her heartbeat is all the lullaby you need as you let yourself grab a few more hours of sleep. 

A few days of this routine, and of Padme’s diligent care, and you’re back to your old self in no time. 

In fact, a small part of you rather looks forward to the next time either one of you are sick given how nice it is to have the time to spend together. 

So, you still insist on taking a nap together every afternoon despite being off bed rest. “Merely as a precaution” - or so you insist as you steal Padme from her office every day without fail for a small escape. “Wouldn’t want our favourite Senator to fall sick now, would we?”  

#star wars #Star Wars fanfic #star wars imagine #star wars headcanons #obi wan kenobi #Obi-Wan Kenobi #obi wan x reader #obi-wan X reader #obi-wan x you #Anakin Skywalker #anakin x reader #padme x reader #Padme Amidala #Clone Wars #ithebookhoarder #prompt #request #masterlist #answered

[trashyswitch]

Safety Within the Sanders' Pizzeria

Virgil's inner anxiety and interactions with some of the animatronics, causes Virgil to have a panic attack during work. Thankfully, Logan and Patton are there to calm him down and be playful with him.

The ending includes slightly dirty statements, because...Remus. But that's about it!

And this prompt was suggested by good ol' Pumpkin Paw! I hope you like it! And for the rest of you: JURY DUTY, JURY DUTY, JURY DUTY, BLACK MAIL-

Just kidding! I hope you enjoy!

Virgil was growing terrified of the robots. They all seemed to have a sinister side that tripled when they were kept in darkness and not surrounded by children. Though a couple of the robots were better-suited for children, there were robots he was much more terrified of…

Examples? Remus and Janus.

Janus was an unpredictable robot that managed to glitch himself into an impulsive liar. He’s encouraged kids to set things on fire, let kids play with sharpened swords, showed kids how to make chloroform, and taught kids all kinds of dangerous things. There was a reason Janus was kept in a locked room to only be used for spare parts. He was also scared that Janus was gonna pull some manipulative tricks on him or scare him. His worst nightmare was the thought of Janus sneaking up on him with a box of matches and saying “Humans are very flame resistant! Let me show you:” and setting him on fire. OH PLEASE NO.

Remus was even worse! He caused violence way too much, and looked like a creepy, insane robotic homeless guy that could kill hundreds if he was allowed to go free. He even smelled like a mix of mold, metal and dead mice. Worst of all? He had a mace. A FREAKING MACE! WHO THE HELL GAVE THE ROBOT A MACE?! And since his robot body made him so strong, Virgil’s head could easily be crushed by a single swing of the mace alone! All he could do was pray that Remus never got any ideas to try it out.

“Ooooh Viiirgiiil~” someone called.

Virgil jumped and moved his flashlight around to find the source of the sound. “You-You’d better leave me alone! I-” Virgil grabbed a lamp. “I have a...A lamp! And I’m not afraid to use it!” Virgil warned.

The voice let out a manic laugh that helped him identify the voice. It was Remus. “That’s a good one! The poor security guard’s all alone with only his lamp to hold onto! Such a shame it won’t save you.” Remus teased.

“Oh yeah? How do you know?” Virgil asked, plugging it in.

“The lamp’s hardly a weapon up against my pointy mace! All it’ll take is a big, fat, SPLAT! AHAHAHAHAHAAA! THEN IT’LL JUST BE BROKEN GLASS AND METAL!” Remus declared.

Virgil growled and held up the lamp in one hand, and the switch in the other. “Alright coward, COME ON OUT.”

Remus kicked the door down. “THE FUCK DID YOU JUST- AAAAAAH!” Remus interrupted himself and covered up his eyes with his hands. “FAAACK!”

Virgil smiled a little as he shined the light right into Remus’s eyes. “Not so tough now with burned robot eyes, huh?” Virgil spat.

Remus growled and started swinging his mace around blindly. Virgil’s confident smirk quickly turned to fear as he tried to get out of the way of the flying mace. “WHOA- Oh geez- REMUS!” Virgil shouted.

It didn’t take long for the lamp to end up destroyed into pieces by the mace. Remus let out some proud, chaotic laughter as his eyes very slowly adjusted. “Just like a piñata! A few more hits should do it!” Remus declared as he readied his mace like a baseball bat.

Virgil quickly dropped the lamp and sprinted away as quickly as he could. He sprinted out of the office and darted his way down the hall. But his sprinting was quickly brought to a halt by another robot who was blocking his path.

“Oooooh! Looking confident today, Security guard.” The robot teased as he tipped his hat. Oh no...It was Janus…

Virgil sprinted behind Janus and hid. “Please hide me! Remus is trying to kill me!” Virgil begged.

Janus turned his head a full 180 degrees to look right at Virgil. “My, what a brave soul.” Janus reacted out loud.

Virgil shrieked at Janus’s over contorted head and backed up from him. “That’snotright! that’snotRIGHT!” Virgil muttered.

Janus’s eyes moved to the right...they moved to the left...then they looked back at Virgil. “What do you mean? This is normal.” Janus told him. To top it all off, Janus had shrugged his shoulders like a human usually would. But Janus’s shoulder blades were literally just below Janus’s chin and were facing the terrified security guard. That was NOT normal.

In fact, that was enough to make Virgil scream and sprint off again. He sprinted his way further down the hall, and was soon skidded to a stop by one more animatronic:

“OOOH! A worthy opponent!” The animatronic declared, pointing his sharpened knife to Virgil. Virgil shrieked and put his hands up in surrender. “That’s right, you have no weapon! So that means you’re my prisoner!” Roman declared, grabbing his hand and leading him away. “I hope you can appreciate a quick death. Let’s say...Beheading! With my sword, of course!” Roman declared.

Virgil took one look at the sword and yelped: The sword was AN INCH AWAY FROM HIS EYE.

Roman giggled at his scared face. “Hehehe! Poke poke~”

Virgil screeched like a terrified hawk and pulled his arm out of Roman’s grip. The moment he was free, Virgil screamed again and took off sprinting.

“Wait! Wait, Virgil! I was joking! Come on!” Roman yelled to him.

Virgil sprinted all the way to the other side of the pizzeria. The animatronics were everywhere. He couldn’t get away! They wouldn’t stop grabbing him! Threatening his life! SCARING HIM TO DEATH!

OH NO! NOT ANOTHER ONE! Virgil tried to get up and take off running again. But this animatronic had him good. So Virgil started to kick, scream, and punch. Anything to get out of the animatronic’s strong grip.

“Virgil! Virgil Sanders! Can you hear me?” The animatronic asked.

Virgil’s fighting slowed a bit as he heard his actual name. “Wh- *huff, huff, huff* What-”

“Virgil Sanders. Is that right?” The animatronic asked. Virgil nodded his head. “Okay. I only know your name because I read your name tag.” The animatronic told him.

Okay...Okay. That makes sense. But this is an animatronic! Why are they being nice? The only animatronic he knew that was nice, was Patton! And even HE was a little sinister! “Pat- Patisthatyou?” Virgil asked.

“This is Logan. I need you to sit down and try to cooperate with me.” Logan explained. Virgil looked up and managed to catch the general outline of glasses...and a dark blue shirt. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. I’ve closed the doors and ordered all the animatronics but Patton, to leave you alone.” Logan explained.

Virgil started to relax his muscles bit by bit. “O...Okay...Okay.”

Something slid into his hand. “Can you feel my hand?” Logan asked. Virgil nodded. “Okay good. Can you feel my face?” Logan asked as he placed Virgil’s hand onto his cold, hard cheek.

Virgil nodded and looked up at him. “Cold...It’s cold.” Virgil added.

“Okay.” Logan replied.

“Good job Kiddo!” Another animatronic cheered. Virgil smiled a little at that.

“Now:” Logan placed Patton’s hand onto Virgil’s arm. “Can you feel the hand on your arm?” Logan asked. Virgil nodded. Logan continued. “That is Patton’s hand.” Logan told him.

Virgil nodded. “Okay.”

Patton, feeling a little playful, placed his hand on Virgil’s belly. “Do you feel this?” Patton asked as he started gently scratching it.

Virgil smiled and laughed a little. “Yeheheah, Ihihi doho.”

“Patton, I don’t think childish behaviours like tickling are recommended when a person is recovering from a panic atta-”

“It’s working!” Patton added his other hand to Virgil’s belly and started skittering all over. “Tickle tickle tickle!”

Virgil giggled and fell gently onto his back while he rolled around and pushed at Patton’s hands. “Hehehehehe! Hahahahahaha! Ihihi’m ohokahahahay.” Virgil let him know.

“Alright.” Patton stopped tickling him. “Did that help?”

Virgil smiled. “Yes. A lot, actually.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “Fascinating...Virgil must be a rare human to appreciate tickling after a panic attack.” Logan reacted calmly.

Patton chuckled and shook his head. “Or tickling really does help for panic attacks and you just don’t believe me yet!” Patton picked up Virgil, held him in his arms like a toddler, and started skittering his fingers on Virgil’s sides. “Kitchy kitchy kitchy koo!”

Virgil squealed and started to wiggle again. “HAhahahaha! Hehehehe Pahahahat! Thahahat ticklehehes!” Virgil giggled.

“Ihi can tell! If it wasn’t ticklish to you, then I’d still be looking for new ticklish spots.” Patton replied.

Patton lifted up Virgil’s Security Guard shirt a bit and found the guy’s belly button. “Oooh! Giggle button!” Patton reacted as he poked it a few times. Virgil guffawed! His back arched like a freaking rainbow, and Virgil just about kicked Patton in the face! But thankfully, Patton caught the foot right before it hit him. “That was close…” Patton said calmly.

Virgil was covering his belly. “Sohorry. My belly button is REEEALLY bad.” Virgil admitted.

Patton dropped Virgil’s foot. “It IS?!” Patton pretty much dove towards Virgil and started scratching Virgil’s belly again. “Does this tickle?” Patton asked.

Virgil squeaked and squealed while rolling around and kicking his feet. “AAAHAHAHAHAHA! YEHEHEHEHEHESS!” Virgil yelled back.

Patton grabbed both of Virgil’s sides and started squeezing. “Does this tickle more? Or less?” Patton asked.

Virgil’s laughter fell to giggles while Patton tickled up and down the one side of his ribs. “Yeheheheheheah. Ihihihit tihihihihicklehehes lehehehess.” Virgil replied.

Patton hummed. “I can tell! Your laughter went from super strong, to little giggles!” Patton reacted.

Virgil nodded. “It did, yeah.”

Patton gasped and lifted Virgil’s shirt again. “I wanna hear your laughter again!” Patton declared before poking and swirling his finger in his belly button.

“Patton...Maybe we should tone it down-”

“BAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! WAITNOHOHOHOHOHOHO!” Virgil rolled onto his belly as soon as he possibly could, and then continued to giggle into the floor as he recovered. “Lohohoho...Loho hahahas ahaha pohohohoint.” Virgil told him.

Patton frowned a little and crossed his arms. “Fiiine. I guess I’ll give you a break.” Patton decided.

Virgil let out a breath of relief and turned onto his back again. “Thank you.”

Logan was staring at Virgil with his eyes slightly narrow and a hand on his chin. It looked like he was in a hyper focused thinking mode. Logan just kept on staring at him, and looking him up and down. It was growing a little creepy for his liking. But...Logan probably didn’t really realize it.

“Um...L-Logan?” Virgil asked.

Logan moved his hand off his own chin and brought his index finger closer to Virgil. “Virgil…” He said, pointing to the nametag. “A male name meaning ‘Staff bearer’ in Latin.” Logan explained.

Virgil bit his lip and nodded. “Yes...That’s right. It’s also the name of a Roman poet.” Virgil admitted.

“Yes: Publius Vergilius Maro. He became influential in The Golden Age. Also known as The Augustan Age.” Logan added.

Virgil smiled. “Isn’t Augustus the Emperor that was related to Julius Caesar?” Virgil asked.

“Yes! Caesar was Augustus’s great-uncle.” Logan replied.

“Okay.” Virgil decided. “So...What about it?”

Logan smiled. “The name is very uncommon in this century.” Logan told him.

Virgil smiled. “I guess I’m special.” He teased.

Logan shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps.”

Logan leaned in and brought his hands towards Virgil’s ribs. “Is your ribcage ticklish by chance?” Logan asked him.

Virgil widened his eyes and scooted closer to the wall with a wobbly smile on his face. “Nohoho, no, no it’s not. Totally not.” Virgil lied desperately.

“Hmm...I see...And,” Logan touched down and started skittering, “-does proving my point help the factual robot to see that you’re lying?” Logan asked with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Yes! Yes it does.”

Virgil bursted out into fits of giggles and laughter mixed into one reaction. “Aahahahahahaha! Ohohokahahahay, okay yohohohou’re rihihihight! Ihihi lihihihied! Ihihi’m sohohohorryhyhyhy!” Virgil admitted.

“I appreciate you apologizing. However, I’m afraid it’s a little too late for mercy to be bestowed upon you.” Logan told him as he started to move up the ribs.

Virgil’s laughter grew higher in octave, and a little louder. “WahahaHAHAHAIT- WHAHAHAHAT?! IHIHIHI THOHOHOHOHOUGHT-”

“You thought you were getting a break?” Logan finished for him. “Nah. I just wanted to have my turn to be the infamous ‘tickle monster’. Coochy coochy coochy coochy coo Virgil~” Logan teased.

Virgil threw his head back and started cackling. “AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAT THEHEHERE! PLEHEHEASE! EEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!” Virgil begged, trapping Logan’s hands in his upper arms.

“Oh dear...Patton, did you trick me into entering a trap?” Logan asked.

Patton giggled and shook his head. “Nohoho, why?”

Logan huffed dramatically and pulled. “Because I appear to be stuck. And Virgil is a lot stronger than I envisioned.” Logan explained.

Patton laughed even harder. “YOHOHOU’RE A ROBOT! You’re made of METAL! All it takes is a tug, Logan!” Patton reminded him.

Logan paused his tickling as he looked down at his arms and started pulling. But the pulling was made to be super weak and...quite pathetic for a robot.

“Ohohokahahay, nohohow you’re just beheheheing rihihidicuhulohohous.” Virgil told him.

Logan looked at Virgil with a frown and a smirk. “Excuse me?” Logan reacted. “Pathetic?”

Virgil’s giggles skyrocketed from Logan’s reaction. “Yeheheheahahahah!” Virgil further provoked.

Logan smirked even wider and fixed his glasses. “Excuse me while I do this:” Logan picked up Virgil like a toddler, brought him into his arms and covered every part of Virgil’s middle with tickles. Ribs, belly, sides, belly button, hips, they were all tickled.

Virgil absolutely LOST IT! He was a mess of cackles, snorts, hiccups, and even squeaks mixed together into one big ball! Virgil looked like a snorter, so the snort didn’t really catch Logan off guard.

However, Patton was ecstatic. “Logan! Did you hear that?! He snorted! He has a snort laugh! Hahahahaha! I love it! I wanna hear it again! Can you make him snort again?” Patton asked amidst his rambling.

Logan giggled at this and nodded. “Sure thing Pat in the Hat.” Logan replied. To make Virgil snort again, Logan specifically targeted his upper ribs and his belly all at once. This made Virgil cackle, squeal, and as Patton wanted: snort.

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE! *snort* TOHOHOO MUHUHUHUCH! TOHO *snort* MUHUHUHUCH! MEHEHEHERCYHYHYHYHY! *snort* PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE?” Virgil pleaded.

“Uh oh...I do believe his oxygen level is dropping a bit too low. I will need to stop and let him breathe again.” Logan told Patton as he stopped tickling.

Virgil went limp in Logan’s arms almost immediately. He was breathing heavily as well, which further proved Logan’s observation.

“Hohohow…” Virgil was stopped by Logan’s index finger on his lips.

“Hush Virgil. Just breathe for a bit. Then you may ask your question.” Logan advised.

Virgil rolled his eyes and listened to him. But Virgil did feel a little annoyed by Logan’s advice. How did Logan know what’s best for him? He’s not a human. He hasn’t experienced being human since he was made. Heck, even his human-mimicking socializing was quite off. No one quite talked like Logan. Well, except for the super introverted nerds in the world.

BUt Virgil still listened to him. When he felt recovered enough, Virgil tried again. “How do you know my oxygen level?” Virgil asked.

Logan looked down at him. “I have been fitted with a pulse Oximeter at my fingertips.” Logan explained briefly. He brought his fingers to Virgil’s. “I can squeeze gently on your finger, and a number will show up. If it’s normal, then I don’t have any reason to act concerned. If it’s low however, I may advise breathing more heavily or going outside for some fresh air or a short walk. That usually helps raise a human’s blood oxygen level.” Logan explained.

“Hm...I see. Can you do anything else?” Virgil asked.

“Indeed I can.” Logan replied. “Not many people know this, but I have been fitted with a Glucometer for checking the blood sugar of any suspected or confirmed diabetic of any age.” Logan told him. “I also have a way to check your general body temperature.” Logan added. “You’re fairly warm still. However, exerting activities such as tickling can make you increasingly warm.” Logan explained.

Virgil smiled. “That’s really cool.”

Logan smiled. “I can also confirm that you are, in fact, a male. If you were a trans male, I would know. But I would still be ordered to call you by your preferred pronouns due to backlash if I failed to do so.” Logan explained.

“Kinky!” Someone added randomly.

Patton jumped at the new voice, and frowned at the word he used. “Remus, no!” Patton warned.

Logan sighed and fixed his glasses. “Remus, it is NOT kinky! It is basic knowledge!” Logan argued.

“Sounds pretty kinky to me! Right Security Guard?” Remus teased.

Virgil looked away, growing a little more uncomfortable than he expected. “A...A little…”

Logan looked at Virgil. “I don’t quite understand…” Logan admitted. “Did I do something wrong?”

Virgil shook his head. “No! No you didn’t. Just for the future...Maybe keep the ‘gender’ identifying technology a secret. For...social purposes.” Virgil advised.

Logan nodded. “Noted.” Then, Logan smiled. “However, we are gonna take advantage of your more regular oxygen levels and resume tickling you.”

Wait a minute, WHAT?!

Patton gasped and clapped his hands. “YES! MORE SNORTS!”

And more snorts Patton got. Dozens, to be specific.

#Virgil has a panic attack #caring logan #caring patton #chaotic remus #neutral janus #roman being an idiot #SS & FNAF crossover #night guard virgil #robot patton #robot logan #robot sides #ticklefic #ler!patton #ler!logan #lee!virgil #slight angst #comforting

[skylarmoon71]

Bumblebee x Reader : (Transformers) Chapter 5

So, rather than dealing with the problem like a mature person, you settled for ducking Bumblebee. It was cruel, he did absolutely nothing wrong, but you couldn’t face him. You were going on day five without any kind of communication. It was getting harder because he pretty much knew your schedule. You were positive he picked on it, because he started swinging by in the mornings, which made it that much harder to slip away. 

Hence the reason you were now mopping your school’s hallway. Because of your need to evade the cute Autobot, you’d been coming into classes late almost everyday. You had to take the longer route to school, you couldn’t help that. And it wasn’t like you could explain the situation to your teacher. You ran the mop along the floor slowly, dazing off. 

You missed Bumblebee like crazy. Talking with him, staring at the sky, hugging him. 

You wanted to slap yourself, why did you let something so foolish as a dream dictate everything. 

“I’m done.” you weren’t going to run like a coward anymore. After this, you would march over there and apologize to him, hopefully he still wanted to be your friend. 

“Oh, hello, usually I’m the last one here.” your eyes refocused and you stared at the male now standing in front of you. He was wearing a suit and glasses. He looked like a teacher, but you were almost positive you’d never seen him before. Giving a polite smile you nod, moving to place the mop into the bucket. 

“Yes, a little detention. My fault really. Anyway I was just about to leave. I’m about done.” 

“Leaving so soon (Y/N).” The way he said your name made your hair stand on end. Deciding that maybe this guy was some type of serial killer, you gave a nervous laugh.

“W-Well I should get going, my mom must be wondering where I am right about now.” You didn’t even bother to place the mop back in it’s designated area. You were pretty sure the janitor would prefer you escape a potential psychopath over returning the item. 

“Can’t let you do that sweetie.” He removed the glasses, and you took a step back. The color of his eyes changed to an almost demonic bright red, and your heart nearly stopped when his body started changing into a machine. 

You spun around, taking off in a sprint, there was no doubt that thing was following behind. Blasting out the door, you jumped over the short flight of steps, landing harshly, but still  pushing forward. You picked a random direction, trying your hardest to increase your pace. 

You tried to fight the tears that were now spilling from your eyes, but it was useless, if that thing caught you, you’d be done for. You made another sharp turn, only looking back for a split second to see if it was still following. You couldn’t even recognize the street you were on, your only focus was running as fast and far away as possible. 

When your gaze redirected to the front, you grunted as your body connected full on with the car in front of you. Your body went right against the windshield, and you rolled all the way over the top, the pain running over your body like a wave. Your form crashed to the ground, and you let out a cry of pain, breath heaving as you struggled to get to your feet. It took you a second to realize you’d gotten yourself on an empty street. There was no one around. No one to see, no one to protect you. You were alone, all alone. 

The car before you grew in size, and you looked up, watching the way the robot hovered over you like a dark cloud. There was a sick way in which it leered down at you. 

“I’d never understand why those autobots are so fond of you humans, you’re such useless fragile things. Insignificant. “ Moving just your arm felt like a challenge, so getting your body to stand upright was out of the question. Sobbing, your eyes caught the insignia that was engraved at the bottom of his leg. The pointed edge was a dead give away. 

He was a decepticon.

“Tell me human, where is the base of those Autobots, and maybe I might just spare your life.” you kept your mouth shut, and although you were in excruciating pain, you would have rather died than disclose such information. 

Your silence was all he needed. 

“Very well, I’m going to enjoy tearing your limbs slowly from your body you uneducated ap-” a blast shot out from behind you, hitting him square in his chest. He gasped, stepping back. Turning your head, you swore you’d never been so relieved to see the black and yellow painted vehicle. 

Bumblebee transformed almost instinctively, shooting out and tackling the Decepticon to the floor. The both started wrestling, each making vicious swipes at each other. Bumblebee’s face plate was drawn, and the anger in which he struck the other robot was unlike anything you’d ever seen. He summoned his cannon, grabbing the Decepticon’s neck with one hand as he aimed the cannon with the other. There was no hesitation as he shot the beam, and it took the Decepticon’s head clean off. 

All you could hear was gargled sounds of the words as he dropped the remainder of his body to the floor, uncaring. You were still on the ground, shaking in terror of the events that just transpired right before your eyes. When Bumblebee was sure the threat was dealt with, his body relaxed, and he turned to you. His hands lowered and you could see the weapon retracting, his metal fingers forming back into place. His steps were slow and he knew it was more for you than him. He wanted nothing more than to reach out for you, but the look of horror, even though it wasn’t directed at him, it made him question himself. 

“Bee..” his head dropped. 

“I’m... so sorry (Y/N)..” The words that left him, it made your chest hurt. You couldn’t hold back in your tears. So you cried, right there in the middle of the street. And Bumblebee sat with you, all he could provide was comfort, because no amount of words would truly make you feel any less afraid. 

~~~

Bumblebee had scooped you up into your arms at some point, and honestly, you were a bit disoriented when you woke up in the hospital the very next day. You supposed the strain of it all had caught up, and your body just gave out. Your mother of course freaked out. But after the doctors assured her that all you sustained was a few broken ribs, she seemed to be more at ease. 

She practically slept there, even when the nurse’s tried to get her to get something to eat, she refused to leave your side. Sam and Mikaela showed up, and you were more than grateful. Mikaela managed to get her to take care of herself, and Sam promised to look after you so she could get a shower, and some actual food. Giving you a kiss goodbye, she left. Sam took a seat at the side of your bed, and you sent him an impish smile. 

“You look like shit.” you giggled at that. “Wow Sam, way to make a girl feel good.” He was smiling, and he took your hand, looking down at his feet. You could see the guilt on his face. 

“This is my fault.” 

“Come on, are you for real right now. Please. I just spent hours convincing my mom that nothing she did could have prevented what happened. She thinks it was just a car accident, and I hope it stays that way.” 

He sighed. “If I never told you about any of this, you’d be safe. If Optimus didn’t warn us about the interference, who knows what could have gone down. (Y/N) you were almost killed, just for knowing about this, about them. I never should have-”

“Stop it!” your yell startled him.

“No one forced you to tell me anything, it was my decision to go into those woods that day, and I regret nothing Sam. Absolutely nothing.” 

“(Y/N).” 

“I’m serious. When I found out, I knew it wasn’t danger free. I’m not going to lie, when it came at me I was..” you squeezed his hand. 

“I was petrified. I really thought that..that I was going to die there, alone. “ A single tear ran down the side of your cheek, and you swallowed to prevent your voice from breaking. 

“I understand all the risks that come with this friendship, and even so, I’d never trade it. Not for anything. “ 

It meant more to him that you realized that you felt that way. 

“But Sam, just promise me that, if anything like this ever happens again. Please...just keep my mom safe.” 

“(Y/N), nothing like this is going to happen again we’re ready this time an-” 

“Sam!” he froze, and the way you looked, he could tell that you’d calculated it all. All the possibilities of disaster.

“Promise me.” you begged. 

He let out a staggered breath, covering your hands with his. 

“I promise.” 

That was all you needed. Nothing else mattered.  

#bumblebee #bumblebee x reader #protectivebumblebee #transformers #optimus prime #ratchet #sam witwicky #mikaela #teens #fights #feelings #friendship #friends to lovers #autobots #decepticons #Protection

[thepatricktreestump]

whatever you say - peter parker imagine

A/N: I don’t normally write nsfw spidey things but my fingers just wouldn’t stop typing so please do forgive me… not any actual smut, just lots of flirting and implications of sexual favors

               It was strange, but for some reason, you found complete comfort in the simplicity that was Peter Parker. He lived in a small apartment with his Aunt May in Forest Hills, went to Midtown High, and at first glance, seemed like your typical teenage boy. May worked as an ER nurse and Peter kept up on his studies, proving to be a straight A student who succeeded not only in school, but in extracurriculars and academic teams as well. He liked science and math, he was really good at building robots, and he thoroughly enjoyed memorizing equations. When he wasn’t acing his tests, he spent his free time building LEGOs and watching Star Wars in his apartment or walking through town and debating between eating pizza or sub sandwiches. He had a messy bedroom cluttered with dirty laundry, an assortment of different computer parts, and countless science textbooks and academic journals. Three months ago, when you first started dating Peter Parker, this is the boy you thought you knew.

               Your life, however, felt like the complete opposite. Being the daughter of Tony Stark, your day to day was far from simple. You lived in Stark Tower with Tony, cooped up on a floor with everything you could ever want or need, a master bedroom with a flat screen television, personal jacuzzi, walk in closet, arcade- you name it, Tony had it. School proved to be a breeze, and you had your MIT valedictorian of a father to thank for that, leaving you plenty of time for your own sort of extracurriculars. Rather than hang out at school and build lousy robots with Peter Parker, you’d much rather go to the lab and work on some high tech AI coding, super suit dynamics, or machine prototypes with your dad and the other avengers. He often urged you not to get too involved for your own safety, but you found yourself growing close with Bruce and Sam, bonding over your shared love for innovation. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t take after your father.

               However, months passed, and the more time you spent with Peter Parker, the more you caught onto the fact that his life might not have been as normal as you initially thought it was. He kept disappearing randomly, ghosting you on planned dates, or not showing up at school. At first you thought he was just nervous, or maybe he didn’t really like you, but upon further investigation, it was evident. His life was just as crazy as yours. Although you thought it was weird that he never bothered telling you he was Spider-Man, and even weirder he didn’t inform you that he previously knew your dad, you almost liked the fact that you could share your secret world of superhero knowledge with him. You found yourselves relating to each other by joking about Steve’s old fashioned manners or Natasha’s resting bitch face. Although, other times also through confiding secret fears or discussing worst possible outcomes.

               Tonight was one of the latter, you and Peter talking on the phone despite the time reading two in the morning, him trying to ease your anxiety. “It’s just been a couple days and Tony’s still not back yet…” you sighed, shrouded by your blankets, the soft glow of your phone illuminating the dark room. “He’s with Sam and he’s probably going to be just fine, but I’m still scared. And I know, I know. I’m not supposed have knowledge about those affiliated with the mission or his location, but sometimes I just can’t help but worry.”

               “It must be hard,” Peter hummed in sympathy. “I’m sorry you have to go through that. May feels the same way about me.”

               You paused for a moment. “I know it’s a horrible thing to think, and I’m probably just psyching myself out but-” your voice caught, shaking your head, closing your eyes. “Sometimes I wonder what if one day he just doesn’t come back.”

               “Hey,” Peter hushed. “Try not to think about that, okay? He’s Iron Man, y/n, he’s fought alien monsters and literal gods, he should be just fine. Mr. Stark never goes down without a fight, he’ll be back. I’m sure of it.”

               “I just can’t sleep not knowing,” you confessed, feeling sorry for dragging Peter into your own personal troubles. “I don’t know, I’m sorry… I’m probably keeping you up, and you have a calc test tomorrow-”

               “No, no, don’t apologize, you’re okay,” your sweet boyfriend insisted. He paused, listening to your heavy breathing. “Do you want me to come over?”

               “W-what?” you asked, confused.

               “I know it’s late but if it would make you feel better, I can come over,” Peter offered. “I’ll just come to your window and you can let me in that way. I can keep you company, you can talk to me, or we can watch a movie to get your mind off things, I don’t know. Only if you want to.”

               “You’d do that for me?” you wondered, growing soft at his words.

               “I just don’t want you to be sad,” he explained. “And I know it’s hard with your dad being gone and all, and sure Pepper’s there, but I know you’ve never really been that close with her, and I just- I don’t know. I feel like you’re lonely, and I want to help.”

               “Yeah, thank you,” you gave a soft smile. “I mean, if you want to, I wouldn’t fight you on it.”

               “Just be sure to disarm FRIDAY before I come,” he reminded. “I don’t need your dad putting bars on your windows the next time I try to visit you like this.”

               “Oh right!” you suddenly came to the realization. “Smart. I’ll go do that now.”

               “Cool, I’ll see you in a few. Don’t miss me too much,” he teased.

“Hey, be safe! No texting and swinging!” you reminded playfully as you hung up and instantly got to work, shedding your sheets and grabbing your laptop, sliding back into bed and working out some coding.

               Just as Tony had previously set up a baby monitor protocol on Peter’s suit, he had likewise set up parental controls through FRIDAY on all of your tower floor. You learned this when you tried to sneak out to a party Tony specifically forbid you from going to, and when you finally reached the elevator doors, FRIDAY locked you inside and you had to wait for Tony to come and get you. Since then, you’d been smart enough to disarm the system anytime you left your room after curfew or got into any other business Tony would obviously disapprove of. Spider-Man sneaking through your window at two in the morning to give you comfort cuddles? Probably something your father would disapprove of.

               Peter tapped twice and waved, you rolling your eyes and laughing, motioning for him to come in before he slid up the glass of your window and crawled through, brushing off his suit and tugging off his mask, smiling once he clearly saw you sitting in bed, wearing one of his hoodies, grinning back at him.

“Hey Spidey,” you beamed, watching as he walked over towards your bed, kissing you softly. He tasted sweet, like candy, and you melted into the kiss, grabbing the back of his head and staying there for a moment before pulling away. He gave the best kisses.

               “Heard someone needed some cheering up,” he whispered, tossing his mask on your night stand as you made grabby hands begging him to crawl into bed with you. He chuckled, giving in and situating himself underneath your covers awkwardly. You laughed alongside him, tugging him closer, pulling the sheets up over both of you, initially wincing at how cold his suit was when you went to wrap your arms around him.

               “You’re freezing, Peter,” you hissed and he chuckled, rolling his eyes.

               “It was windy outside, alright?” he sighed. “Come warm me up.”

               “Well come closer, doofus,” you chuckled. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him, your head resting against his shoulder, arm draped over his chest, fingers playing with locks of his hair. Your voice grew to a soft whisper. “Thanks for coming, baby.”

               “Anything for you, love,” he insisted, his hand rubbing soft circles on the small of your back. The room grew quiet, his hands trailing up and down your back, your fingers brushing through his messy brown locks, both of you simply enjoying each other’s company. At some point you both fell asleep, soft snores dissipating throughout the room, holding each other.

                In the morning, Peter begrudgingly convinced himself he had to get up and get ready for school, kissing you on the forehead and reassuring he’d see you at lunch later that day. You groaned yourself, realizing you should probably get up and resume FRIDAY’s commands before Pepper or Happy got suspicious as to why she wasn’t giving them any updates on your morning status. You took a shower and threw on some clothes, getting ready for the school day, smiling once you saw Peter waiting for you by your locker, a Starbucks cup in his hand.

               “What’s this?” you couldn’t help but laugh in surprise.

               “Well I know you were sad last night and again, I just wanted to cheer you up,” he shrugged, and you found it adorable that you had been dating for going on four months now and he still got flustered being around you. “I know you like the pink one with the strawberries and the coconuts, but they were out, so I got you a peach lemonade instead, I hope that’s okay-”

               “It’s wonderful, Peter,” you insisted, taking a sip and smiling fondly at your boyfriend. “Thank you. For everything. Really.”

               “Damn Peter, you’re buying y/n Starbucks now?” Ned approached both of you. “You never buy me Starbucks.”

               “I’m not dating you, Ned,” Peter narrowed his eyes, laughing.

               “You don’t have to kiss me to buy me a cold brew,” Ned sighed.

               “Anyways,” you rolled your eyes at the two boys quarreling. “You ready for that calculus exam?”

               “I studied all night,” Ned smiled. “I’ve got this one down. How about you, Parker? I bet you were up late last night studying too, huh?”

               “Up late last night,” you agreed. “I don’t know about studying though.”

               Ned’s eyes went wide and both you and Peter laughed, the bell ringing and all of you walking to your classes. As they day went by, you started to find your mind lingering back to your dad. As much of an asshole as he was sometimes, and as overbearing and overprotective as he could get, you really did love him and care about him. Others would probably call you lame, but you really did see Tony as one of your best friends. He helped you build amazing inventions, supported you in all your academic endeavors, and did his best to look out for you. Whenever he was gone on missions for longer than a week, you always started to get worried as far as whether or not he would come back.

               Peter could sense your anxiety, trying to lighten your mood with jokes or place a hand on your shoulder as a sign of affection. Afterschool he approached you, clutching onto the straps of his backpack, seeming nervous. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough day. I was thinking we could take your mind off of things and you could spend the night at my place tonight?” he offered.

               “Really?” your eyes lit up, thinking how you would love more than anything to get out and do something tonight. Nothing was worse than staying at home and wallowing in your feelings.

“Yeah,” he gave a soft smile, thinking about how adorable you looked when you got excited. “Aunt May is working night shift so maybe, if it’s cool with you, we can grab a pizza, play some video games, and then watch a movie?”

               “Of course,” he insisted. “And we can stop somewhere on the way home to grab some snacks too.”

               “I’ll give Pepper a call and ask if I can stay over tonight, I’ll probably just say I’m with Gwen or something,” you grinned. “She’ll say yes, she usually lets me have free rein whenever Tony’s out of town.”

               “Awesome,” Peter beamed.

               Sure enough, you found the two of you hours later on the floor of his bedroom, eyes fixated on a television screen, playing Mario Kart and chowing down on some pepperoni pizza and cherry slushies. It was practically a ritual for you to hang out with Peter on weekends. As long as he didn’t have an academic decathlon the next morning, Aunt May let you stay as late as you wanted on Fridays. Saturdays you spent fooling around in the lab working on suit modifications, recalibrating certain machinery, or working on new projects. Sundays were official lazy days, both of you usually sleeping in and meeting up midday to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie, usually wrapping up with finishing your weekend homework over facetime. However, on the weekends in which Tony or May were out of the house, the two of you liked to have sleepovers. Usually at Peter’s for the sake of having to navigate FRIDAY’s complicated algorithms.

               It wasn’t like anything particularly steamy happened between the two of you. You had been only dating for a handful of months now, and you were both in high school. Sure, you and Peter liked to cuddle a lot, and hold hands, and play with each other’s hair, but that was simply just affection. And of course, you loved kissing each other, especially when nobody else was around to make fun of you or scold you. Sometimes you found yourself getting into make out sessions, pressed up against each other and finding it hard to catch your breath, hearts racing and desperately clinging onto each other.

Occasionally it would heat up a little bit more than that, some grinding and groping and moaning, and a handful of times Peter’s taken his shirt off, but that was about it. You hadn’t even really reached second base with him yet. And you weren’t complaining, you were glad you were taking things slow. But at this point, you were ready. It just felt like it was time. But you knew this was Peter’s first serious relationship, and you didn’t want to put any pressure on him or rush him into things, so you were complacent with playing Mario Kart and eating pizza in the meantime.

               “I am sooo going to kick your ass,” you warned Peter, pressing down hard on your Wii remote and hitting him with a red shell as your character zoomed past him on the race track, and he simply just laughed.

               “Yeah? Wait till I break out Rainbow Road,” he insisted.

               “Are you actually Satan or do you just hate me?” you narrowed your eyes. “There is no way I’m playing that shit, I think I’d rather forfeit.”

               “It’s all about strategy and focus,” he argued, knocking Luigi out from second place, tailing right behind you, eyes glued to the screen.

               “Strategy? You sound like Ned,” you snorted, drifting a curve and heading towards a shortcut. “That racetrack is nothing but a holographic highway of death.”

               “If we had it your way, we would be playing Moo Moo Meadows on an endless loop,” Peter teased and you gasped playfully.

               “What? It has fun music and I like looking at the cows,” you whined and he laughed, passing you at the last minute and scoring first place, making your jaw drop. “What the hell? How?”

               “What can I say? You’re dating a winner, baby,” he grinned and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head and taking another bite of your pizza.

               “I’m dating a jackass,” you joked. “You can’t let me win just once? Come on, be nice.”

               “I used to do that, and you made fun of me for it,” he pointed out. “Remember the first week we started dating?”

               “You literally used to go in reverse until I caught up with you,” you replied flatly. “It was ridiculous, Peter. It’s not like you made it subtle that I happened to suck at the game or anything.”

               “I just didn’t want you to feel bad,” he reassured, and you chuckled, taking a sip of your slurpee and sighing, leaning your head on his shoulder.

               “So another round or are we going to move onto Smash Bros?” you raised an eyebrow.

               “Up to you,” he shrugged, taking a bite of his pizza as well.

               “How about we play another round of Mario Kart,” you suggested. “But whoever wins gets a prize.”

               “Like what?” he crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the mischievous grin on your face, doubtful.

               “I don’t know, a hoodie or something,” you perused innocently and he let out a breathy laugh.

               “You’ve already stolen all of mine, so I’m not sure I’d have another one to give you quite honestly,” he admitted and you smiled, mind wandering elsewhere.

               “What about…” you pouted your lips, trying to think up something good. “What about if I win, I get to do anything I want to you? And if you win, you get to do anything you want to me. All within reasonable boundaries of course.”

               “Woah,” Peter’s eyes widened. “Is this the part when you tell me you actually work for Hydra and you gut me like a fish or something?”

               “Pshh no that’s ridiculous,” you shook your head.

               “What do you mean ‘do whatever you want to me?’ Huh?” he inquired, mischievously raising an eyebrow. “This seems oddly torture-like.”

               “It’s not going to be torturing,” you stared at him, unamused. “I could never hurt you.”

               “Then what could you possibly want to do to me?” he sighed, looking at you, entertained with your shenanigans, taking a sip of his cherry slushie.

               “I dunno,” you shrugged, stirring your straw in your cup a couple times before casually telling him your suggestion. “Suck your dick I guess.”

               He instantly spat out his slurpee, eyes widening, shocked. “E-excuse me, what?”

               “I said if I win, I’d probably suck your dick I guess,” you shrugged again and he blinked at you, entire face flushed red, stuttering and stunned all at the same time. Your lips curled up in a small smile, thinking of how much you loved to see him like this, a literal blushing virgin. He was adorable, really.

               “Well gosh, I uh…” he looked down at the red icee he had spat all over his t-shirt and then up at you, still at a loss for words. “You don’t really have to beat me at Mario Kart to get my permission to do that, you know.”

               “Yeah, but this way makes it a lot more fun, yes?” you smirked and he swallowed awkwardly, absolutely frazzled.

               “S-sure, I guess you’re right there,” he nodded slowly, still staring blankly at the slushie stains. “How do you know I’m not going to just let you win?”

               “Because…” you drew out, looking at him, still smirking. “If you win, then you get to do whatever you want to me.”

               He paused, turning towards you, breath hitching. “Anything?”

               “Well again, no torture or killing or whatever but-” you clarified and he laughed, rolling his eyes.

               “Yeah, of course, but uh…” he got lost staring at you again and you couldn’t help but wonder what he could possibly be thinking of. “Shit, I’m in.”

               “Really?” you bit down on your lower lip, almost too excited for this bet.

               “Definitely,” he nodded, feeling a bit more confident. “Just give me a second.” He slipped off his t-shirt and you watched intently, noting how built and lean he was. There were certain perks to dating Spider-Man, and it was moments when your boyfriend was sitting in front of you shirtless like this that you were ever most grateful for them.

               “Well shit, Parker,” you laughed to yourself and he stared at you, confused.

               “What? My shirt had slushie all over it,” he insisted and you looked at him, narrowing your eyes.

               “Uh huh…”

               “No for real!”

               “Totally not trying to tease me or anything over here.”

               “Oh whatever! Just start the game.”

               “Give me a second,” you insisted, reaching down and deciding to take it one step further, slipping off your own sweatshirt and revealing your bra underneath, looking at him, anticipating his reaction. Seeing him like this, you wanted to take a picture and capture it forever. He looked breathless, staring at you, his eyes dark and fixated, his lips parted, mesmerized. You couldn’t help but smile. “See something you like, Spidey?”

               “Yeah,” his eyes flickered up to yours, still blushing. “You.”

               Grinning, you leaned over to kiss him, then pulled away, picking up your Wii remote and selecting your favorite racetrack. “Good luck,” you winked.

“Good luck yourself,” he laughed. “Seeing as the only time you ever beat me in Mario Kart is when my controller dies, I think you’re the one who’s going to need it.”

“Fine, to hell with luck,” you rolled your eyes as the countdown started. “Maximum effort.”

               Both of you pressed down hard, zooming through the track, eyes fixated on the screen, cursing and screaming and hooting and hollering as you gained power ups and got knocked off the road by each other. By far, the most intense game of Mario Kart you’ve ever played in your life. Each round you seemed to egg each other on more and more, and although you clearly knew how this was going to end, you couldn’t help but at least try your very best. First place trophy spinning on the screen, Peter’s tongue ran over his lower lip, glancing over at you as nervousness flowered in your chest. What did he have in mind?

               “I don’t think either of us saw that coming,” he stated sarcastically and you looked at him incredulously.

               “Alright then Peter Parker,” you hummed lightheartedly, shutting off the television and setting your controller down, sighing as you leaned back and rest your weight upon your backwards palms. “What do you have planned for me?”

               “Well…” he looked at you shyly, almost hesitant, and you began to grow even more curious. “I know you said ‘anything I wanted’ or whatever, but I want to make this enjoyable for you too, and that sure you’re okay with everything I’m doing.”

               “By all means, don’t stop for me,” you insisted, small smile tugging on the edge of your lips. “If you say or do anything I don’t like, I’ll speak up. Don’t worry.” He hummed softly in acknowledgment, nodding as he looked towards the floor, still nervous, then cleared his throat.

               “I think seeing as your intentions were to seduce me, I guess I have no choice but to go along with the theme,” he rolled his eyes playfully, slowly gaining confidence and crawling closer to you, making your heart beat twice as fast. He kissed you on the lips, soft and sweet and slow, and then pulled away, lowering his face so that his mouth was barely brushing up against your ear, his voice lowering to a whisper. The entire mood of the room shifted, into something more serious. “So, I think you should lay on the bed for me.”

               “Whatever you say,” you smiled sweetly, trying to hide your nervousness and doing as told, getting up and making your way to his bed, laying down on your back, watching as he stood at the end, looking you up and down, licking his lips. You could tell something inside of him changed. He didn’t seem so timid anymore, afraid to suggest something or speak up. His shoulders rolled back, his feet planted solid in the ground, his entire stance exuding confidence. It was different, dominant and alluring, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by it. He was entrancing like this, dark eyes gazing over your body, shirtless, hands dipping down into the waistband of his jeans, brows furrowed, pondering what to do with you.

               “Hands up. Against the bedframe,” he ordered, and you looked at him, trying to analyze what he had in mind as you tentatively did as instructed, positioning your arms above you, against the wooden frame. In what seemed like an instant, he suddenly flicked his wrists outward, webs springing from his fingers and you gasped as the sticky substance pinned your hands above you, a mess of webs fixating them to the wooden plank. You eyes widened and then narrowed.

               “Didn’t know Spidey was into bondage,” you bit down on your lower lip, aroused by his dominance and playfulness all the same.

               “Didn’t know you could be so naughty,” he quipped back and you blushed, trying to look away, shy.

               “Nuh uh, none of that,” he argued with a chuckle, crawling on top of you and raising your face to look at him with one of his hands, making your eyes meet. “If I do recall correctly, you were offering to suck me off a moment earlier. Seemed pretty eager too.”

               “Still am if that’s what you fancy, Peter,” you suggested, eyes twinkling with a glint of naughtiness, but he just shook his head, smiling.

               “I think I have other plans for you tonight,” he insisted, kissing you again this time, but rougher, his tongue sliding in between your lips and up against your own, then retreating to have his teeth catch your lower lip, dragging it between them before he pulled away, devilish smirk on his face.

               “Mind filling me in on the agenda?” you asked with a breathy voice, fluttering your eyelids and parting your lips, bucking your hips up to meet his.

               “It involves your pants off, and my head between your legs, and you moaning my name,” his eyes flickered up to meet yours. “And then me fucking you into this bed until those moans turn into screams.”

               “Holy fuck,” you whispered, eyes glazed over, staring at him, practically speechless.

               “Sound good to you, sweetheart?” he hummed, fingers tracing over your stomach, playing with the hem of your waistband.

               “Shit…” you laughed to yourself quietly, eyes still fixated on him, feeling unbelievably flustered. “I think I ought to up the ante on Mario Kart wins a whole lot more from now on.”

#birthday post #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #peter parker x reader imagine #peter parker x reader fanfiction #peter parker x reader fanfic #spiderman imagine #spiderman fanfic #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman x reader imagine #spiderman x reader fanfic #spiderman x reader fanfiction #spiderman x reader #peter parker x reader #mcu imagine #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #mcu x reader #mcu x reader fanfiction #mcu x reader imagine #mcu x reader fanfic

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Our Doll 4 // Party Crashed

B.Barnes x S.Rogers, B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

Series Synopsis | After the events of the horrific past, y/n Stark, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes have finally admitted their feelings for each other. But is life as an avenger whilst dating two super soldiers any easier than anything y/n’s experienced in the past?

sequel Series to Their Doll

Series Warnings | smut, violence, torture, swearing, threesomes, drug usage/substance abuse

Chapter Summary | the aftermath of ultron’s gate-crashing isn’t so good

Warnings | blood, guns, injuries, swearing

A/n | This is a sequel book/series to my fic Their Doll! This book loosely follows the mcu timeline, starting in CAWS in book one and starting just before AOU in this book. Bucky had been recovered and is safe, and Peter was taken under Tony's wing when he was much younger.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Everything was a blur. The blast shivers me backwards, along with Bucky, and I barely saw anyone else. I groaned heavily, struggling against a strangely familiar weight on top of me. That's when it clicked. I pushed my hair from my face, my eyes bugging out of my head when I realised Bucky was loading on top of me, unconscious.

It made sense, really. He took most of the blow and was stood in front of my at the time. But the thing that made be worry even more was the red. There was an overwhelming amount of red. I placed my hands against Bucky's chest, attempting to push him off my but my try was futile.

I could hear the fighting - gunshots, Tony's blasters, the clanging and blanking of Steve's shield. I cried out as I tried to get the brown-hair super soldier off me, but it was useless. There must've been something else on top of us, was my reasoning after another try.

I decided to try a different approach, and began shouting - no, screaming - for someone to help us.

"Please! Someone! We're up here still, something is crushing us!" I shouted, voice pitchy and crackling as it strained further than I'd pushed it so far. Tears gathered, leaking from eyes and rolling down the sides of my face and the head dropped back against the floor, the little thud causing my to wince.

Then something dawned on my. My heart rate sped up more than I'd care to admit, hands moving as frantically as I could to reach Bucky's neck, wrist, heart, anything-

A sigh pushed through my lips, my heart rate slowly back to a normal speed as my fingers pressed against the thumping pulse on the side of Bucky's neck. He was still alive. Wherever the blood was coming from, it hadn't killed him yet.

"Please! Someone help me!" I shouted again, trying to pry my leg from under my boyfriend so I could use it to gain enough momentum to flip us over; then maybe I could access the damage and help with the fight.

I struggled, pulling so hard I heard a pop, which in turn rested in a long and pained groan bubbling in the back of my throat. Whatever was weighing us down, my foot must be caught underneath it.

"We're up here still! Please, someone, please just help us!" I screamed, but from the wobble of my voice I could tell it was a sob, a desperate plea. "Pleas-" my call was muffled by warm flesh, squidgy and hot against my face and it didn't take me long to realise someone's palm was over my mouth.

My head tilted up in search, eyes darting frantically as I tried to find the source. When my eyes met his, they widened on instinct before a frown pulled at my brows, the sight of Sam crouch by head an odd one to see.

The man raised a finger to his lips, a gesture to be quiet before removing his hand as I nodded in understanding.

"I thought you left." I whisper shouted, and he smirked.

"I got about halfway down the block before I heard an odd amount of crashing. So I ran back to the tower and guess what I found." He smirked, somehow triumphantly.

"How did you get in?"

"Snuck up the back." He muttered, hands now occupied with something else as the clinking of rubble hinted to him brushing some fallen material off Bucky's back.

"Do the others know you're here?" I asked, wriggling beneath Bucky in an attempt to get free.

"No. Not yet." Sam replied, but his eyes were elsewhere as he begun to pry the fallen piece of debris from on top of Bucky's back. He groaned and grunted with the effort, but finally managed to lift it. We both flinched as it rolled off me and the super soldier with an offensive crash, but everyone seemed to preoccupied with the fight to care.

Sam quickly got Bucky off of me, but was gentle when he caught sight of the amount of blood soaking both our clothes.

"Whose blood is it?" He asked, and I quickly craned my neck to check. Same got Bucky laying on his back beside me, and began checking the brunet for wounds. I gasped loudly when I saw my right leg, as did Sam as he looked over at the noise. "Shit!" He hissed, stopping his fumbling to check me over.

I bit my lips to stop the pained cry as as moved to sit up, fingers running the length of the handle of the knife that was wedged into my thigh. Not to mention the litter of broken glass that had created smears of trickling blood down my right forearm. How I hadn't seen that before, I don't know.

I hissed in pain and Sam crouched beside me, raking my skirt up my thigh so he could get a better look of the would. I tugged feebly on the handle, clamping a palm over my mouth to stifle the cry as pain shot through me like a bullet.

"Don't take it out. It's stopping you from needing to death." Sam said as gently as he could, but talking about my implied death was never a very gentle topic.

"Is he hurt?" I mumbled, before biting down on my palm again as my eyes welled up. Sam shook his head, removing his thin jacket quickly and holding it to my bleeding leg.

"I don't think so. He doesn't have any blood wounds so unless he's fractured or dislocated something from the debris, I can't say he's injured." Sam dismissed, pressing down against the wound with the wad of fabric in his hand. I seethed through my teeth as he did so, leaning on one palm as I let the other cover my mouth again. "We need to get you to a doctor. Is Dr Cho in tonight?" Sam explained, and I nodded quickly.

"I think," I began, but gasped in pain before biting down on my lips as it died down again, "I think she was in the room. She's probably d-down there." I stuttered, my head nodding towards the other part of the room where the fight was currently happening.

"Okay." Sam nodded, grabbing my hand and placing it over the jacket on my leg before removing his own. He placed a com link in the other and activated his. "I'm gonna go get her. I think you could risk infection and she'll know what to do. Keep low, tell me if anything happens and tell me if Barnes wakes up." I nodded as Sam spoke, fumbling with one hand to get the link into my ear as I watch Sam dart to the stairs, pulling a gun from the waistband of his jeans before he had disappeared around a corner.

My head still darted around frantically, on the lookout in case something found us. I took a moment to curse myself - why did I have to be so prepared and get that knife out? Hissing through gritted teeth, I held back tears. Eyes widening, I ducked just in time, the blast smoothing over me as the robot hovered over us. But this one wasn't the same one that was making a speech. God, there's more than one?

As it stood to recharge, I carelessly seared for something to use as a shield or a weapon, and that's when I saw the gun tucked into the waistband of Bucky's jeans. Of course he'd be armed - he's a former assassin too. I leant forward, mustering the strength to ignore my throbbing leg before snatch the gun and taking it off safety.

I turned back to the robot, who was clearly about to blast us again before it was slung forward like a rag doll, the electronic sound of ripped wires and disabled systems accompanying that of it clashing against the broken wall.

I lowered my gun, letting out a long sigh of relief when I saw Thor standing there, mjolnir in hand.

"Cho!" Thor called, voice booming. I winced, the sounds of hurried steps filling my ears as heels and thick-souled shoes clicked against the stairs. "Dr Cho!"

"I'm here, what happ-" the doctor cut herself short at the sight of us, Bucky laying unconscious and covered in my blood whilst I sat against the fallen rubble, blade buried in my thigh and arm streaked with crimson blood. "Steve - get Bucky to the lab; Thor - I'm gonna need you to help with with y/n, but we've got to be real gentle."

I cried out as Thor scooped me up, earning himself a pointed glare from Steve.

"Careful." Steve snapped, picking up Bucky into his own arms with very little effort. Clint chuckled and Nat whistled, whilst Tony rolled his eyes.

"If he thought we didn't know before, we definitely know now." Clint smirked.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #bucky x steve #steve rogers image #steve roger fanfic #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #steve x bucky #winter soldier smut #winter soldier #winter solider fanfiction #captain america smut #captain america fanfiction #captain america #sebastian stan #sebastian stan smut #chris evans #chris evans smut #marvel #marvel smut #stucky #stucky x reader #stucky x reader smut #marvel fanfic #avengers fanfic #avengers

[starrysupercell]

Brawlers' Pets Headcanon Dump!! (Some are canon but I just go into detail)

I've left out most of the ones I've covered in depth already, which include the Townsfolk Trio (1, 2, 3, 4,), Buzz and Surge, (1, 2) The Coworkers (not mine originally, but I’m on board!!) and Mortis.

~

Shelly: Used to have a pet chicken when she was younger that she saved from being slaughtered. The bird followed her around everywhere and lived a full happy life. Lived to an old chicken age ❤

Currently, she has Kit, a lil tiny kitten. She spoils her greatly. Superb pet owner! She trusts only a few people to watch her cat, which includes Primo, Piper, Edgar and Lou. ...I can see Colt being mildly allergic to cats tbh, so he's off the table... (He will either still pet and fawn over Kit and deal with the slight repercussions, or he's one of those folks who refuse to admit that cats are cute in their own way. Can't decide yet!)

Also since Princess Shelly has that Frog gun, she'll probably get a pet frog soon too!

~☆~

Lou: One secret Sugar Glider named Cane that he lets roam around in the Snowtel against Mr. P's wishes. He's a good pet owner, but sometimes he loses track of the cutie because of the free range he allows her. Shenanigans arise when P feels something shifty is going on. Gale has his back if he's in the know, however. He will say "No, I haven't seen anything strange, Mr. P." to his boss' face while seeing the Sugar Glider descending to Lou from the second floor into his hands.

Once, Lou had to hide Cane inside his machinery for a couple of minutes while P was around. It felt 😵 absolutely awful. Ever since then, he's taken to being more mindful of her. It IS irresponsible to have Cane roaming around in a large place without supervision.

~☆~

Gale: Pet snake named Twister. He's a decent owner, and would be better if he weren't so overworked. He does make time for him as best as he can. Luckily, if push comes to shove, he's found that if he mentions his lament to see his pet snake around/to fellow pet snake owner Byron, there will either be a personal offer for extra caretaking or Mr. P will be sent a notice encouraging more leeway for his employee.

~☆~

Mike: a Canary named Canary. The funny/odd thing about Mike is that he CLAIMS to be a grumpy fellow, but there's no supporting evidence of that anywhere! Birds take time and patience to train (personal experience), and Canary is so attached to him, so why u lying, Mike??

Anyway, he does not let anyone handle Canary at all. I think I said before that he would trust Jacky with her, but I changed my mind. There's just no convincing him! He's also a top notch owner because birds don't like loud noises and that's why he keeps Canary under his hard hat.

~☆~

Belle: a horse named Elodie. The one we see in the GA animation! Elodie is dependable, fierce and used to the fast paced lifestyle Belle puts her through. Elodie gets regular coat brushes, healthy diet, exercise (+ extra when she's brought for a heist).

If anyone else tries to ride her, Elodie will simply not budge... Not unless Belle outright hands her reins to somebody else. A tough horse for a wild gal. (Oh, I've technically covered her, but it's okay.)

~☆~

Emz: Pet *inhales* OPOSSUM. You can't change my mind 💜💜 Her name is Molly. She found her when Uncle Frank made her take out the trash (because she will learn to do basic household chores) And she came across a lil baby possum trying to climb up a tree nearby. "EW." She said, but it was fuzzy and cute and the ears looked too big for its head.... anyway it took a while to be able to catch the skittish creature. She brought her inside and the rest is history. (She forgot to put the trash in the can. Frank was disappointed, but Ash was way way worse.)

~☆~

Jessie: Pam and (mostly) Nani said no to a real pet, but ever-crafty Jessie came up with Scrappy! The other Turrets in her Skins are all different robots too with different names and personalities, as I've covered before!

I also like to think that when she's older and lives with Penny (or a different partner/on her own, depending on your preference, but Watter Canon under this roof 😤), she gets a real dog. Border Collie, perhaps. And Penny would probably get a noisy Parrot. Of course, that's wayyy into the future... post Starr Park~

~☆~

Stu- Frilled-neck Lizard! Since Edgar has a Tarantula, someone needed a lizard. And like. This is just so fitting tbh. I can't explain it. He found the lizard as he was just rolling along one day and picked it up and took him home.

I don't know what's going through Stu's head but he probably named the boy something like Rocket Blast Extravaganza. He takes really great care of him and presses his face against the glass tank to stare at him adoringly. He looked up how to take care of reptiles properly. He Will get another one soon.

~☆~

As a recap for the Fantasy AU!

Wizard Byron’s Owl/Familiar is named Eglantine, and Barley’s Unicorn Steer is named Hana. (Y’all will look at them because I love their names, I put effort.)

~☆~

...Loan Shark Byron has one or two sharks bc he’s crazy.

#Brawl Stars #Too Many Brawlers #Headcanons #Pets #Surge's pet is still Max btw /j #I hope that's all the pet posts I've made!!!

[rhydium]

fuck it starfinite drabble

its 12pm n i haven't slept, @ the two (2) other fans of these dumbasses come get yall juice ig ???? played around w/ a concept i had n figured i'll just ... post it. why not. this takes place in my android infinite au, pre-relationship!! u don't rly need context other than that tbh ((but feel free to ask me abt it i will gladly infodump))

cw: loss of limb (infinite's arm; it gets reattached), references to blood n stuff in the context of intrusive thoughts. please lmk if i need more!!

×

"what on earth were you thinking?" starline near shouts, his voice exasperated, shaky with adrenaline. he's angry and he's afraid and it's, it's stupid, really, he can fix this, but his hands tremble as he rummages through his toolbox, eyes darting over to infinite; missing their right arm, wires sparking, broken and it's sickening. he has to look away again. breathe.

"you can't keep... you — you're being too reckless!"

"i don't have much other choice." infinite says, so simply, so infuriatingly calm, so calm, such disregard for the fact they just had a limb blown off.

starline finds the last screwdriver he needs, but continues to sift around, poking and prodding and inspecting wrenches as if he's still looking for something. if he stops that means having to face this and he isn't ready — he needs to, but he can't.

"why?" he asks, ignoring the way his voice cracks, swallows the dry lump in his throat, "why, infinite?"

"is it really not obvious?"

starline grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut. his hands grip the edge of the box. "no!! it isn't!"

"i can be repaired. rebuilt. you can't. it's not that complicated. if one of us gets hit then logically it should be me."

his chest seizes as the words sink in, sink through his skin and down, down, down into his stomach like a stone; his gut churns and twists with guilt.

no... no, that's —

"that's stupid!" starline hisses. that self-sacrificing, idiotic...!

he whips around, locking eyes with infinite, don't look at their arm, don't look at it, don't look at the socket.

"don't speak like that. ever again."

whether it's his expression, his tone, infinite seems taken aback, almost appearing to flinch. they stare at him, frowning, though in a way more indicative of confusion than anger.

"like what?"

"like you're disposable!!"

...fuck.

there's a long moment of silence after starline's outburst. he pulls in a deep breath, pinches the bridge of his bill, averting his eyes to the floor, anywhere else, anywhere but infinite. he thinks about apologising — he shouldn't have yelled like that — but infinite is, this can't continue, they're being nonsensical, they keep endangering themselves, it can't.

"i... you just don't get it, do you?" he murmurs, shaking his head, running a hand through his hair. a small, strained laugh escapes his throat, voice thin. "do you have any idea how it makes me feel, watching you get hurt like this?? throwing yourself around like some kind of — like a living shield??"

he's not going to cry. starline is not about to cry.

"you... could have died." infinite says quietly. "all those times, and today, if i hadn't stepped in — for you those blows would have been life changing, if not fucking fatal. do you know how that makes me feel, star?! i can't let that happen. it's so easy to just, imagine you laying there, not moving, the blood, and..." their fingers — god, the ones they still have — twitch restlessly. infinite picks at their claws.

starline can hardly restrain the choked noise that fights its way out of him.

they're doing this for him, to protect him, this is all his —

"it's not your fault." infinite speaks firmly, as if sensing his thought process. "but objectively..." they wave a hand, sighing, "you know? this doesn't even hurt me."

"it hurts me." starline exhales through his nose wearily. "emotionally."

"i'd rather you be a bit emotionally distressed than dead," infinite scoffs softly, "let me repeat; the damage i take isn't permanent or painful. you, on the other hand, are one accident from being... i don't even want to imagine it."

"then what am i supposed to do?!"

"be more careful and i won't have to get involved." infinite shrugs.

starline groans.

"why does it bother you so much?"

"are you kidding?!"

the lack of response would point toward no, apparently.

"because i care about you, you absolute fool!"

infinite falters for a moment.

"...but. i'm not in pain. i can be fixed. what are you afraid of?"

starline gazes at them wordlessly.

i'm afraid one day i won't be able to fix you.

i'm afraid i'm going to lose you.

i'm terrified of losing you because i love you but you don't know that and you can't know that.

"...star?"

"i — look, forget it. i just, i don't want to talk about this anymore, i need to repair your arm."

"you're hiding something."

"aren't you perceptive..." starline can't help but mutter.

"are you okay?"

does it look like it?

"i'm fine."

"could at least put a little effort into it if you're going to lie." infinite mumbles.

"would you just...!" starline takes a deep breath. "be quiet. please."

infinite briefly opens their mouth as if preparing to protest, but ultimately falls silent. they look away, absently staring off at the far window.

starline grabs his tools. he just... has to focus on work. this will probably take a while, he realises. it's easily the most damage infinite has ever taken — at least during their time with him. he's worked with robotics a long time, but infinite is a highly advanced android, and they require extra care, presicion.

infinite's shoulder sparks again. they don't react.

"...you really don't feel anything, do you?"

infinite raises a brow.

oh. right. i told them not to talk.

they shake their head, and starline nods, uttering a quiet "sorry."

no reply.

"can i... start the repair?"

"...you're not just going to go ahead and do it?"

"no. never. listen, i've made habit of asking for your consent and i have no intention of breaking it. it's your body."

"...i don't mind."

"alright."

starline supresses a sigh and begins to tackle the rather daunting task of fixing up and reattaching infinite's lost arm, which has been laying motionless on the table for the past ten minutes. despite the lack of blood, absence of stench, as would be had if infinite was organic, it's still disturbing somehow. he shivers at the thought of dealing with dismembered flesh, of muscle and bone, and finds himself suddenly a lot more appreciative that infinite is an artificial being.

despite the knowledge infinite can't actually feel any of what he's doing, starline proceeds slowly, gently. regardless of whether they can feel it, their body deserves to be treated with respect. he fiddles with their wires delicately between his fingers, turns bolts and adjusts joints with only as much firmness as necessary, apologises when he has to snap certain supports back into place. now and then, he glances at infinite, who looks oddly tense, contemplative... uncertain.

"are you... uncomfortable?"

"what...? no, i... i told you i can't feel it, didn't i?" they say distantly.

"well — yes, but, what about mentally? are you alright...? do you want me to stop? i'm sorry that these procedures are so... invasive, and it probably, after —"

— no, no, what are you doing don't bring that up —

"...ah. nevermind."

infinite blinks, as if processing his words, and then their expression shifts in understanding.

"you're fine. i mean, this is.... i'm fine." they affirm.

"...okay."

"i mean it. it's... you're nothing like him."

there was once a time starline would have found such a statement insulting. nowadays, he can't be more relieved infinite thinks as such. he adjusts his glasses and continues tinkering away, figuring he won't get much else out of them, at least for now. whatever is on their mind, he'll let it be. the rest of the repair goes smoothly, time passing in a silence that is isn't uncomfortable, nor fully comfortable. he can't help but feel bad about the... was it an argument? he isn't sure, really. maybe that's what infinite was thinking about...?

as he wraps things up, closing the last panel on their forearm and preparing to request that infinite run through a few tests to make sure everything is working correctly, they finally speak; though it isn't anything starline was expecting them to say.

"you could destroy me," infinite utters softly, and they just kind of... look at him, something in their eyes that starline can't put a name to. "if you wanted to. you could rip me apart from the inside."

"i... guess i could." starline murmurs, his fingers lightly trailing over the panel, hidden beneath infinite's fur, the only sign of its existence being several small ridges and the bump of a screw head. "does that scare you?"

infinite smiles. "it's terrifying." they reply. "to allow myself to be so vulnerable... to — to want to let my guard down."

starline blinks in surprise.

to want to...? they want to let me in?

"then why...?" he tilts his head curiously. his hand stills, but lingers where it is.

infinite shrugs loosely. "it's you."

oh.

starline, don't you even think about it, that isn't what they mean...!

he clears his throat awkwardly.

"er... is that... supposed to explain it?"

"it's all i've got." infinite replies. the small quirk of their lips broadens a bit, and they chuckle. "sorry."

...starline finds himself smiling back.

god, he's tired, the past hour has been immeasurably draining, but... this, this makes it all worth it. seeing them like that... it lifts all the stress, the anxiety. he feels lighter.

"thank you."

"huh?"

"for trusting me. i know it... must take a lot."

infinite shifts their hand — the one that hadn't been damaged — and hesitantly, very slowly reaches over. they look between starline's hand still resting on their inner arm, just above the wrist, starline's eyes, his hand again, and starline goes to withdraw — but before he can do so, infinite places their own over it.

"thank you." they whisper. "for treating me kindly. for treating me like... a person."

starline's breath catches in his throat. oh god, he cannot mess this up. infinite never — they never initiate contact like this, ever. he can't scare them away, he knows it's difficult for them to be touched, let alone how much faith they're showing in him to touch, and he will not squander all their progress. nothing will ruin this moment.

"you are one."

"...i care about you too, star."

"i — what?"

"you said earlier that you cared about me. i care about you too," they elaborate, a flicker in their eyes, this time something starline recognises, as quickly as it's hidden again; fondness. a very specific kind of fondness that... no — he isn't sure if he's imagining this or not. he has to be. surely, he's making it up. wishful thinking, seeing what one wants to.

"...a lot. more than you know." infinite finishes.

starline gazes into their eyes steadily, searching, trying to find it again. infinite stares back, almost like they're looking for something, too. oh, how easy it would be; to lean down, move in, to kiss them, but starline is not going there. he has no confirmation infinite likes him like, well, that and, it would be far too fast even if they did. not to mention he certainly wouldn't do it without asking.

"...you're hiding something too, aren't you?" starline settles for asking vaguely.

infinite's eyes widen slightly, then glitter mysteriously, amused.

"aren't you perceptive?"

#jackal.txt #my writing #can u tell i had no idea where i was going w/ this or how to end it lmfao #infinite the jackal #dr starline #starfinite #edited as of 24/02 to remove the term crippled and reword infinite's dialogue regarding fear of star becoming disabled #i had no idea crippled can be taken as a slur and i also don't want this to come from a perspective that sounds like being disabled would be #the worst most tragic horrible thing. rather infinite just does not want star to wind up hurt!! bc of course you'd never want someone tht #you love to go through that. i really hope i articulated this properly and i apologise if it was insensitive and poor taste

[thesandersinitiative]

Shouldn't you guys be trying to get a plan in place for what your gonna do with remus once you find him, and how your gonna capture a literal god? Not to mention he has not only de but probly close to 30 if not more agents on his side. Instead of you know bickering, like littel kids.

“I think you’ll find I’m rather efficient at multitasking,” Logan says. “I’ve had Remy maintain an eye on the news station broadcasting. So far their hasn’t appeared to be any sign of Agent Ekans or the brainwashed agents and SHIELD enemies. When we get to the location, I will engage the enemy and have Remy draw up a foolproof defense—” “What if Remy can’t?” Patton asks innocently.

Logan scoffs. “There would be no reason why he can’t. I created the software he uses to analyze enemies for this purpose. In fact you won’t even have to get out of the plane.”

“Why wouldn’t I leave the plane?”

“There wouldn’t be any need for your... outdated tactics.”

Patton laughs.

“I don’t see what is so entertaining.” Logan says.

“You want to rely solely on your computer,” Patton explains. “For someone so brilliant I thought you would have—”

Logan straightens his back, his eyes flashing with a challenge, “Have what?”

“The target is directly below,” The SHIELD provided pilot interrupts, reaching up to flick several switches.

Patton claps his hands together and then unbuckles his restraints. “Excellent! Then we can continue this conversation in just a moment!”

Logan’s head whips towards him, “Wait—!”

“War waits for no one,” Patton says in a light tone, offering a smile to the inventor as his hand hits the lever to drop the hanger door. And then before it’s even halfway open, he strolls towards it and flips himself through the opening into the empty air.

It feels like flying. Patton breathes in deep as the winds fight to tear him apart, the chill burning his cheeks in a way that the fire never had. He’s burned before; sometimes Patton feels like he’s still burning, but this cold is something so different he’d never confuse it for what being strapped to that table had been like. He locks his limbs together, holds his shield over his heart and dives through the air towards the battlefield below.

((Was this what the Soviet felt like? When he fell from that train?))

He flips at the last second, landing on the ground hard enough to break the cobblestone road under his feet, and holding his shield up to catch the glancing blow from the so-called god that definitely would have hit a citizen. The force of the blow knocked both of them back with a force that popped Patton’s eardrums.

“Hello!” Patton says with a smile, over his shield. “You must be Remus!”

Remus opens his mouth but before he can say anything there’s a loud screech that streaks through the air in a visible, physical wave and slams into him. Even Patton yelps as the man is knocked off his hit and goes flying into the stone wall of a nearby half crumbling building in a way that definitely should have broken all of his ribs. 

“Logan!” Patton shouts, glancing up to see the flying suit of armor, with the stern helmet in place to obscure exactly what Logan’s face looks like.

“Since you wanted to be here so badly, keep your eyes on him,” Logan’s voice comes out from it and gosh if that doesn’t feel like something out of a movie. Flying Robots, Gods, Siberia. 

Over the sound of screaming civilians, Patton distinctly hears some high pitched laughter— something that doesn’t sound humorous and definitely doesn’t sound happy. Remus staggers to his feet, swaying drunkenly from side to side, his horned crown slightly lopsided, and Logan lands on the ground next to Patton with his glowing palms at the ready.

“Remy, analyze,” the man says.

Remus of Vanir whistles, spinning his spear in his hand. “That eager to get in my pants? You could have just asked! X-rays take all the fun out of it!” He points the spear tip at them. “Tell me something… is your dick made of metal too?”

“Babes, his magic is off the charts. Literally.” Remy’s voice says. “I’m having trouble even locking in on him.” 

Patton smiles.

“Hmmm, then we have to do this with my outdated tactics,” Patton says, loosening his grip on his shield and spinning through his throw— which gosh if that didn’t feel great. After so long, the feeling of his shield leaving his hand, the muscle memory of his throws, the thumping of his blood in veins; it’s like excitement. It’s like being alive.

Remus shifts barely an inch to dodge the shield, letting it collide with the dented wall, bounce off the ground and ricochet back to Patton’s arm.

“Impressive,” Logan says, but Patton can’t tell with this robotic tone if he’s being made fun of or not.

“My, my, my,” Remus says, “Aren’t you two eager peepers! What happened to conversation, Mr. Blueskies, Mr. Hammer? You mortals still do that, right? Get to know each other before you try to kill each other?”

Logan’s palms glow brightly, and Patton feels his heart leap into his throat.

“How do you know that name?” Patton asks, feeling like his skin is a size too small. “That name…Tell me!”

“What? Blueskies?” Remus laughs. “Oh Captain, my Captain,” He grins, canines sharp and eyes ablaze, “Make me.”

Patton steps forward, shield front and center, and says, with every inch of calm rationality he does not feel, “Stand down and surrender,” He orders, and it sounds like a threat, a promise, “Or I will.” 

Remus twirls his spear in his hands, tapping the pointed part against his chin twice for emphasis. “Hmm…” He hums thoughtfully, as if he were actually taking Patton’s words seriously, as if Patton had not said them as a courtesy nothing more, as if Patton had not been through battle through bloody battle, had not fought half a war—as if he did not know men like Remus did not surrender until they were made to.

But Patton always asked. Fights might have been freeing, electrifying, but the blood staining his hands after were not, even if he always tried to pull his blows. Against Remus he would not have to, Patton doesn’t even think he could. 

He can’t quite comprehend how much that terrifies him. 

“Nah,” Remus decides, shooting his arm out and sending a piercing bolt of energy out of the spear’s gem with a fluid jab of his wrist. Patton plants his feet and raises his shield, but his knees buckle as the spell impacts with a bang—and suddenly he’s twenty feet back and half buried in a snowbank, blinking, “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Blueskies,” He cackles, “But if you can’t even take a hit— well, I don’t think your whole ‘living legend’ schtick is gonna last much longer!”

Logan launches into the air sending another one of those shrieking blasts towards Remus, while Patton tries to remember how to breathe in. The snow is cold, a shock to his system, and arms feel a bit like pudding under his skin from the impact. He stumbles to his feet, trying to get his bearings again.

Across the square, Logan’s sonic repulsor thingy— what’s what he called it right? Patton shakes his head— tears through the cobblestone ground, as Remus dodges artfully around without being caught in a made up dance. Patton thinks he might even be singing some Asgardian drinking song, although he can’t hear the words. Then without warning, the demigod throws an empty hand up at Logan and winks. 

The subsequent green blast of magic is so bright it nearly blinds Patton to watch. Logan goes careening from the sky, crashing straight through the squares fountain. Remus jumps up after him, moving like a rabid squirrel over the unearthed and broken sections of concrete and piping and gripping his scepter with two hands to bring it down on Logan’s glowing chest.

Patton winds back to throw his shield again, but Logan is faster, rolling to the side just as the bladed tip of the spear lodges into the block where his repulser had been.

“He’s using his weapon as a morning star,” Logan’s voice says through the earpiece, ringing loud and clear through Patton’s head. 

“Got it,” Patton says and takes off after the target. He throws his shield as the demigod raises his spear again. 

“Swing, batter, batter! SWIIIIIING!!” Remus yells, knocking it out of the way and Patton dives low for his unguarded, unstable legs. They go skidding backwards, rolling over rocks and stone and each other’s limbs and gosh that crack sounded bad, but Remus’s laughter persists.

Like he thinks this is fun. Like he isn’t bleeding, like he hasn’t destroyed half a city, like he hasn’t ruined hundreds of lives today alone. He laughing like this is the most enjoyment he’s had all week and Patton’s blood is boiling inside him, burning through his skin and threatening to spill right out.

Patton lands with his hands pinning Remus down, and his head buzzing with so many thoughts that he can’t hear any of them.

“I’m actually a top,” Remus says, twisting his knees up and launching Patton off of him.

Patton hits the ground rolling, and sliding back to his feet like he’d done a million times back in the days of his Howling Commandos, his breath condensing in the air in front of him. He looks up just in time to see a flash of green light and he stumbles back—

“Patton!” His name twists mid-syllable, mutating from a shout to a gentle call, until a familiar, lilting accent is curling warm around the letters. He looks up, and the Brit grins brightly down at him, one hand clasping his shoulder, “You alright, Mr. Blueskies? You zoned out on us for a moment there?”

Patton looks at him, really looks at him, with his old round glasses cleaned roughly on his shirt. He’s not blurry, but bright, almost blindingly so, cheekbones sunken but blue eyes clear.

Wait, no—Patton blinks, feels like he’s stumbling, freefalling backward for a moment—Patton blinks and his eyes are venom green, still creased in concern, but it’s not right, not him, not—

Patton opens his mouth to protest, to question, to demand, but the Brit’s name slips backwards from his brain and he can’t quite grasp it between his fingers anymore. He blinks again, and the back of his eyelids are green and he can feel his pulse behind them, hard and fast.

The Brit’s eyes are hazel. Soft and concerned and bleeding, dripping messily from each duct like tears and staining his cheeks an ugly scarlet. He bleeds and he bleeds and he bleeds, from his eyes and nose and ears, a mottling purple bruise creeping up the side of his neck and curling painfully around his wrists and suddenly, suddenly, he’s stepping out of range, taking away his hand and his smile and his warmth and Patton—

Patton slams into the concrete beneath him. The back of his head snaps against his helmet and his eyes are spinning and there’s green smoke glowing around him—for a moment he feels like he’s drowning, and his head has just breached the waves as his lungs heaved, but then his body seizes again, once, twice, as his comm screams in his ears—

“Captain!—”

The explosion is as loud as it is violent, shredding through the room and ripping through the wall without any warning. Patton hits the ground, feeling the rumbling of the train under him, the winds of the Siberian winter mountain over him. He can hear his team scrambling through their radios as the signal screams, working around the curses in an amount of languages that outnumber the years this war had been going on for. 

“—just messed up,” a voice is saying. “You’re fighting off my creations with the power of denial? Deedee said your daddy fucked you over but I didn’t think it was that bad!”

“Patton!” the Soviet screams. Patton can’t breathe as he raises his head, as he clings to the broken railing, as he looks over and sees the Soviet just barely holding on himself. He’s outside the train car, finger wrapped around a piece of exposed metal that’s cutting through his gloves and spilling blood across his palms.

“Patton, these are just illusions,” another says far closer, almost right in his ears. Patton wants to scream. The wind is tearing through the gap in the train wall, strong enough that even his super soldier strength is barely keeping him holding on and the Soviet is staring at him with fear, with horror, with terror. His eyes are brown, brown like dark chocolate, unmistakable, unforgettable, un-illusionable. His face is half burned, half smashed, half collided with the wall and his left cheek marred by more blood than it should be possible.

“Patton, listen to me! Whatever you’re seeing it’s not—”

“Patton,” the Soviet’s lips move, and Patton can feel the infinity between his heartbeats. “Please I can’t—!”

Siberian winds are strong. Patton lunges forward, his fingers reaching, stretching, grasping and the Siberian winds drag the Soviet out into empty air, into a free fall, into the nothingness of wilderness and snow and a fall that no human, super serum or not, could survive.

Funny isn’t it? The Soviet survived the war of his homeland that ravaged the earth, survived a year in HYDRA prisoner camps that had killed more good men than the records would ever remember, survived joining the allies who never trusted him; he could have survived everything. But instead he had come in contact with Patton Hart, whose specialty has always been killing the things closest to him.

Patton is still screaming the Soviet’s name when there’s a sharp CLANG metal on stone and the train around him evaporates like fallen snow itself.

His chest is heaving, pulse rushing, and spots swimming at the edge. He throws himself to the side and heaves, spit dripping on the sidewalk. His stomach is churning with guilt and anger, running so hot he thinks his throat might burn if he actually hurls, so he presses one kevlar covered hand against his mouth to keep it down as salt burns in his eyes. 

After a moment, he hears the low hum of repulsors, and the solid clank of metal against cement. He looks up, folding back onto his knees, just as Logan places the cool metal frames of his glasses on the bridge of his nose. 

“Breathe in through your mouth,” Logan suggests, calmly, “And out through your nose. Slowly.” 

Patton sucks a breath in as Logan’s face, helmet folded back into the armor, swims into clarity before him. His stomach settles, some, and he swallows, feeling his lips curl into a familiar shape. 

“It appears there’s been a new development,” Logan informs him, once his breathing has been regulated into something resembling normal. He crouches down next to him as Patton viciously rubs his cheeks dry, more thankful than he can express at the moment. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” Patton says. “I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Logan comments, removing his hands once Patton steadies, “It is expected to be disoriented after a mental attack of that severity. What I meant was—” 

“REMUS!”

Logan and Patton both whip towards the sound, Logan reaching up and tapping the side of his helmet at the sight before them: the roof of a building twenty feet away and a figure standing aloft the edge, red cape billowing in the wind, and a sword with a glowing golden hilt in his hand. Logan hisses at the sight of him, but from Patton’s very professional opinion, with moonlit glow at his back, the newcomer seems like something out of a fairytale, a dream come to life.

“Thomas, if you can hear me…” Logan says distastefully into his com, “It appears Prince Roman has, at last, arrived to take responsibility for his brother.”

End of Chapter Four

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#avengers au #sanders sides #chapter four #roman!! #Remus!! #logan sanders #patton sanders #whoops Patton and those pesky flashbacks #someone get this kid some therapy pls #Logan also needs therapy but he's just better at faking it #Roman!!!! is Here!! #please love him #twila's art