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shushiyuii · 3 years

Note

Ok I really been wanting to see Giant dream and Tiny Tommy vore fluff. Just some fluff and noms. Ans Maybe another where it is Giant Dream and Tiny SBI Fluff and noms also. It is wired I am sorry. Saw you asking for requests.

I did the first one! (Also sorry for the lack of uploads today, been really busy.)

Warnings: Soft vore, mention of rough past, slight dehumanization?

Words: 1.4K+

The god and The Strange Boy

The temperature of the room was almost unimaginable, he had no idea how he had coped with it for so long within that prison, the now outside fresh air feeling foreign, cold. It was a strange sensation, but a welcome one.

He wondered how everybody was doing, how things had changed within his time within the prison. In his opinion it was an unfair sentence, it wasn’t his fault how things had changed within the SMP, it wasn’t him that should’ve been held responsible.

It should’ve been them.

He remembered how he’d get visited by him in the prison, he was almost scared. Asking for advice on what to do, he wanted so badly to hold him close to his chest and comfort him, but the prison’s containment prevented him from doing so.

At first, the exile. He hated him, wanted to kill him. But, in his exile he came to understand the boy and his beginnings, the boy had opened up to him, so he comforted him and even opened up himself.

Dream didn’t have a good past, he was known as a monster back in the day, he’d changed when he met Sapnap and George but reverted to his old ways somewhat when the whole L’manburg started happening.

But this boy. Tommy. He thought the boy acted on selfish decisions, was arrogant or worse but that wasn’t the actual Tommy. To some extent, yes but if you really knew him as Ranboo or Tubbo did. He was definitely someone else.

Whenever you see this side of Tommy, it’s mainly a defence mechanism. Because the boy had a rough past himself. One that neither found family knew of, Tubbo and Ranboo only knew parts of this past. But to say the boy had it rough, he really did.

He wasn’t sure why Tommy ran away from exile; he was there for the boy. He thought maybe he scared him. Or the loneliness? Whatever it was he didn’t know but in the meantime, he wanted L’manburg gone. So he teamed up with two others are known as Philza and Technoblade to destroy it.

In the remains of L’manburg, that’s where he saw the boy again. Looking betrayed but all of them. When in reality, all they wanted to do was protect him. Dream, as much as this ancient god didn’t want to admit but, he saw this kid as his own.

Afterwards, Techno and Phil returned to their home in the Antarctic, being the blood god and the angel of death. They had similar titles as Dream. But as for Dream, he was punished by other’s, held in prison to what many saw as home.

He hated the place but put up with it with the visits of Tommy, he had apologised for running and began to talk to Dream how he used to.

Tommy was in no way a god, he was mortal. Small compared to many others. He was a mortal adopted by the gods, taken in to be one of their own.

When in reality, he was left to survive as a plaything for these gods.

Dream saw him as no such thing, and as much as Techno and Phil hated to admit it they cared for the boy as well. Despite not being there as much for him as Dream. They had a reputation to maintain.

Now, with his newfound freedom, he was looking for his brother. It had been a while since his last visit, and he had no clue where the boy had gone.

He looked and looked, no one had a clue as to where Tommy’s current location was. It was just known he wasn’t at his dirt hole as much as he once was.

He questioned everyone he came across; he didn’t find anything suspicious until…

Until he ran into the God of bees and the God of portals. Ranboo and Tubbo.

When asked, they acted suspiciously different, as if they were trying to hide something from them.

And he was correct, when followed he found that these gods had founded a new place to call home, one off the knowledge of others. Much like the Antarctic. It was called Snowchester.

The three had founded a mortal son that they wished to hide. And with it, Tommy was there. He found him.

Tommy pulled on leaves about twice his size, trying to uproot what seemed to be potatoes in the cold winter snow. “Tommy?”, he asked whilst standing beside a nearby tree.

The boy jumped out of his mind for a moment before turning to Dream, “DREAMM! MY MANN! Wassup?!”. He said enthusiastically but Dream could see that he had frightened him.

He laughed and smiled, then approaching the boy. “I’m good, out of prison now. I’ve seen you’ve been doing good with yourself”. Dream then held out his hand to the floor, allowing Tommy to stand on as he sat down near the tree.

“Yeah, been working where I can and stuff, sorry bout not visiting”, “It’s fine Tommy”. “How’d you even find me anyways?”. “Followed Tubbo and stuff”.

“They’re gonna be pissed!”. Tommy laughed, “They won’t be, not when they realise, I mean no harm”. “That may be the case with Ranboo, not so much Tubbo, he’s not only the God of Bees y’know”.

Dream nodded in understanding. And then there was a moment of peace between the two, “It’s weird honestly?”, Tommy looked up at Dream. “How we both get along? Don’t you find it odd?”.

“Well Dream, I’m pretty sure it’s because of how great I am! I am Tommyinnit after all!”. Dream smirked from under his mask and put a fingertip to Tommy’s hair and ruffled it playfully.

Tommy’s expression turned from happy to silent grief as he looked away from Dream, “Hey Dream?”, “Yes, Tommy?”, “Am I ever going to be able to go home?”.

A thing about the god realm is that if humans were to cross the barrier, they’d never be able to return. They’d be at the mercy of the gods.

Dream looked down at Tommy and moved his finger to gently rub the boy’s back, making the answer clear. He’d been told it many a time, but he knew the boy couldn’t help but cling onto hope of going home. He couldn’t blame him.

The two sat in the comforting silence for a while longer, until the cold winds started to pick up, it didn’t affect himself, but it did affect Tommy. The boy was shivering now with no shelter for him nearby. He’d freeze soon enough.

Tommy looked up to Dream, seeming to know the plan already. Dream moved Tommy to his lap as he used his hands to unclip his mask, when the mask was removed it revealed a scarred face with his eyes black with glowing green pupils. A sight nobody usually saw.

He then picked up Tommy and brought the boy closer towards his face, where he breathed and covered the boy in warmth, Tommy clung to him. He opened his mouth to reveal a multitude of sharp fangs.

But that didn’t stop Tommy from stepping in himself, Dream using his tongue to make sure the boy didn’t trip or anything, once Tommy was safely in his mouth, he closed it. And moved his tongue to taste at Tommy.

He purred slightly as he felt the taste of Strawberries and a mix of other things, Tommy laughing every time he and the tongue crossed paths.

Once he deemed the boy ready for decent, he titled his head back and swallowed.

He traced the boy’s descent with his finger, and slowly felt Tommy drop into his stomach, safely tucked away. He rubbed there for a moment, feeling Tommy move and shift into a comfortable position.

He signed in relief when he felt the boy tiredly put his hands to rub at the stomach walls and fall asleep. He must’ve been tired from all the work he’d be doing.

He began the journey of finding a place for the night but was stopped when he heard the yell of his name. “DREAM!”.

He turned and saw the god of Explosives, Tubbo. Who seemed ready to explode and a slightly angry Ranboo, he seemed conflicted about something? He drew out his sword for a fight.

Later, they were all sitting by the fireplace, covered in injuries. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”, Tubbo spoke in a sassy way as he sipped on his tea. Dream had a hand covering his stomach as he looked to Tubbo, “Well, it doesn’t matter now. You all are now under my protection.”.

#mcyt g/t #mcytg/t #dsmp g/t #tw vore #giant!dream #giant!ranboo #giant!phil #giant!techno #giant!tubbo #tiny!tommy #shushi's writings

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forcefully-awoken · 3 years

Text

This is for the BNHArem’s villain AU collab!

Gang Orca x Reader

Rated: Teen? Mature? This is new territory for me.

CW: Sex work, kidnapping, idk stockholm syndrome?

The corruption of Kugo Sakamata is not the prolonged, drawn out affair the news has portrayed it to be. It wasn’t quietly brewing under his skin, needled at by the whispers and stares that plagued him. He was a good man, up until the point where he wasn’t. He was a kind man, until something inside of him snapped. It was as fast as the moment the first domino falls. The goodness is there.

Until it isn’t.

There’s a car alarm blaring outside your apartment.

It’s been like this for weeks now. There’s nothing else to do but get up, to go about your life as though nothing has changed when everything is different. It’s almost time for your stream, you note as you walk by your kitchen, ignoring your grumbling stomach to turn on the tv first. It’s still on the news station, just like when you turned it off last night.

If you can’t save the world, you might as well listen to it crumble.

You move back to the kitchen, trying to figure out what you have that will make an even half way satisfying dinner. Fuck, it’s been weeks since you were able to get to the shops. You settle for some ramen with an egg and some questionable vegetables on top. Waiting for the water to boil you can hear the news trickling in.

**Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.**

**One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.**

The heroes? You can’t decide if the anchor is optimistically naive or just plain stupid. You snort, stirring the noodles into the boiling water. The heroes haven’t been seen in ages, the top ten falling one by one to more and more villains. You’ve even heard talk of heroes becoming the villains.

**Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.**

**One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.**

“Yeah, no shit,” You talk back to the tv, preparing your dinner before walking carefully over to the couch with it. You want to turn it to a different channel, see if anything happier is on but you don’t. Can’t. You tell yourself it’s plain need, that you have to check to make sure it’s not your apartment in the path of destruction.

Lies.

You can’t turn it off because you don’t want to. You don’t want to because it’s become an addiction, like watching videos of disasters on the internet. Your food burns the roof of your mouth when you shovel it in but you can hardly tell. Ugh. You’ll need to go shopping this week.

Setting the dishes in the sink for later you turn the tv off, resigning yourself to an excursion this week. It’s not apocalyptic outside yet, but you don’t want to turn the risk of getting mugged, or worse. Whatever you need can wait until tomorrow though, you think, stepping into your bathroom to shower, put on some makeup for your stream.

Streaming isn’t exactly how you thought you would make money but it pays and it keeps you inside, keeps you safe. Once you deem yourself pretty enough you get the show on the road. Easy, light stream today.

You don’t even think you’ll need to take off your underwear.

“Would I ever fuck a villain?” You laugh as you read the question, absentmindedly tweaking a nipple as you do. You can hear the ping of donations stream in when you give a little shudder of pleasure. “Sure, some of them are pretty hot. You ever seen that Gang Orca? I bet he’s packing.”

It ends with little fanfare after that, and soon enough you're back in bed, staring at the ceiling as sleep eludes you. There’s noises outside, loud shouting, what sounds like glass breaking. Just one more stream, just enough to save up to move into a different neighborhood, a safer one. Then maybe you can rest.

Morning comes before you want it to.

You pick plain clothes, a little form fitting so people can’t grab you, but loose enough to move in if you have to run. You keep your head down as you lock your door behind you, moving with quick, sure steps. The store is out of a few things but you manage to stock up on essentials for another few weeks. You did it, thank fuck, nobody even hassled you that much.

Right when you slip your key into the door is where it all goes wrong.

“Don’t scream,” the voice behind you is low, and despite your better instincts you listen. “Open the door and I won’t hurt you.”

Yet, you think but obey anyways. There’s a presence behind you, large and overly looming. A large hand drops onto your shoulder right when you hear the door shut. There’s something digging into your shoulder and a quick, darting glance reveals- claws?

Oh, no.

It can’t be.

You stumble forward in an attempt to get away, twisting your body around. It’s a nightmare come true- not just a villain in your home but one of the worst ones. He’s so much larger in real life than you thought he would be. So much more intimidating when you finally meet his red eyes.

Kugo Sakamata.

Gang Orca.

Standing in your living room.

The last thing you see before you faint is his hands coming towards you.

It’s too quiet when you wake up now.

Your room is too dark, save for the open laptop on your desk. Your arms are tied to your desk chair, legs as well. You can see him in the room, but you know he has to be there. Nothing appears to have been taken. You have no idea what’s going on, until he steps back into view.

“Hello there,” His voice is smoother than you would have imagined from before. God, he looks even taller from this angle. Your neck strains to look up at him all the way. His hand comes up to cup your cheek lightly, some sort of parody of a lover’s touch.

You only barely manage to hold back your shudder of revulsion.

He can see it in your eyes though, and his hand jerks back as if he’s been burned. Good, you hope something has hurt him. He’s already shattered your limited sense of security- hostage, in your own home. If you make it out of this alive you won’t even be able to move. He turns away from you, stepping to your computer. You can’t see around him, he blocks out all the light as he stands between the screen and you.

“Do you know why I’m here, little one?” You had the way the diminutive name sounds as it falls from his mouth, almost soft and bordering on sweet. You remain silent, fear locking your jaw shut tight. He continues on without you anyways, “You should. It was only last night when you said what you want from me.” He steps to the side, allowing you to see what’s on your computer now.

He’s started a stream.

Shit, you knew your dumb mouth would come back to haunt you one day. You just didn’t think it would be like this. Your mouth drops open but no words come out. Vaguely, you can read the chat- lots of concern but those messages are being drowned out by people asking, no telling, Gang Orca to do all sorts of depraved things to you. The fucking perverts.

“You could tell them where you are,” He sits behind you on the bed now, arms coming up to wrap around you, caging you in. “Or you can watch how quickly the average man turns when there’s something he thinks he wants.”

You’re still clothed, but you can feel the heat of him through it. How is he so warm? He shifts forwards even more, a hand coming up to hold your jaw, showing you off to the screen. You feel even more naked than during your actual streams. You feel exposed, every nerve like a livewire beneath your skin.

“I could kill you, you know,” His voice sounds almost detached, like he’s bored with the situation, “I think they would like that.” The grip on your jaw tightens. “You can already see what they want me to do to you, how they want me to defile you. There’s almost nobody concerned with your safety now.”

Your eyes strain as you take in the chat, blinking back tears as you realize he’s right. There’s nobody asking you if you’re alright now- only demands, promises to pay whatever the cost is if Gang Orca will only get the show on the road. You wonder why the site hasn’t automatically shut down your stream, after all one of the most notorious villains is right there, begging to be caught.

Until you catch sight of how many people are watching.

“You’re too popular to turn off,” There’s a hint of something sad in his voice, regret mixed with a fondness you can’t place. It’s like he expected this, like this is all going according to plan. “They don’t want to shut down what’s making them money hand over fist.”

You hate to acknowledge that he’s right. The stupid fish fuck is exactly on the mark. The site takes a portion of your donations, and the amount it’s at right now isn’t just your own personal record, it’s a sitewide one. There’s no way they’ll shut you down, try to get you help. Not when there’s still money to be made.

“Don’t you see?” His voice tickles your ear as he whispers into it. You don’t want to see. It’s like you can predict what he will say next. You don’t want him to confirm it, to confirm the worst fears inside of you.

“It’s not just the villains that are bad,” Between his arms and his voice you can almost forget that it feels like the whole world is watching you now, watching this corruption. “I’m evil, but at least I’m honest. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to. How many of them can say that?”

He’s right, of course he is. How else could the world get this bad? Someone along the way stopped caring, and then another, until there were more eyes looking away than could be helped. Easier to ignore the wrong and look out for number one, after all isn’t that what you had been doing?

“Join me,” he breathes, “Be free.”

You don’t hesitate, not now. You let the next two words slip from your mouth not without thought, but free from it. The last tether of your sanity snaps.

“Kiss me.” It’s a plea, one he obeys with a vicious grin. His mouth presses to yours.

The next domino falls.

#gang orca x reader #kugo sakamata x reader #bnharem collab

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cinnamon-roll-seth · 4 years

Text

Where Were You || JJ Maybank

After staying out all night, leaving you at home worried, JJ finally comes home wasted. You’re determined to get to the bottom of why.

Contains drunk JJ, him being whiny, you being angry, lots of arguing, and some really cute fluff at the end. Also you’re John B’s sister.

You jumped and stood up hastily as the porch door slammed, watching as JJ stumbled into the house. Instantly you were hit with the smell of alcohol and weed, which you’d never found to be a very good mix, and had to fight to urge to gag.

It was 5AM and you hadn’t slept at all, being too worried about JJ to allow yourself to drift off. He’d left to go get some things from his house and hadn’t returned. You’d insisted on going to check on him but John B advised you not to, especially with his dad being there.

JJ practically lived at the chateau and you and your brother were happy to have him there. Of course it wasn’t official and he was always welcome to come and go as he pleased but normally he would tell you when he wouldn’t be staying there. The last you knew he was fully planning on coming back before he left last night and that fact that you hadn’t heard from him at all worried you.

“Oh, hey Y/N.” He slurred, nearly tripping over his own feet before falling into the couch next to you.

You crossed your arms, “JJ, you’re drunk.”

“That’s what they all say. I only took like a couple beers. Maybe two?” He answered, holding up six fingers. You rolled your eyes, not even attempting to make sense of the nonsense that had just come out of his mouth. It wasn’t even beer that you smelled on him.

“Go lay down and sober up and then you and I are going to talk.” You told him sternly.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t? Spank me? That’s my job,” He broke into a fit of drunken giggling while you once again rolled your eyes and grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet.

“I’m serious JJ, go.” You lightly pushed him towards the hallway and he stumbled, grabbing onto the wall. You sighed, realizing that there was no way he was making it to bed without your help.

“No, I don’t want to sleep in there!” He whined as you dragged him towards the guest room, which he’d practically claimed as his own.

“Where the fuck are you going to sleep then? In the bathroom over the toilet?”

He pouted like a child and pointed towards your bedroom door. You sighed and opened the door, pulling him into your room and towards your bed.

“JJ I swear to god if you puke on my bed I’m going to murder you.” You warn, watching as he curls up underneath your comforter. He doesn’t answer and when you look back down at him he’s already sleeping, his chest rising up and down as quiet snores leave his mouth.

At that moment you hear your phone ringing and rush out to the living room, softly closing your bedroom door behind you. You grabbed your phone, which had Kie’s contact photo displayed on the screen, and pushed the answer button.

“Heard anything from JJ yet?” She asks in a concerned tone.

“Yeah. He got home a few minutes ago. He’s wasted out of his ass, I could smell the alcohol on him as soon as he walked through the door. I told him to lay down and sleep it off and that we need to talk when he’s sober enough to pronounce my name properly.” You answer, walking out onto the porch so you don’t wake him up.

“Are you gonna chew his ass out?”

“Hell yeah I am. But first I’m gonna make sure he’s okay. That’s not like JJ, he never stays out all night like that without telling me or John B, he knows I worry. And the way he fell asleep so easily, like he was waiting until he was safe to fall asleep. I don’t know what happened, if it was something with his dad or if he ran in to Topper or Rafe or something but as soon as he’s sober enough to tell me I’m going to get it out of him.”

“Yeah somethings definitely not right. I’m just glad he’s home and safe. I gotta get ready for work. Keep me updated? Love you, bye!” She rushes before hanging up the phone. You sigh and walk back into the chateau, deciding to clean up a bit while waiting for JJ to wake up.

It’s not until nearly seven hours later when he finally comes shuffling out of your bedroom, groaning as he holds a hand to his head which you’re almost positive is absolutely throbbing in pain.

“Here, take these.” You hand him four ibuprofen, which despite being above the recommended dose, is probably the only thing that will be able to dull the hangover headache. He mumbled a ‘thanks’ before putting them in his mouth and swallowing them all at once.

He sat next to you on the couch and it was silent for a moment before you spoke softly, “Where were you JJ?”

“Y/N-“ He started but you cut him off.

“No seriously. You scared the shit out of me JJ, I didn’t sleep all night because I was worried about you.”

“I was on my way back here and ran into a couple of tourists throwing a party on the beach. They offered me a couple shots of vodka and it turned in to more shots. I’m sorry I scared you.” He shrugs and takes a sip of the water bottle you had sitting next to you.

“Bullshit. Even if you only intended to stop for ten minutes you still would’ve called me JJ. You always do.”

“I forgot okay? Jesus get off my ass.”

“So me being worried about you is me being on your ass? JJ I was up all fucking night waiting for you to come home. I was half tempted to go to your dad’s house to look for you. If you had come home an hour later I would’ve already been to the police station to file a damn report.” You snap, standing up angrily.

“Why the fuck does it matter where I was anyway? Last time I checked Y/N you’re my girlfriend, not my fucking mother. I don’t have to tell you every tiny little aspect of where I am or what I’m doing at all times. What, did you think I was out cheating?”

“Of course not you jackass! I thought you’d been jumped or something. I thought you were fucking hurt or dead while you were out getting wasted, obviously not giving a fuck about how I was feeling after you didn’t bother to come home or even call.” You scream. If John B hadn’t already left a few hours before you would’ve been worried of waking him up.

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not your fucking dad, I’m not just going to fucking leave and disappear!” You were taken back by his comment as he stood up so the two of you were only a few inches apart.

It was true that you worried more than you should. Your mothering instinct was high and you often tended to care more for others than yourself. You’d been taking care of John B for practically your entire life despite being thirteen months younger. After the two of you became friends with Kie, Pope, and JJ you started to care for them too and were basically deemed the mother of the group.

After your dad’s disappearance you were a wreck, obviously. You started to worry more about not only John B but the others as well. You’d find yourself calling them more frequently just to make sure they were okay. You didn’t mean to be overbearing, you just couldn’t stand to loose anybody else you love. Nobody had called out on it before now.

You stepped back, hurt evident on your face, “I never said- You know what, fine. You can do whatever the hell you want JJ, I don’t care anymore.” And with that you turned and went into your bedroom before slamming the door behind you.

“Y/N!” He called, knocking on your door a second later, “Y/N please I didn’t mean it.”

“Why did you say it then?” You called, listening to him sigh.

“I- I don’t know okay. Look I’m sorry. I just- you were making me feel suffocated and I just lashed out. I didn’t mean what I said about your dad.”

“You know that’s a touchy subject JJ. Why would you even bring him up. You’ve never done that before.” You reply softly.

“What? Y/N I’m sorry but I can’t hear you. Can I come in?”

“Yeah I guess.” You answer as he opens the door and walks in. You can tell he’s sorry by the way his face softens when he sees the tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

“Hey hey, baby I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for what I said and I’m sorry for worrying you last night. Please don’t cry.” He apologizes profusely as he rushes to you.

You shake your head softly, “Where were you? Please JJ, I want the truth.”

He sighs and lifts up his shirt, revealing large dark bruises littering his torso. Your eyes widen and you gasp quietly as you sit up quickly, looking over all the huge dark circles.

“Oh JJ,” You whisper, “What happened.”

“Turns out my dad wasn’t in too good of a mood. After he beat me senseless I waited outside for awhile until he fell asleep then I went inside and raided whatever alcohol I could find. I tried to make it home but I drank more than I should’ve and ended up just sitting by a tree hoping he didn’t find me and go for round two. I sat there for hours until the sun came up and I could finally see to make my way back.”

You didn’t say anything, instead wrapping your arms around his torso in an attempt to hug him, which you found to be a mistake as he hissed in pain and you quickly let go.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You ask softly, pulling him down onto the bed beside you.

He shrugs, “Didn’t want you to think I’m a dumbass. Ooh I get beat up by my alcoholic father so what do I do? Drown my sorrows in alcohol.”

“That was kind of stupid.” You tell him softly and he nods.

“Yeah I know.”

“JJ?” You ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He whispers, planting I kiss on the top of your head.

Drunk JJ, that’s all I have to say. Also him getting so concerned when he sees you about to cry, I’m soft 🥺💕God I’m so whipped for this idiot

#jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj x reader #obx jj #outer banks imagine #outer banks #rudy pankow imagine #rudy pankow #multifandom #multifandom imagines #please dont let this flop

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deviantofthemind · 3 years

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Sanders Sides Ficmas 2020

↪ 𝔉𝔦𝔠𝔪𝔞𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔱 🎁

Dec 1: Snowed in Rating: T

Logan accompanied Roman on a Dragonwitch coven stalk out. They end up trapped in an old hunting cabin by a snowstorm in the middle of the imagination with nothing to entertain them for the next 24 hours. Roman grows very interested in Logan's recent reading material.

Roman sighed dramatically looking out of a small, almost completely blind window. “I apologize, I did not anticipate snowfall this heavy and sudden.”

Logan was not fazed or mad in the slightest, he would still get the required data when the snow storm was over and they could continue their stalk out. He was very pleased that Roman had been amenable to taking him to the Imagination with him.

Since they had become aware that there were other sides that they still didn’t know about, Logan was relentlessly researching in all possible directions. Villains that could have been built up in the Imagination itself or true Sides that had grown unnoticed by them and fueled by outside influence.

“We should probably make a fire if we are going to be stuck here for a while.” he knelt down by the small fireplace to stack some of the thankfully dry wood.

Roman was igniting the fire with a small flick of his wrist. The hut was now lit in a soft, orange glow and no more of the dark blue night was creeping in. Enough light to read for Logan, perfect. No time would be wasted. He hung up their wet coats to dry while the other man rummaged through the cabinets likely in search of food.

“At least we won’t be going hungry waiting the worst out here.” Roman said, “And it’s good to have you with me this time.”

“Is this happening regularly? I mean, that you get stuck in the imagination due to weather conditions?” Logan specified his question, “We always assumed that you just get caught up in certain adventures.”

“No, usually I have pretty good control over the..uh, conditions? It’s just gotten a little unpredictable a short while ago.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully, while opening a large trunk next to the door. “Considering the Imagination is directly tied to your state of mind, wouldn’t it be logical to assume that some personal or emotional turmoil is responsible for the recent anomalies?”

Roman hesitated to answer. Of course Logan was already connecting dots, clever as always. “Uh...I guess?” he said as noncommittally as possible, busying himself with the search for a bucket to fetch some snow for water from outside.

When he stepped out into the cold night, the snow was already piling high and the wind was lashing into his face. He quickly filled the bucket and closed the shutters around the hut.

Logan found some huge, scratchy wool blanket and a huge linen shirt amongst other things going through the chest. He was very curious about what could have the potential to confuse his friend enough that it influenced the Imagination in such a way. But he had learned the hard way that his blunt way of causal investigation was not always appreciated. Was almost never appreciated in fact. Roman had not volunteered any further insight, so it could either be that he thought it was none of Logan's business or that he didn’t trust him enough yet. He could at least work on the second option and not be immediately intrusive and annoying he guessed.

Roman pressed the door close again with quite a bit of force against the wind and bolted it shut. The fire had already warmed the tiny room considerably compared to outside.

“Okay. Looks like we are going to be reasonably safe here.” he announced, bringing his findings over to the cot by the fire, “You can even change into that dry shirt I’ve found so you won’t catch a cold.”

Roman set the snow down by the fire to be melted soon. Turning slowly he fidgeted a bit. He was cold and his shirt was soaked where he had slipped into a snowdrift earlier in an effort to save Logan from exactly that. Stripping was not something he hadn’t anticipated for their trip. And he couldn’t say that he was very eager to get naked in front of his crush either. But well, cold. And also the other man looked at him expectantly.

He hurried, trying to make it as quick and ordinary as possible. Of course he got stuck in his sleeves and had difficulty getting the wet garments of his skin. He was flushed, embarrassed and shivering by the time he managed.

Meanwhile Logan observed. It was a well-known fact that Roman was the tallest, and broadest out of the Sides but he hadn’t anticipated him to look this, what was the vocab again…, shredded? His skin looked very soft and tanned even in Winter and Logan was surprised by the impulsive want to touch. Usually one wasn’t projecting such things onto one's friends. He had to monitor and manage this better. “You are very attractive.”

Romans head whipped around so fast his neck cracked. He hoped desperately that it was too dark and his former flush was too distracting to see the immediate blush Logan's compliment had brought to his cheeks. “Th-thanks?” He felt like a blubbering idiot, but in all honesty he felt more often than not like a blubbering idiot when the other man was involved. So that’s that.

“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. I- uhm..yeah.” Logan handed over the shirt quickly and turned away. Roman could be mistaken but he thought he’d seen a slight shimmer of red in his face too. Maybe? It was unrealistic of course but may? If there was a possibility?

“Do you maybe want some tea? I think we could use something to warm us up?” he asked, deciding for the distraction and also because he was a little concerned. He had towed Logan along, hiking through the rough landscape all day after all, he was likely cold and exhausted.

“Yes, please, I would appreciate it.” Logan said, back to his sober self after a short-moment of fluster he had experienced when being confronted with Roman’s physique.

He settled in front of the fireplace as Roman filled a pot with snow, searched for mugs and dug out a small tin of herbs from his satchel. Groaning softly, he kicked off his shoes and socks, to stretch out and warm his aching feet. Conjuring his recent reading material to keep busy was the logical next step.

Soon after Roman plopped down next to him, sans his usual elegance. He put the steaming mugs down in front of them carefully.

“Thank you. It smells very pleasant.” Logan sighed, breathing in the tea.

Again Roman could feel the warmth in his cheeks, damn his greedy idea to spend time alone with Logan. He rolled his sore shoulders, mumbling a ‘welcome’ before also getting rid of his shoes.

It was strangely nice to sit together in front of the fire and just relax a bit after their day. But Roman still felt a little guilty for the weather trapping them in the Imagination longer as both of them had planned. Still, Roman relished the moment. Sitting close to an unusual relaxed Logan, being able to provide for him even a teeny tiny bit, no one interrupting. He even dared to watch Logan. The other had ditched his usual attire for something more practical and warm and he looked very cosy and warm and cuddly and touchable and...Roman was getting carried away and needed to hide his face behind his mug again.

“So uhm, what are you reading?” he asked softly, as not to disturb the calm atmosphere. And Logan looked up at him and smiled and Roman had to take another sip to hide for a second.

Setting his book aside momentarily and also cradling the tea, Logan turned to Roman. “I’ve been researching about other possible sides,” he said excitedly, “So far I could only rule out possible manifestations though. And unfortunately I think this also is the case with Lust or respectively Desire, which this book is about.”

Roman cursed as he accidentally took a too large sip of the scalding tea. “L-lust?” he sputtered, blinking at Logan confused and suspicious. Could it be that? No. Just, no.

“Yes… I mean, it seemed like a viable theory?” Logan confirmed a little insecure, shrugging.

Roman didn’t dare check but he was pretty sure he was blushed down to his navel by now. “But you did rule that out now? Why?” he asked instead, as steady as he could manage (He was quite proud of himself) and nervously tugged the revealing shirt close.

Logans took a long time to formulate a response he deemed honest but not too blunt. He was trying to win Romans friendship, not alienate him. “Well, usually when we do something, the one at the core of this function, erhm, pops up?” he adjusted his glasses, “Like Janus comes out when one of us is intentionally lying?” He waited for Roman to nod and allowed himself to just relish being so attentively listened to for a moment. “But, from what I read, we’ve been dealing with Desire but an appearance was never made.” Logan could have hit himself, again. Because that had obviously been the most stupid way to word that particular fact.

His mind was reeling, because holy shit, was Logan saying what Roman thought he was saying? “I’m- I’m not sure I can follow you?” he leaned a bit closer, as if guarding the words between them, “So you say Desire is not a full Side because...well because we’ve been experiencing it?” Swallowing heavily, a little choked with his own bravery, he looked back into Logan's eyes.

There was a hot little pit in his stomach because it seemed he might have been misinterpreting quite a lot of information regarding Romans and his friendship and it seemed the other man had now decided for both of them that it was time for a leap of faith instead of further analysis.

“According to the book I certainly have.” he said, “And I think I misjudged the ability for Desire and friendship to coexist or I maybe would have come to this conclusion sooner.”

Romans breath shuddered out of him, a heady mix of joy and relief and Desire. Logan looked awfully insecure and Roman gave him all the time to pull back before he finally received a tiny nod and allowed himself to press his lips to Logan's cheekbone.

They both laughed a little breathless. Yeah. Desire was definitely not a Side.

There were few more words exchanged as they prepared something to eat together, just slow, tentative smiles and the freedom of deliberately brushing against the others body.

Later they dared to slip under the blanket together and Logan couldn’t have named the sort of feeling that was compelling him, begging him to press his whole body against Roman as the man curled his body around him.

Roman tentatively nuzzled into Logan's shoulder, relaxing and rubbing his nose along his neck, pressing a soft kiss there too when the other man sighed softly.

“You know...I never would have thought-..” he interrupted himself, unsure of what he actually wanted to say.

“Yeah, me neither, “ Logan answered into the soft peaceful darkness, “Sometimes, I think, I may be thinking too much…”

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the-wiresmarvelau · 3 years

Text

T.H.E. W.I.R.E.S

Peter and his Friends are allowed to design the compound and couldn't help but riddle it with secret tunels and hallways. While Peter installs said hallways he makes some new acquaintences who he has to help and gets help from.

chapter 2

Chapter 1: Set up

Peter let his mind wander, only barely noticing the scenery passing by behind the car window.

He was thinking back to the events of the past one and a half years.

It had been soo much.

Somehow Tony fricking Stark had ended up in his living room to recruit him for an Avengers infight, and ended up mentoring him in not only superheroing, but also all things science related and even normal everyday stuff.

The rest of the consequences from this so-called civil war however hadn’t been as awesome.

Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, owner of one of if not THE most successful companies in the world and, not to forget, Iron man himself, came home beaten, and in shock. Nobody really knew what happened over in Siberia, apart from those who were there when it all went down.

Back then Iron man hat hated Captain America and, by extension, his team.

Now, Tony was convinced he would be able to get them back in a few weeks; it ‘had taken long enough’ according to him.

Not even four months after the whole Civil War thing went down Mr. Stark had decided to get over himself and begun to consider what would be best in the grand picture; and in his opinion: The world needed the Avengers.

Anytime something like the Chitauri invasion could happen again, a mutant could decide to use their powers for their own gain or organisations like HYDRA could manage to create another super solider.

Not to mention the personal attacks aimed for specific Avengers. Those often included less casualties but if said Avenger isn’t there to react, those people tended to lash out.

So, he had put his personal quarrels with the rogues aside and doubled his efforts to alter the accords in a way that every party could agree and to get the ex-Avengers pardoned.

Before that Tony had already worked hard to mend them in a way that Peter didn’t have to reveal his identity as Spiderman and he was eternally grateful for it; Peter didn’t want this kind of attention, he cherished his anonymity.

And that wasn’t even everything. Tony wanted to make sure everyone felt and was safe.

Safety. Something that the Tower wasn’t entirely fit to provide anymore.

It had been built in a time when more or less everyone had agreed that the Avengers were a good thing or at least no danger for the immediate vicinity.

Nowadays not everyone agreed with Tony on whether the rogues should come back or not.

The general consensus of the public was that the Winter Solider was a threat to society as a whole and their opinions in Wanda weren’t much better.

At least with these two there was a consensus. That couldn’t be said for the rest if the Avengers, team Cap as well as team Ironman.

If the Avengers were to move back to the Tower, everyone in New York would feel threatened and protests were sure to break out, which in turn would bring down the already almost non-existent moral of the team (if you could call them that).

Peter couldn’t help the tiny smile creeping on his face.

As extra as Mr. Stark was he had deemed the already existing compound as too small and unwelcoming.

Without further ado he had ordered to tear the old Structures down and build everything new.

The younger of the two geniuses would never forget the day on which he had found Mr. Stark in his lab, loudly ranting to F.R.I.D.A.Y. about how little time he had; Between the accords, SI and planning the new Compound he was stretched thin as a paper.

As a joke Peter had offered to design the compound for him, stunned when the man paused and decided that, yeah, why not; Let a 17-year-old and his friends go wild with near unlimited resources to plan a living facility for a bunch of spies, mutates, super soldiers and people who could keep up with those.

On the other hand, said teenager should have seen this coming. It was incredibly on brand for the billionaire to forward the most ridiculous tasks to the most unfit to do them (in Peter’s opinion).

At first, he had been horrified to hear what he was asked to do but after some time – and three best friends positively freaking out about the idea of becoming one-time-architects for THE Avengers- the boy relaxed a bit.

Especially Shuri’s assertion, that this wouldn’t be her first time devising such a structure helped.

That was why, the next day, the boy had told his mentor that he had changed his mind and would plan the compound.

How hard can it be, right?

Turns out: it was harder in ways he didn’t expect to become problems and easier when it came to the rest. Overall: feasible.

They had finished the layout about four months ago and by now it was ready to get furnished and finished.

Exactly that was what Peter was gonna do over the next few weeks.

It was summer and he was done with his finals; Not wanting to go stir-crazy with so much time on his hands he had insisted on furnishing the compound by himself.

It was much but manageable. For him at least.

The last year had taught the young hero much, especially about himself and his limits.

For example: Peter had not known that his spider powers included that he needed much less sleep than normal humans, given that he was relatively uninjured.

How had he found out? Well between school, studying for finals, going out as Spiderman and going to the tower to tinker with his mentor he had found himself sleeping only about four hours a day and after a short adjustment period, he was more energetic than ever.

He had also realised just how much his pattern recognition had improved since the bite; and to what extent that helped with learning, for example new languages.

Shuri had taught him a little Wakandan ever since they met which had made him aware that learning languages could actually be fun, if done correctly.

His friends, of course, encouraged him to try for other languages too.

Bevor he just couldn’t decide which one to learn first. There were too many interesting ones

Now that the Avengers were about to reunite, he wanted to make them feel welcome and especially Wanda could probably use someone her age speaking a language more familiar to her than English; so Sokovian would be ideal.

On the other hand, Peter knew that both Black Widow and Mr. Barnes spoke Russian and he really liked the idea of impressing them by speaking a language so different from his native one; he liked that almost as much as he disliked the possibility that the two spies could talk about him or Mr. Stark without them understanding, right in front of them.

Then he had found out that Hawkeye was almost completely deaf and that this had caused some tension in the past whenever Natasha wasn’t around to translate.

Like that, ASL got added to his list.

Three languages were ambitious but at least more manageable than the original list of over a dozen.

Peter was still a bit apprehensive about learning them all at once. That was, until MJ and Shuri began to bet on whether and if: how fast the boy would give up on it.

He knew that if he decided to start learning, he would have to see this through.

But his friends’ gentle bullying and a short motivational speech from Ned gave him the push he needed to take on this challenge.

That was how he found himself practicing every day.

With KAREN it was much easier to practice casually over the day. while he was on patrol, in the lab or at home

She began by telling him random words, in either Sokovian or Russian, apposite to what he was doing at the moment, and also describing the sign in ASL, providing animations of the gestures if needed.

Whenever he had nothing to do, she would quiz him on the learned vocabulary, encouraging him to sign along, and once he had a reasonable basis, she began stating sentences he was supposed to translate or ask questions which he had to answer.

To avoid him mixing up Sokovian and Russian, he always practiced one language for a week, and then the other for another week.

Following Shuri’s advice, he also made sure to have a physical “marker” associated with each language.

On the days he practiced Russian, he put on a watch on his right wrist, when he learned Sokovian he wore a soft fabric bracelet on his left.

According to the princess that would help his brain connect the different lectures within a language.

At first, this process was tedious; Sometimes he just didn’t have the nerves for another lesson or he got frustrated if he didn’t get the words right.

It didn’t help that KAREN sometimes misjudged how much he had to concentrate on different things and began quizzing him at inconvenient times.

But as time went by KAREN got better at knowing when she could distract him and the young genius settled into the routine; to a point where he started to randomly sign words along as he spoke.

It helped him focus on what he was saying, but it also distracted others sometimes. Especially Happy had a hard time following what the boy said when his hands were moving all the time.

Being reminded of the head of security, Peter chanced a glance at said man, who was currently driving.

He was irritable as ever, scowling at him through the rear-view mirror every so often.

Peter flashed him a blinding smile, the next time he looked, before turning his head back to the window and his attention to thinking about the last few weeks.

Distinctly, the new… acquaintance he had made.

About two weeks ago, during an otherwise normal patrol he had found himself further outside of Queens than he usually went.

In the outskirts of hell’s kitchen to be exact.

The spider-powered vigilante hadn’t thought much of it at first and began swinging his way back in the general direction of the tower when a twinge of his spider-sense and curious soundscape in one of the smaller alleys caught his attention.

More specifically the sound of a pretty intense fight going on.

Peter, of course, promptly changed direction to find out what was going on.

Now, he hadn’t expected anything in particular; Peter had learned that having expectations means it is likely that he will be surprised. And that being surprised only paved the way for getting punched, cut or shot, depending on the situation he stumbled into.

Still. He couldn’t help but be confounded when what he saw was a young to middle-aged man, clad in a deep red suit including a helmet with tiny horns, fighting a hoard of.. freakishly soundless … ninjas?

Fortunately for the wall-crawling-superhero the ninjas hadn’t noticed him yet, giving him time to compose himself.

While he had no idea who he should be rooting for, a general rule was that the one fighting alone against a group was usually not the one who picked the fight and would be more cooperative.

Additionally, the man in red seemed somehow familiar; he had probably seen a picture of him once, but he wasn’t sure.

Still. He looked like he needed some help and helping was what the mutate was there for.

“Hey Mr. Red, need a hand dealing with these guys?” Peter asked, already webbing up the first few Ninjas. Completely oblivious to the pun* he just made.

The man scoffed slightly. “Just when I thought you wouldn’t join in on the fun” He huffed out.

“How could I not” Peter replied, delighted that the other quipped back despite his clearly visible exhaustion.

After that the fight didn’t last too long. The horned stranger asked Peter to web all of them up because he neither wanted to be followed by them nor did he kill, which, again, counted as a win in the younger one’s eyes.

They talked a bit afterwards. The man introduced himself as Daredevil aka the Devil of Hell’s kitchen. Peter answered that he was Spiderman and then started to ramble about the article he had read, about the other bringing down this renowned mob boss.

The whole time Daredevil seemed a bit irritated, or confused by something. But he didn’t ask the boy anything and the teenager wasn’t sure if it was rude to ask; after all, vigilantes relied on secrecy, so Peter didn’t comment on it.

Looking back, he kind of regretted it. He would have loved to know what had been on the other one’s mind. But he didn’t have time to sulk about it much, because they arrived just then.

Giddy excitement surged through Peter as he got out of the car and found himself standing before the massive building, that was soon to become the new Avengers compound.

Another reason for why he wanted to furnish everything was, that Mr. Stark had allowed Peter to include secret passageways, which he wasn’t forced to reveal to anyone. He was even allowed to include his own AI in them, which Ned and him had been coding for what felt like forever.

They still had to follow some rules though.

For one: the secret hallways weren’t allowed to contain any clearly dangerous contraptions or traps like great heights, spikes, or an Indiana Jones stile Stone-ball-trap. Ned had been a bit disappointed at the last one but got over it quickly enough.

A secret lab was equally off limits, because “accidents are inevitable” as Tony put it.

Another rule: he had to be able to communicate with F.R.I.D.A.Y., one way or the other, at all times.

He was permitted to veil his exact position as long as the AI could always check whether he was inside the passage ways or not.

FRIDAY also wasn’t allowed to disclose the entries to anyone in any way - unless there was an emergency that is. Most emergency protocols included giving away the entrances to the secret passageways on request of any inhabitant; as either hideout or escape routes.

A tap on the shoulder from Happy brought him back to the present and he hurried to help his driver getting his luggage out of the car.

He would spend his whole summer at the compound, half of it almost alone; with only Tony, Pepper, Vision and Happy checking in occasionally.

For the nights he could decide whether to stay at the Tower after patrolling or go back to the compound, depending on what he felt like.

He’ll still patrol of course.

He had planned to spend most of his daytime putting everything in place. Getting furniture where it belonged, disguising his secret passages, ordering final decorations and equipment, making sure everything was in place.

In the evenings he would swing his way to Queens and fulfil his responsibilities as Spider-Man.

He had to report back to either Tony or Pepper at least every two or three days, because May was on a trip for Doctors without borders and therefore not available all the time; but he had promised to call May every day.

Happy bid the Yong hero goodbye and, with a last good look back at the kid, drove off. He wasn’t convinced that letting the kid go nuts with designing and furnishing the entire compound alone was that good of an idea.

On the other hand: it was by far not the most questionable thing Tony had done -or had allowed to be done for that matter- and he didn’t have a say in the decision anyways.

Peter, energetic as ever, went straight to work, deciding that he should start by setting up his room, so he had a place to sleep for the night. For convenience.

Then he would set up his lap before furnishing Tony and Peppers room as well as Vision’s, and Happy’s, since those four would probably be his only visitors for the next five or so weeks.

Whenever he got bored of moving stuff around -or he just wanted to tinker for a bit- he could prepare the entrance mechanisms for his secret pathways, which he and his friends had begun to call “T.H.E. W.I.R.E.S.”; Short for “The Hidden Entry’s Will Indefinitely Remain an Elaborate Secret”, a sarcastic remark from MJ which Shuri proposed to send as cryptic letter to one of the Avengers, in case they didn’t notice the pathways for long enough that it got boring.

As Peter wrote the phrase down, he realised what a perfect acronym it was, since the small hallways and crawlspaces connected the rooms like wires the different parts of a machine. And just like that - the new name was born.

As he stepped inside, the boy couldn't help the chills running down his spine at the emptiness of the building.

For some reason it reminded him of the abandoned warehouse that the Vulture dropped on him.

Huge.

And empty

And. . . MASSIVE.

'No!' he reprimanded himself in his thoughts.

’This is different. These walls could withstand such a silly. Little .. sharp clawed wingsuit.

Probably...’

And besides! He was not as helpless as he had been back then.

‘I have my suit; I'm more experienced and I have Karen. I’m not on my own.’

With that in mind he began to make his way up to his new room to deposit his luggage.

The elevator was already working and connected to Karen for the time being. Tony had agreed that it would be easier to keep THE WIRES a secret if Peter were to set up the entries before FRIDAY was installed.

Additionally, Tony had more time to code the update he had planned for her; it would have been an unnecessary hustle to upload FRIDAY only to get her shut down for the update a week or so later.

"KAREN? Up to the first floor please" Peter asked; ever politely.

'of course, Peter' his AI replied.

"Where did Mr. Stark say the furniture was delivered to again?" the young hero inquired, just as the elevator came to a stop and he headed over to what would soon be his room;

'Mostly in the Garage and the adjoining lap.' Karen’s melodic voice answered.' The furniture for your room and the kitchen on the ground floor are closest to the lifts entrance. For easy access. Oven, fridge and other kitchen machinery on both floors is already installed.'

"I knew I forgot something." he mumbled under his breath; then, louder: "Thanks’ Karen. What would I do without you?"

‘Starve; as it seems' Came Karen’s answer - cocky and with an almost human level of amusement.

‘Or you would have long since bleed out in some ally; refusing to call Mr Stark because „it’s just a little stab wound".'

They continued to banter back and forth like that, while Peter began furnishing his room.

His super-strength combined with his intuition for, and knowledge of physics made it fairly easy for him to manoeuvre all the stuff in and out of the, fortunately, large elevator... or maybe less fortunate and more designed that way.

‘By myself!!!’, he couldn’t help but think, as a spark of pride and excitement surged through him, while thinking about it.

He finished to set up his room and unpack rather quickly.

The carpets and wallpaper had luckily already been put up, which made the whole ordeal at least ten times easier.

Afterwards, at the insistence of Karen, he went on to get the kitchen ready for use while a Pizza was already in the oven.

Everything worked out as planned. There was no furniture missing, nothing broke and he got all the things done that he planned for the day.

It went fairly similar the day after.

And the day after that.

And the day after that and so on for about three weeks.

Patrolling seemed to go smoother lately; he got injured less, most likely because he actually went to sleep regularly; for once in his teenage years; and Peter felt the days fly by in a fulfilling blur.

But as relaxing and comfortable as these past weeks had been, Peter couldn’t help but wish for something interesting to happen. Especially as he swung through the city one night, elated from the adrenalin coursing through his veins with every twipp of his webs, every fall he caught in the last second.

He let his mind wander - through the compound, which looked more and more like a home with every shelf he installed, every painting he hung up – to Daredevil, who he hadn’t seen again even though he went near Hell’s kitchen more and more often, -to his friends, Ned and MJ, who had come over to help him for a few days, Shuri, sadly, hadn’t been allowed to come over, but at least they facetimed almost every day.

Just as his thoughts meandered to the special guestroom Mr. Stark had requested for some mysterious person who might move to the compound, according to Tony, in the not so near future; the boys attention got caught by a strange, greenish-gold light on one of the higher roofs.

It seemed so unnaturally... natural.

Too natural to belong in the middle of a city.

Nothing like the artificial neon lights and light up adds.

But it didn’t trigger his Spidey-sense, which was curious.

The spider themed hero landed on a roof not far away to inspect that strange source of light.

Now that he got a proper look at it, he realised that it was humanoid figure surrounded by something like an .. aura? in gold and a deep green. The person had about shoulder-long, black hair and wore a long, dark, leather looking coat with green accents.

They looked somewhat familiar but Peter wasn’t quite able to place them; that is, until they turned their head around, ever so slightly.

“Karen..? activate ’don’t tell mom Protocol’ please”

chapter 2

#peter parker #tony stark #irondad #fanfic #marvel #mcu #chapter 1 #chapters #i don't know how tags work #feedback pls #compound

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jackalopingintothevoid · 4 years

Text

Observing Holidays Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 TBA

John felt odd.

Not bad. He didn’t think it was a serious medical issue. Just odd. Or, well, not just odd but... primarily odd.

There was... pressure, inside his chest. But it wasn’t... it wasn’t an inward tightening, like a knot. It was an outward pressure, like something was inside his chest that was too big for it. Not too too big, it didn’t hurt, it was just enough that it was noticeable. In fact, the pressure didn’t feel uncomfortable at all.

He just felt... full.

Not so full that he struggled with lunch, of course. It was one thing to come to terms with the fact that genuine meat was readily available so soon after the war (it had been years, why couldn’t he remember it had been years?) but the spread before him now? That was a whole cooked turkey, juicy and bursting with flavour from the stuffing mix it was cooked with and strips of bacon wrapped around it. Roast potatoes, crispy coatings from his oil distribution, fluffy innards and so satisfying; roast parsnips, equally crispy outside but soft and sweet in the middle; steamed carrots cut into discs, with optional melting butter, that he could scoop a dozen of into his mouth at once; steamed sprouts, which regrettably had a very strong flavour but went down quickly; bread sauce, a thick, creamy, mild dollop that he’d happily eat a bowlful of; cranberry sauce, sweet and sharp, complimenting the salty bacon-infused turkey; two different types of gravy, one thicker and richer than the other; and something called pigs in blankets.

John didn’t think he’d ever felt such delight as when he found out that, many centuries ago, some genius decided that sausages could be improved with a bacon wrapping.

He had to admit, he probably ate more than his fair share. But he also had to admit that no one minded-- in fact, Mochou, Changming and Davis gave in and passed over food they didn’t have room for.

And it was strange, to sit in a group, listening to a conversation he wasn’t part of, and not feel like he was an intruder. Even if he wasn’t directly involved, they accommodated for him; things John wouldn’t be expected to know, they explained. He learned about local shops and services, amusing anecdotes from people’s pasts or about their relatives, plans for the new year and even talk of the political climate, but he was very focused on his little bacon-wrapped sausages for that discussion and took none of it in.

And then... dessert.

All of that food, and then dessert.

Two desserts.

One was a plate of pinwheel-shaped pastries filled with prune jam, and the other was a Bûche de Noël which looked like an awful lot of chocolate. While Riley had figuratively written the menu for the main meal this year, Alouette had been on the desserts with old family favourites, and she was eager to get John’s approval. And she most certainly did.

By the time the lunch was concluded, John felt bloated again and he kept smiling for no reason he could pin down.

They’d just settled in the living room, debating whether they wanted to play something or watch something, when Davis suddenly leapt up.

“Almost forgot a classic!” He declared, heading back into the kitchen even as others protested. John was curious despite the response-- what classic?

Davis returned with a tray full of drinking glasses, each full of what looked like milk, and a small plastic dispenser.

“Alright,” Davis started, setting the tray on the coffee table despite the lethargic moaning of the group. “I got eggnog, I got cinnamon, who wants some?”

John sat up a little, but before he could move or speak Davis was laughing. “Yeah I know you want some big guy, don’t worry! I got you.”

There was one more glass than needed, John realised, and with that in mind he shouldn’t have been surprised when Davis offered him one with cinnamon and one without.

“There you go,” Davis said, seeming pleased with himself, “see how you like that.”

John remained silent, and Davis started to frown. John firmly reminded himself of the kitchen incident, and focused on the worry in the smaller man’s eyes.

“You okay, John?”

Say something, he thought, take the glasses.

He didn’t.

“John? Ça va?” Alouette had propped herself up from her dozing slump, and everyone else was looking at him with concern again.

He nodded and forced himself to reach out and take them, if only to stop everyone staring, and fought to find his voice. “Thanks.”

They were still staring.

“John...” Mochou murmured beside him. “You can tell us.”

She intended to say more, but Davis cut her off. “Alright, anybody else? C’mon I know you guys’ll love it once you have it, you’re all getting one, just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to cinnamon.”

Riley immediately started waving a hand clumsily as if to fend Davis off. “Noooooo I’m stuffed stop trying to make us faaaaaaaat.”

All eyes turned to them instead as they lazily kicked up a fuss, and John felt the tension in his shoulders ease. He looked down at the ‘eggnog’ in his hands and decided to push aside the unsettled feeling he couldn’t place and focus on the objective; he’d try the undoctored eggnog first to get the base flavour, then see how the cinnamon interacted with it.

“Ó.” The soft sound from Mochou distracted him, and a quick assessment made his innards squirm. She had that look on her face, when he said or did something that upset her-- she’d insisted repeatedly that it wasn’t his fault, but the correlation was consistent enough despite changing variables to reflect cause and effect. Unfortunately he was struggling to ascertain the pattern, so he didn’t yet have any action to take, and it was frustrating.

John tilted his head in question, but Mochou brightened suddenly, smiling and patting him on the leg before turning to Davis and calling, “Cinnamon, please!”

And now John was the one left perplexed. Had he misread her expression? Had it not been aimed at him but rather at something unrelated within her mind? Was she pleased that he was no longer agitated, or perhaps realised what the problem had been and deemed it resolved? The urge to ask for clarification came and went, and he sipped the plain glass of eggnog.

He liked it. ______________________________

It was, as the Crew dubbed it, Present Time.

John had tried to excuse himself, offering to wash up after the meal, but he’d been veritably shouted down. So now he was sat here as the Crew passed gifts to each other, feeling truly awkward for the first time in days.

He was admittedly curious, itching to know what they’d given each other, but he felt uncomfortably conspicuous spectating a tradition he wasn’t (couldn’t be) involved in. Simply the fact that he had nothing himself to give caused an uncomfortable almost-burning sensation in his stomach, and he wanted nothing more than to walk out when Changming pulled out the cards John had written.

The effusive thanks he was met with were almost too much for him to take. (He’d clumsily handwritten the same hollow festive greeting over and over and they were praising him like they hadn’t saved his life; he swallowed back bile and dug his fingers into the couch cushions.)

He almost missed Riley’s voice calling his name.

Looking up, John froze. Riley was holding out a wrapped gift-- a Christmas present. The gift tag had his name on it.

Swallowing thickly, John said, “No.”

Riley startled, jerking back as their face fell, and guilt added to the sour churning in his guts.

All eyes on him.

(It wasn’t-- he couldn’t-- )

“I can’t,” he blurted, “I’m sorry.” ______________________________

He didn’t come back to himself until he felt the blast of cold air as he opened the door to step outside the apartment block.

Regretting his lack of clothing warmer than his hooded jacket, he pushed forward regardless. He wouldn’t be out long, he told himself. He just needed a moment. He just needed to breathe.

The crisp chill helped to clear his head, and he relished the deep breaths of fresh, unrecycled air. He found the cold weather much more pleasant with the knowledge that there was warmth to return to.

A sharp cry of alarm from nearby snapped his head around, and he caught sight of an elderly civilian fallen back against their car. Their arms were heavily laden with bags, overbalancing them, and with potential ice underfoot they might well do themself harm.

He crossed the distance and reached out, “It’s alright,” he reassured, “I’ve got you.”

“Oh! Oh, I--”

John gently took one load of bags, then carefully but firmly gripped their arm. His other hand steadily scooped the civilian off the surface of the car door, moving around to support their back as they got their feet under them.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh-- Oh my, you’re a strapping lad aren’t you? Thank you so much, I- I’m alright, didn’t quite do any damage!” They were startled but smiling gratefully.

John frowned. “Where do you need to go?”

“Oh, dear-- oh, just on the ground floor there.” They glanced up at him hopefully. “I don’t suppose you’d mind... ?”

“Not at all.” Said John, taking the other bags.

“Oh thank you dear, you are a treasure.”

They seemed surprised when John slipped all six bags onto one forearm, and beamed when he offered the other in support, making another comment about his being ‘impressive’. It seemed in good cheer, so he didn’t dwell on it.

On the short but slow walk back to the apartments, John learned that Makani had just come back from a lovely Christmas lunch with many of their friends, whereupon they’d received far heavier gifts they had expected. They hadn’t wanted anyone to fret, so they’d insisted they could get it all home safely, but clearly they’d only been partly right.

They seemed to be taking the near miss cheerfully, and had no qualms allowing John to support them with his “astonishing arms”, to the point that they made no attempt to let go of him after they were safely inside the building. He shivered at the difference in temperature, and Makani’s smile finally dropped.

They clucked their tongue. “Oh dear, you must be freezing young man! Come in, come in and have a hot drink.”

John hesitated. He knew the Crew were probably upset and worried about his absence, and he should really go back before they felt the need to look for him, but... he almost couldn’t stand the thought of facing them right now.

“And maybe,” Makani continued gently, a shrewd look in their gaze, “you can tell me all about whatever trouble’s got that look on your face.”

John immediately schooled his features, and Makani’s face scrunched in irritation.

“Oh, don’t do that. That’s unnerving, that.” At his lack of response, they sighed. “I only mean that it might help to put a voice to it, rather than running around in the freezing cold until you make yourself sick.”

Their eyebrow arched, and John felt his head dip in sheepish embarrassment. He didn’t particularly want another round of hypothermia.

“Either way, come in and warm up. A drink is the least I can do for lugging my sorry baggage to the door.”

They smiled and patted his arm, and John felt something inside of him pang with a strange longing. Something about Makani’s worn and wrinkled face made the acrid knots loosen in his belly, their dark eyes warm and welcoming. Despite himself, he nodded.

“I just...” For a moment John wrestled with himself, then huffed in frustration as he lost the words again.

But Makani seemed to understand. They nodded, like some unspoken question had been answered, and didn’t press. “Come in.” They urged again, and John gave in.

#halo #anyone know this john doe?#observing holidays #john 117 #master chief #AT LAST #AFTER A LITERAL FUCKING YEAR

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purplepersnicketywrites · 5 years

Note

I found this post and I really love the prompt so it goes like this "you're unfairly good at everyhting but I'm strong enough to carry you bride-style and this for some reason renders you speachless" I'm sorry it's not a nermaid thing.

It doesn’t have to be a mermaid thing! You’re good! I just thought it would be On Theme for the month dfshgdfg

ANYWAY YES THIS IS A TOP-TIER PROMPT it’s,,, Kirishima @ Bakugou tbh

so um. it might have taken a while to write this but have like, a whole 4k fic? i don’t know how to drabble,, apparently,,,

Eijirou was in love.

Okay, well, maybe that was a little over-exaggeration of his feelings. Maybe it was being dramatic - especially since he wasn’t actually with the object of his affections (yet) - but dramatic suited his would-be suitor.

Or, Eijirou thought. Am I the suitor?

It wasn’t like he was actively persuing anything… Whatever, the point was that Eijirou was desperately in love with one Bakugou Katsuki, his long-time best friend and the owner of his entire heart and most of his soul. And who could blame him? Bakugou was perfect.

It might not be an opinion that everyone shared of the blond bombshell. He was prickly and wore an almost permanent scowl. He was the grumpiest, grouchiest bastard that Eijirou had ever met. He swore liberally, was unapologetically self-confident almost to the point of arrogance, and he exploded stuff. He’d been even worse when he was younger.

The thing was, as Bakugou’s best friend, Eijirou saw the other side of him, too. Where Bakugou’s walls were raised high around him, he’d carved out a small door for Eijirou and a few of their closest friends to let them in.

Where most saw Bakugou as a unfriendly and standoffish guy, Eijirou saw the introverted young man who was shy and just didn’t want to admit it. Where most heard the blistering language that rolled off of Bakugou’s tongue, Eijirou heard the Bakugou who was bad with words and at a loss for how to really express himself. Bakugou was way more into physical expression than verbal. He didn’t like to talk about feelings or ‘gross sappy shit like that’.

Most people didn’t bother trying to get through Bakugou’s walls to see the part of him that really, truly cared about people. It had been a stunted, shrivelled sort of thing when Bakugou had started at UA. Now, five years later and two into actual hero work, it was like a tree in full bloom. Bakugou cared, in his own way.

His drive was unparalleled. Once Bakugou Katsuki set his mind on something, god, he was gonna get it. Eijirou didn’t doubt for a second that he’d snag the Number One Hero spot at some point in his career. Bakugou inspired Eijirou, he always had.

Bakugou was also absolutely, mind-bendingly smoking hot. Which, you know, that didn’t hurt Eijirou’s attraction to him one bit.

One of the things that Eijirou found most appealing about his friend was his sheer level of competency. In like, any situation. Eijirou would think that maybe they were stuck on something - in a hopeless situation, on an investigation, anything, really - and then Bakugou’s face would do the thing. He’d get one of his special thinky-faces on, the one that meant he was trying to remember something. Then his eyes - bright and shiny and the most gorgeous deep red - would widen slightly as he pulled on all the strings inside his head and found himself weaving up a thought.

Bakugou would bark out a laugh, one of Eijirou’s favourite Bakugou laughs because this one meant I’ve got it, we’ve won, and proceed to obliterate whatever their obstacle was. Bakugou had done a whole lot of things, somehow. He’d done ballet and acrobatics in addition to martial arts to shape his movements as he fought. He was musical. Origami swans had saved their necks twice, somehow, and Eijirou had nearly died for other reasons that one time Katsuki had had to teach him how to tango for that one undercover mission they’d gone on. Both of them had worn awful wigs. Eijirou remembered the mission fondly.

One thing that Bakugou Katsuki still wasn’t great at doing, however, was knowing when he was beaten. Kaminari often joked that Bakugou had no off-switch. He never stopped.

Not even when his leg was cut up from hip-to-calf and there were seven other heroes on the scene.

“Don’t make me call timeout on you, Zero,” Eijirou growled, holding onto Bakugou’s shoulder to stop him rushing after the villain that Eijirou was pretty sure Battle Fist had already smacked down into the ground. Bakugou tried to keep walking. “You’re bleeding. Like, badly.”

“They can stitch it later,” Bakugou said, eyes darting around.

Eijirou narrowed his own eyes. “Once you’ve passed out from blood loss, you mean?”

Bakugou glared at him and tried to shake Eijirou’s hand off his shoulder. “Don’t mother-hen me, Red.”

“Oh yeah,” Eijirou huffed, doubling down on his grip. “Because not wanting my partner to drop ‘cause he’s being stubborn is unreasonable.”

“Exactly,” Bakugou said, raising one hand. It was already popping a little. Was he going to try and blast Eijirou’s hand off of him? He ought to know that wouldn’t work by now.

Eijirou sighed. “Well, if you’re gonna act like a baby about it… It’s timeout time.”

Bakugou only had time to frown at him before Eijirou was scooping him up into a bridal-style lift. Bakugou squawked and let off a couple of bangs from his hands. They achieved exactly nothing.

“Let me go, you bastard!” Bakugou snapped. He wasn’t wriggling too much, though. His leg must have been really painful. Eijirou tried not to jostle it. “Put me down!”

“Nope!” Eijirou said, and he looked around to see if he could see any medical assistance. If not, well, the hospital wasn’t too far from here… Bakugou folded his arms over his chest and pouted. Good, he’d accepted his fate.

There were no medics set up around here, so Eijirou set off at a light jog towards the route to the hospital. He could feel warmth dripping down one of his arms and grimaced to himself. Bakugou really was losing blood, huh? He was lucky that the villain hadn’t caught one of his major blood vessels.

It didn’t take very long until the hospital was in sight, and Eijirou glanced down at Bakugou, who was staring fixedly at his own knees with a weird expression on his face.

“Hey man, you holding up?” Eijirou asked, wondering if Bakugou was in more pain than he’d thought or like, fainting or something. He shifted Bakugou’s weight in his arms a little.

Bakugou nodded, flushing pink? “Just get me to the docs already.”

“You got it, dude,” Eijirou said, jogging around the hospital building until he saw the sign for A&E. People moving outside the hospital caught sight of them and ogled. Man, they were probably both covered in blood, huh? This’d probably make the news.

It was worth it if Bakugou was okay, though. Eijirou was beginning to get worried - his friend had gone pale again, paler than he should be, and quiet, too. Quiet and Bakugou did not mix. He sped up a little and then all of a sudden he was at the desk in A&E.

“Uh,” Eijirou managed to get out, but the receptionist had seen them coming and a doctor was already rushing over.

“Over here, Red Riot,” the doctor said, showing Eijirou to a free bed. He laid Bakugou down on it as gently as he could. Nurses swarmed under the doctor’s direction, and before Eijirou knew what was going on, he was being bundled into a waiting room chair with a shock blanket and a mug of cocoa.

He texted Mina to go to his and Bakugou’s apartment to pick up some fresh clothes for them both as she had a spare key, and then he was just waiting. He offered himself as a blood donor - as an O-Neg he was a universal donor - but the doctors had deemed it unnecessary. They had plenty of blood for Bakugou to have. That was good. He thought that they had probably stitched him up by now, and maybe even used a medical quirk.

“Red Riot?”

Eijirou looked up. One of the nurses from earlier stood in front of him. “Oh, uh, hi! How’s Ground Zero doing?”

“Good,” said the nurse. “His injuries have been treated and he’s currently being given painkillers for it. He is currently asleep, but would you like to sit in with him?”

Eijirou glanced down at his soiled clothes. “Am I allowed, with all of this gunk on me?”

“His injuries have all been cleaned and dressed, so unless you try to remove any of them, I think you’ll be safe,” the nurse grinned. “Follow me.”

Eijirou did. He was led through a few different corridors and into a ward with individual rooms. The nurse pushed one door open and then there was Bakugou. He looked a lot cleaner and was a far better colour than he had been. Eijirou let out a sigh of relief and went to sit on one of the visitors’ chairs.

“Thanks,” he told the nurse, who smiled again and left the room after telling Eijirou to yell if anything was amiss.

Eijirou stared at Bakugou’s face. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

One of Bakugou’s eyes cracked open. “Yeah.”

“Huh,” Eijirou said. “No arguing with me any more? Those painkillers must be strong.”

“I’m so fuckin’ high right now,” Bakugou agreed. “Sorry.”

“Apologies, too? Man, I should keep some of this stuff and slip it to you the next time you get too grumpy.”

Bakugou grinned at him. “Nah, ya like me when I’m grumpy.”

Damn, well, that was true.

“Yeah, I do,” Eijirou said, and prodded Bakugou’s chest. “So stop ending up in here. This one’s gonna leave a real nasty scar.”

“Mmhmm,” Bakugou said, closing his eyes again. “Sooner I rest up, sooner I’ll be cleared to leave this fuckin’ place. So shut ya trap.”

“Charming,” Eijirou said with a snort.

“I know I am,” Bakugou mumbled. “Shut up.”

Eijirou patted Bakugou on the shoulder. “Yeah. I’ll be here when you wake up again, yeah?”

“Better fuckin’ be,” Bakugou said, and then his face dropped into the genuine relaxation of sleep.

Mina was a goddamn lifesaver. She had brought them their clothes, informed Bakugou that he was a moron for making everyone worry about him, and then swept herself off with no wriggling eyebrows or probing about Eijirou basically gluing himself to Bakugou’s side. She had also taken away their dirtied costumes ‘to be burned’.

The hospital staff had given Bakugou the A-Okay to head home (and rest his leg, which Eijirou was going to have to enforce, somehow). Now all they had to do was physically get out of the hospital.

That was easier said than done.

“I do not need a fuckin’ wheelchair,” Bakugou insisted, despite the fact he wasn’t really supposed to walk in case his stitches ripped. He had woken up on the wrong side of everything, let alone the bed, and now that they’d taken him off the strong painkillers the reality of his injury had settled in.

Eijirou was losing his patience with his friend. “Stop swearing at the staff, Bakugou.”

“I do whatever I damn well please,” Bakugou spat, glowering. “Fucking antibiotics, feel like shit. I’m allowed to cuss, I’m an adult.”

“It’s not professional, man,” Eijirou said. “What if a kid in the hospital hears you? They’re gonna repeat what Ground Zero says.”

“It’s education.”

Eijirou’s mouth threatened to twitch up. No! He wasn’t amused!

“Dude,” said Eijirou. “You suck.”

Bakugou scowled at him. “You wish.”

Eijirou took a moment for himself to scream internally. Being head over heels for this man was incredibly testing at times. He had a suspicion that Bakugou knew, from comments like that, but he could never be sure. Eijirou pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you going to get into the chair? Or are you hoping that you’ll start spontaneously levitating?”

“I just don’t want the press to get me in one of those things,” Bakugou said, pouting to the side.

“There’s literally nothing wrong with being in a wheelchair, Bakugou,” Eijirou said.

Bakugou scoffed. “Of course not! But the tabloids’ll overreact and make out like I’m dying or I’ve lost my leg or some stupid shit like that. It’ll affect the rankings.”

Eijirou sighed. Bakugou narrowed his eyes and Eijirou held up his hands. “I get it, bro, the world is stupid. They probably already got me carrying you in here covered in blood, though. I could carry you back out again?”

“And do what, carry me the whole way home?” Bakugou snapped.

“Sure, why not?” Eijirou shrugged. “If it gets you out of the hospital.”

Bakugou glared at him. “Why n- We live three fuckin’ miles away, dipshit!”

“And?”

Bakugou blinked. “And that’s a fuckin’ long way to go if you’re lugging someone along with you.”

“Not really, ‘cause I’m like,” Eijirou paused to reorganise his words. “I’ve definitely carried more than you for further before.”

“Excuse me,” said one of the nurses. “So will you be using the wheelchair or not?”

“Not,” Bakugou said.

Oh, wait, so the carrying thing wasn’t hypothetical. Okay.

“Alright, let’s go then,” Eijirou said, walking over to where Bakugou was sitting with his legs dangling over the side of the hospital bed, signed discharge papers in his hand ready to give to reception. Eijirou tried to pretend that his heart wasn’t thundering in his chest. He failed.

No use agonising over it! Eijirou scooped Bakugou up. Bakugou slung one of his arms around Eijirou’s neck - for balance, probably - and lay the other with the discharge papers over his lap.

“You good?” Eijirou asked. Bakugou nodded. “I’m not grabbing your cut, right?”

Bakugou shook his head.

“Comfy?” Eijirou asked. Bakugou nodded. Okay, that was weird, he’d gone quiet. And slightly red. Was that like, a symptom of something, or? “Cat got ya tongue, man?”

Bakugou went pale, and then red again, almost like some kind of squid thing that Eijirou had seen on a wildlife documentary once.

“Ba-”

“Just go already,” Bakugou muttered, scowling at the papers he was holding.

“Alright,” Eijirou said, thanking the nurse and striding from the room.

“Home, sweet home,” Eijirou said, setting Bakugou down for the first time since they’d left the hospital. They weren’t quite in yet, but Eijirou did sort of need to unlock the door. He kept ahold of Bakugou’s arm to make sure he stood in one place, and then the door was open and he was picking Bakugou up again.

So what if he was enjoying all this extra contact? Sue him.

“Sofa or bed, Bakugou?” Eijirou asked, and Bakugou jumped slightly in his arms. He’d have his Thinking Really Hard face on all the way home and had barely said a word.

“Sofa,” Bakugou said. Eijirou set him down and Bakugou leant back into the cushions with his Thoughtful Scowl on again.

Eijirou sat next to him, breathing out a sigh of relief that they were finally home and mostly back in one piece after the fight today. Eijirou had dealt with knife quirks before - on his hero debut, even! - but while his quirk protected him from the worst of any sharp things, it meant that he no longer really got aimed at and it was harder for him to take hits.

Man, if the knife villain had gotten Eijirou? He’d’ve come away from the battle totally unharmed and desperately seeking a new pair of trousers or something. But no. The villain had got his best friend instead, and now everything was going to be a hassle for a while. Patrols without Bakugou didn’t suck, but they did get a little dull, and Eijirou would always be worrying that Bakugou had fallen over or something and injured himself more without anyone around to help him.

“You wanna get take out tonight?” Eijirou asked. He was gonna order it anyway because he didn’t want to cook and he wasn’t gonna let Bakugou do it. Bakugou grunted - probably in agreement - and Eijirou realised that he was still on his no-talking thing. “Dude, what’s up?”

Bakugou levelled a glare at him. “Take a wild guess.”

“Nuh uh, that ain’t gonna fly,” Eijirou said. “You’re moping, or something. Injuries make you angry. You get louder. Not whatever this is.”

“The fuck do you know?” Bakugou grumbled. Eijirou reached out and whacked Bakugou’s shoulder lightly.

“I know you, man,” Eijirou said.

“Ugh,” Bakugou said. “I guess you do.”

He was still looking at Eijirou, expression shifting and shifting so quickly that Eijirou couldn’t keep up. Bakugou’s thoughts must have been racing - and for such a quick-thinking guy that speed must be intense.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Eijirou said, launching into his usual get-Bakugou-to-open-up-about-things spiel. “But I’m here for ya, Bakugou.”

“Yeah, you are,” Bakugou said, face moving into a frown. Huh? “Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you here?” Bakugou asked. “Why do you want to be here?”

Well, this was not exactly the conversation Eijirou had envisioned having… Like, ever. “You’re my best frien-”

“That’s not what I meant, Kirishima,”Bakugou growled, cutting Eijirou off with a glare. What, was Eijirou not giving the right answer to his vague and nebulous question? “It- Ugh. What do you want from me?”

Eijirou blinked. “What? Nothing.”

“No, there isn’t nothing,” Bakugou snapped. Huh? Eijirou didn’t understand what Bakugou was saying. Was this just from all the pain meds, even if the loopy ones weren’t being used any more? Did Bakugou think that Eijirou was only hanging out with him for… For what? Personal gain? What would that even be? Years of friendship (and feelings) down the line and Bakugou thought this? Bakugou clacked his teeth together and frowned harder. “Stop- Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking.”

“Wh-”

“No, fuck, let me just,” Bakugou grimaced, looking off to the side. Oh, this was some weird feelings thing, wasn’t it? No wonder Bakugou wasn’t making any sense. Eijirou still felt tense, but not quite as alarmed. “You carried me home for three fucking miles, Kirishima! What do I- How the hell am I supposed to- Ugh!”

Oh, Eijirou thought he could see the picture of things, now. “You don’t need to give anything back to me for that, Bakugou! It’d be selfish to ask for you to repay me for something I volunteered to do!”

“Well, maybe you should be,” Bakugou said. Eijirou tilted his head. Bakugou glanced at him and away again. “Be selfish, I mean! You’re always fucking giving. Giving and giving and never taking a single thing back for yourself and it drives me up the fucking wall!”

Eijirou shook his head. “There’s nothing I need from anyone that I don’t already have.”

“What about what you want,” Bakugou said. He fixed Eijirou with his stare again and something in his expression made Eijirou’s stomach do somersaults. “Is there anything you want from me that I could give you?”

Eijirou met Bakugou’s burning gaze.

Everything, his brain supplied.

Bakugou’s eyes widened slightly, and Eijirou realised that he’d said the word aloud. Before he could even think about being horrified, Bakugou’s scowl slipped from his face. It was replaced by a triumphant grin.

“Oh thank fuck you finally said it,” Bakugou said, leaning over into Eijirou’s space. Eijirou could feel his whole face burning. “‘Cause if I never got the chance to tell you how god damned hot it is that you can carry me in your arms for three fucking miles without even breaking a sweat, I think I would’ve died.”

Eijirou couldn’t provide a response to that. His lips were occupied, all of a sudden. With Bakugou. Because Bakugou was kissing him, and kind of insistently. Eijirou allowed himself a few more moments to be utterly confused, and then he wrapped his arms around Bakugou and kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm as Bakugou was putting in.

“That’s a little dramatic,” Eijirou said, when they parted to breathe.

Bakugou snorted. “You know who you’re dealing with.”

“Mmhm,” Eijirou said, kissing Bakugou again and finding himself delighted by the way he reacted. When had Bakugou crawled into his lap? “Uh… We should probably talk about this.”

“I’m fuckin’ crazy about you. We’re dating now. That enough talkin’ for ya?”

Probably not, but- Bakugou kissed him again. And again. And again. Eijirou laughed into the kisses, and began to run his hands down Bakugou’s sides. “Wait, um. So does this make you my boyfriend, Katsuki?“

“Fuck, yes,” Bakugou said. Or should it just be Katsuki now? Yeah, Eijirou liked the sound of that. “You- Ow! Watch it!”

Eijirou winced, pulling his hand away from Katsuki’s hip. “Oops! I forgot! Are you okay?”

“Dumbass,” Katsuki said, but fondly.

“For the record, I’m crazy about you, too,” Eijirou said, taking advantage of the lull to speak. “I’ve been kind of head over heels for you since school.“

“I know,” Katsuki said. Oh.

“Wait,” Eijirou raised an eyebrow. “You knew? Like, since when?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Since forever. You’re not subtle.”

Eijirou blinked. “What? Then- Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I dunno,” Katsuki said, pulling himself back to lay against the sofa cushions again. “I was confused about it for a long-ass while.”

“So, you’re not confused any more?” Eijirou asked. It didn’t really need to be asked, given the way that Katsuki had kissed him just now, but Eijirou wanted everything out in the open.

“No,” Katsuki lifted his good leg and prodded Eijirou’s chest with his foot. “I’ve been flirting with you for like, a fuckin’ year now. Thought it’d finally spur you to action but noooo, you have to be all self-depreciating and second-guessing shit all the time.”

“A year?” Eijirou said, feeling his mouth fall open. His brain scanned through all of their recent interactions - there was a lot to sift through. Oh, that explained a few things. Eijirou put a hand over his face. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki said. He beckoned Eijirou over with a finger. “But you’re my idiot now, so come here.”

Eijirou crawled over him, mindful of Katsuki’s injured leg. Katsuki hooked his arms around Eijirou’s neck and drew him into a languid kiss.

“I love you,” Eijirou said, feeling a shiver down his spine as the words left his mouth. Wait, fuck, it was too soon for that and Katsuki was probably going to-

“Holy shit,” Katsuki said, turning bright red. “Fuck- Fucking warn a guy if you’re gonna say something that sappy!”

“I’m sorry, I, uh-”

Katsuki slammed a hand over Eijirou’s mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare take it back, Eijirou.”

Oh, Eijirou thought. That was the first time he used my given name.

“I,” Katsuki swallowed, his flushed face darkening further. “I love you too.”

The shiver that followed Katsuki’s statement dwarfed any he’d experienced previously. It felt like his soul was on fire. Eijirou didn’t know how to respond, so he kissed Katsuki again.

“I love you,” he said, pressing his lips to Katsuki’s jaw. “I love you,” he said, kissing Katsuki’s cheek. He continued, saying those three words over and over and peppering kisses all over Katsuki’s face. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Katsuki grinned, happier than Eijirou had ever seen. He could feel Katsuki’s fingers running through his hair at the back of his head. “Fuck, I love you. So fucking much.”

Eijirou pressed their foreheads together.

“Katsuki,” Eijirou said, but not for any particular reason. He just wanted to say Katsuki’s name.

“Eijirou,” Katsuki echoed. “We still have to order food.”

“Oh, right!” Eijirou sat up.”Whaddya want?”

“You.”

Eijirou flushed. “Babe. Er, can I call you that?“

“Fuck, call me whatever you want,” Katsuki said, matching the shade of Eijirou’s face. “Curry?”

“Curry it is!” Eijirou said, climbing off of Katsuki and the sofa and making his way over to the phone to call their usual place. He rattled off their order, maybe a little quicker than usual. Once it was confirmed, he put the phone down and turned to stare at Katsuki.

Katsuki looked back at him. Eijirou didn’t think he’d looked away, and that was just. It was something. Eijirou’s stomach flipped and flopped. Katsuki patted the space next to him on the sofa and Eijirou made his way back over. No sooner had he sat down, than Katsuki’s arm circled his waist and pulled him close. Katsuki buried his face into Eijirou’s shoulder, and Eijirou echoed his hum.

“Wish you’d wised up sooner,” Bakugou said, voice slightly muffled. “Coulda been doing this for fuckin’ ages.”

“Well, we can do it now, and as much as we want,” Eijirou said, twisting to press a kiss into Katsuki’s hair.

“Mm,” Katsuki mumbled, pushing his face down harder. “Wanna post something mushy on social media?”

“Shouldn’t we run it by the PR team, first?” Eijirou asked.

Katsuki looked up at him. “Fuck that. Tell the world you’re in love with me already.“

Eijirou grinned, because he did.

#kiribaku #bakushima #fanfiction #my fanfiction #drabble #?#reply #anon #ask meme #sort of #i swear half the stuff i write is 'and then they smorched on a sofa'#'and ordered takeaway'#hm #this was practically done for DAYS it took me ages to come up with a good ending line #BUT I DID AND IT'S HERE WHOOO #i'm gonna chuck this on AO3 in a bit but i don't have the energy for writing tags atm

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marvelousbirthdays · 5 years

Text

Happy Birthday, fadesealcat

May 6- Bucky/Phil or Clint/Phil, something smutt or fluffy or cracky, maybe with Pet shop or Flower shop, please, for @fadesealcat

Written by @celiaequus

The bell rang above the door and Bucky straightened up from the pot full of dahlias. He looked around and smiled at the customer.

“How can I help you?” he asked.

“I’d like to get some flowers.”

“You’re in the right place,” Bucky teased, retreating behind the counter. He pulled out a binder of arrangements and noticed the customer was blushing. “What’s the occasion?”

“Her birthday.”

Dang. The ones who looked kind were always taken.

“We’ve got birthday arrangements,” he said, opening the binder to the right tab. “If you want to choose--”

“Red,” the guy said. “It’s her favourite colour. Anything red. But, uh, not red roses. Even I know what they mean.”

“Contrary to popular belief, most florists don’t have the floral dictionary memorised,” Bucky said. “I wouldn’t have a clue. I’ll need to look them up if you want to give her a message.”

“She wouldn’t know, either. Uh, sorry. I’m Phil. You are…?”

“Bucky.”

“Right. Natasha works for me and she said no presents, but everyone at work wanted to chip in to get something.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “The only caveat is that you can’t use these flowers.” He put the list on the counter. “We work in a pet shelter, rehabilitating abused and abandoned animals and then selling them to good homes. These flowers are all poisonous in some way to the animals in our care.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, looking over it. “Yeah, no problem. A lot of these aren’t red anyway. I should be able to come up with something.”

“Good. I’m the manager, so I’ll pay anything extra. Just don’t make it too big. She drives a motorcycle home and we don’t want the flowers to get damaged.”

“Small and hardy. Got it.”

“That’s how most people would describe Natasha,” Phil said.

“That explains the suit, if you’re the manager,” Bucky said, list in hand as he began to wander around the shop to select blossoms.

“What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t wear something like that to play with cats an’ dogs.”

“I’m on my way to work,” Phil said. “We’re taking her out for lunch, and I didn’t want these clothes to get crushed. I’ve got my usual work clothes in the car.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” Bucky said, looking away. “I guess I’m in such a messy job that most people dress better than me for work.”

“I like it. The way you’re dressed, I mean. Uh.” Phil was blushing again; Bucky saw it out of the corner of his eye as he bent to snag blossoms from one pot. “It suits you… your job.”

“Uh-huh.” He smiled slyly to himself as he continued to search out flowers which required him to bend over. By the time he reached the counter, Phil’s cheeks were dark pink and he couldn’t make eye contact. Bucky wrapped it all up in paper and cellophane, and added a matching red ribbon

“It looks beautiful,” Phil said. He handed over his credit card.

“Thanks,” Bucky said. “Do you deal with service animals?”

“Ex-service animals?”

“No, animals which can be trained to be companions for war vets.” He rapped his knuckles on his prosthetic arm. “My therapist suggested I get a dog as a companion, but I know getting the ones which are already trained can be expensive. But my best friend gave me a book on training your own therapy dog, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

“You can come along anytime,” Phil said, placing a business card on the counter. “I’m sure we can find the right dog for you. If we can’t, we’ll know how to get one.”

“You’re sweet,” Bucky said, handing him a pen. Phil signed the receipt, pocketed it, tucked his card away, and accepted the bouquet of flowers, all without making eye contact. “I’ll be over sometime. You there each day?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Good.” Bucky waited for him to look up and licked his lips subtly. “I’d hate to miss you.”

Phil hurried out of there without a word, and Bucky wondered whether he’d misread things.

Oh well. He’d been a long-term prisoner of war. He could weather anything.

***

Phil couldn’t stop thinking about that florist. Every time someone entered the shelter, he would look towards the door. It earned him a few playful smacks on the hand from animals who wanted his attention back on them, and he scolded himself.

It’d been two days and Bucky hadn’t been to the shelter. Maybe he hadn’t been flirting?

But he’d expressed interest in getting a dog. Was that genuine?

He was using the hairdryer on a disgruntled cat when Natasha poked her head into the room and cleared her throat. Phil didn’t hear her; he noticed her in the reflection of the metal splashback.

“I think she’s done now,” he said.

“Some guy is here wanting a companion dog,” Natasha said. Phil nearly dropped the hairdryer. “Says his name is Bucky. Wants you to show him the dogs.”

“Oh.” Phil’s heart started to race. “Um…”

“I’ll take this little girl back,” Natasha said. “The cats like me.”

“O-okay.” Phil put away the hairdryer, his hands shaking. Natasha yanked him back by the apron strings. He quickly removed the apron, hung it up, and then ducked out to reception, where Clint was making conversation with Bucky while Maria registered a new adoption.

“Hi again,” Bucky said, looking Phil over. “This is a good look on you. Not that I minded the suit, but this is very nice.”

“Come this way to the dogs,” Phil said. He felt wrong-footed and wasn’t sure what else he could say. Bucky followed close behind him as they entered the canine area.

“No one ate any of the flowers?” Bucky asked.

“Clint, but no one can tame him,” Phil quipped. Bucky laughed loudly, his eyes shining. Phil felt proud of himself for that. “What kind of dog were you thinking? We don’t have much in the way of purebreds here, but in terms of size, what will your living situation allow?”

“Not one of those,” Bucky said, staring wide-eyed at a Great Dane.

“So a medium-sized to small dog,” Phil said. “But I guess if you want a companion animal, you need a medium sized dog, since you’re so… broad. For cuddling purposes.”

“I do like to cuddle,” Bucky purred. Phil gulped.

“Poodles are smart,” he said. “They love to learn new things, but they get bored if they’re not kept mentally stimulated. If you don’t have time for that, you might get a lab mix. We’ve got a gorgeous little labradoodle in at the moment. He’s had his vaccinations, been desexed, and he’s been waiting for the right home for four months. He was a stray injured in a car accident, but we’ve managed to train him not to be scared of travelling in a car. He still needs some physical therapy, but you can easily do that in half an hour.”

“Does he have a name?”

“We’ve been calling him Sam,” Phil began, stopping outside the labradoodle’s bedroom, “but you can change… why are you laughing?”

“Oh, I’m love it,” Bucky said, squatting down in front of the wire fence. Sam approached cautiously and sniffed Bucky’s fingers through the wire. Then he put his paws up, trying to get closer. “Hey, buddy. You wanna come home with me?”

“You can spend some time with him in a room out back--”

“No, no. One of my best friend’s friends is named Sam. He’d hate it if I had a pet with the same name as him. It’s a sign.”

“I take it you don’t get along with him,” Phil said, amused.

“Aw, look! He’s wagging his tail.” Bucky’s smile grew and Phil’s breath caught. It was beautiful. “Can I play with him? He needs to check the arm before he makes a choice.”

It was always a good sign when a potential owner knew they weren’t the only one making a choice. Phil let Sam out. He immediately climbed into Bucky’s arms (and honestly, Phil felt a little jealous) and began to lick his face. He sniffed the arm briefly, apparently deemed it fine, and went back to wriggling to get a better hug. Bucky looked up at Phil.

“I really like him,” he said.

“Someone will need to check out your place to make sure it’s safe enough before you take him home, and you’ll get random visits to check on how things are going.”

“Will you check up on us?” Bucky asked. “I think we’d like that.”

“I’m sure I can arrange it,” Phil said. Bucky stood, still holding Sam, and stepped close to Phil.

“Good,” he said. “I look forward to it.”

#Bucky/Phil #Bucky Barnes #Phil Coulson #flower shop au #fluffy

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dragonsaphirareads · 5 years

Text

AA Secret Santa

@quoth-the-ravens I was your santa for the AA gift exchange! I wrote a little Klapollo for you, I hope you like it! Huge shoutout to @yoshimars for helping me proofread and getting me going on this! You’re the best!

Christmas at the Wright Anything Agency was a huge affair. Trucy was in charge of planning, which meant they went all out on decorations, food and every other part of the party. Athena had joined her on the official planning committee this year, which meant Apollo had to watch out. For nearly a year now, the duo had been trying to hook him up with Klavier, after Athena had heard his emotions during a heated court case and realized how far he’d fallen for the pretty blond prosecutor. He’d so far managed to avoid every attempt of theirs to make him confess his feelings - even when they somehow got locked into a closet together.

That was a fun hour.

The Christmas party was yet another opportunity for the girls to try again, thankfully Apollo was savvy enough to realize one item he would have to avoid at all costs. No doubt the girls would be putting up a ton of mistletoe, the enemy to him keeping his feelings under wraps. If he was caught under that, Apollo didn’t think he’d be able to resist spilling everything.

That was why, on the day of the party, he offered to help the girls set up. Trucy tried to argue with him that it would be more fun if he just stayed home to get ready instead, he proposed an agreement. If she could look him in the eye and tell him that she and Athena weren’t going to do anything to force him to confess his feelings, then he would leave. Needless to say, he was allowed to stay. He took the job of decorating the main area, figuring that if he stayed there during the entire party, he’d be safe from the dreaded mistletoe.

Hours later, and the WAA was completely decked out in red and green. Athena and Trucy changed into matching ugly sweaters with a disgusting amount of tinsel and lights covering them. Athena shoved a headband with stuffed reindeer antlers on Apollo’s head, and as guests started arriving they offered equally cheesy headbands to anyone they deemed not dressed festive enough.

Prosecutor Edgeworth arrived promptly at 5pm, with Mr. Wright and Maya picked up from the train station. Trucy was not impressed with his attire, considering he was just wearing his work suit. She gave him a headband with a stuffed Christmas tree that lit up and allowed him to pass.

The rest of the guests steadily arrived over the next hour, but to the girl’s dismay and Apollo’s relief, Prosecutor Gavin was nowhere to be found. None of the other prosecutors knew where he was - Prosecutor Blackquill had seen him leaving around noon and nobody had seen him since then. When he heard that, Apollo felt his stomach drop a little. Sure, he was trying to avoid making things awkward between them. But everyone else who’d been invited had come - did he think he was too good to come to a party like this? Had he been invited to some big gala hosted by important people and decided to blow off this party?

No, Apollo thought, shaking his head. Prosecutor Gavin wasn’t like that. He wasn’t some stuck up brat - if he wasn’t coming, he would have let someone know. But that thought lead Apollo to dark places. If he wasn’t here yet, could something bad have happened? He did always drive around that obnoxious motorcycle. Was there an accident?

As if drawn to him by his dark thoughts, Athena sidled up next to him and handed him a cup with pink punch in it. “Apollo, you need to calm down. I’m sure he’s fine! Probably just taking forever to make himself pretty for you~” She hummed by his ear, teasing. Apollo swatted her away after taking the cup, sipping at it to calm his nerves.

“I’m not worried! I’m fine!” Apollo said loudly, causing a few heads to turn and his cheeks to heat up. Athena rolled her eyes with a grin.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say. Like the punch?” She changed the subject, noticing how fast he was going through his cup.

“It’s really good. Did you make it?”

She shook her head. “Nope, Trucy did. It’s a bunch of fruit juices mixed together with some soda. I think it’s a bit too sweet, honestly.”

That was odd. Athena had a raging sweet tooth, and Apollo didn’t find the drink overly sweet at all. “Really? I think it’s fine.”

She just shrugged. “More for you then! Want some more?” The girl asked, holding the punch spoon in her hand. Apollo nodded, handing her his cup and allowing her to fill it full.

It was once he’d finished his third cup that he realized something was off. Apollo felt... lighter. His head was pleasantly buzzing, and he felt like he had more confidence than normal. He went to find Trucy and ask her what she made the punch from, but he was intercepted before he made it. An arm snaked around his neck and he was pulled into the conversation of two women who laughing way too much.

“E-Ema?”

The detective grinned, cheersing her cup with his empty one. “Heya Apollo, like the punch? I’m so glad I brought the booze, you should never let underaged girls plan the party, they can’t get the good stuff!”

His eyes widened. “You spiked the punch?!”

“Yeah, ‘course I did! Don’tcha like it?”

“Ema, there are minors here!”

She waved at the air in front of her. “Ah, don’t worry about that! I told Mr. Wright, he knows! There’s a pitcher of plain stuff in the fridge for ‘em!”

He was about to lecture her about how this was Trucy and Athena’s party and she really shouldn’t have done that, or at least told people it was spiked. But before he could open his mouth, the front door of the office opened and in stepped a blond angel.

Apollo shook his head. Where did that thought come from?

Ema glanced over, then back at him and seemed to read his mind. She grinned and handed him her cup. “Here, you’re gonna need this big guy.”

Apollo was going to refuse it - he was not going to make this party the day he ruins his tentative relationship with the rockstar prosecutor.

Then he stopped. He was already tipsy, thanks to sneaky Ema. Klavier made his heart melt when he was completely sober - if he was approached like this, he might actually collapse into a puddle on the floor.

Making up his mind, he took the offered cup and chugged it down. Screw it, if he’s going down, he’s gonna make it memorable.

Apollo didn’t get the chance to actually talk to the prosecutor in private until about an hour later. By that point the guests had mostly sat down in various places, settled into their conversations. The punch had started to leave his system - his head was clearing up and he was starting to rethink his decision. To keep his resolve, Apollo headed to the kitchen area to get another drink. The punch wasn’t very strong, and he wasn’t trying to get drunk. Just enough to loosen himself up enough to finally spill his feelings.

Of course, who would be there but the man himself, opening a can of soda.

It’s now or never, Apollo... you’re doing this now!

“P-Prosecutor Gavin?” Damn it, he stuttered. It got his attention though - the blond turned and smiled at him with that perfect damn smile of his.

“Ja?”

Apollo took a deep breath. “Can I... um... can we, I mean...” Damn it, why did he have to be so pretty? This was so difficult! “I have something to tell you.”

He blinked. “Oh? Alright then, go for it.”

“Um, actually, it’s kinda... private.”

His mind was racing frantically. He really didn’t want to confess right here, where the rest of the party was going on right through a very thin wall. He considered asking them to step outside, but it was cold and they would have to walk past everyone to get there.

The only other choice would be very awkward if they were caught, but his mind was made up.

Apollo waved him into the only office with a door they could close. Once it was shut, Apollo stood in front of the prosecutor, eyes firmly locked on the ground and fists tight at his sides.

“Are... you alright, Herr Forehead?”

He didn’t let the nickname affect him. “I have something to tell you, and I don’t want you to interrupt me because if you do I don’t know if I’ll be able to start again.”

A silent nod gave him the final push.

“I... like you. Like, really, really like you. And I didn’t want to say anything for a long time because I thought I might remind you of bad things, but you’re too goddamn nice for me to keep lying to you anymore, so... I’m not, anymore. And if you don’t... feel the same, then... I... I just want to be friends. You’re... a really good person, and I want you to be happy.”

There were tears forming. This has been such a long time coming, and now it was all out there. Prosecutor Gavin was just standing there, with an unknown expression on his face - Apollo couldn’t bring himself to look up.

Then he saw his foot move, and he was stepping towards Apollo. One hand was on Apollo’s shoulder, and the other under his chin, tilting his head up to look at him.

Klavier was smiling, though it was slightly pained as well. God, was he about to be rejected? He wasn’t sure he could handle that.

“Have you been drinking?”

Apollo blinked. Did he think this was just a drunk confession?!

“Y-yes, but I’m not drunk! Just enough so I wasn’t too scared to talk to you. A-and I wasn’t planning on it! It was kinda Ema’s fault.”

The blond sighed, his smile widening. “Alright.”

“Is... that all you’re gonna say?”

“I like you too, Apollo. Dare I say it, I think I felt love at first sight with you. But I don’t want to do anything if you’re not completely sober.” He brushed his knuckles against Apollo’s cheek gently. “Is that alright with you?”

He nodded slowly. He’d done the hardest part - next time would be easier.

Klavier smiled and leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to Apollo’s forehead. “Now let’s get back to the party, schatz. We can talk tomorrow.”

Apollo nodded, and they walked back to the party together. Soon enough the alcohol left his system and he got drowsy. The next morning, he awoke to find himself using Klavier’s chest as a pillow, with a giggling Athena and Trucy standing over him with a camera.

This was going to be a wild ride, he thought. But looking at Klavier’s peaceful sleeping face... he wouldn’t have had that night go any other way.

#ace attorney #klapollo #klavier gavin #apollo justice #trucy wright #athena cykes #ema skye

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upsidedownpromises · 6 years

Text

You Are In Love Ch. 3

ch. 2 >> ch. 3 >> ch. 4

WC: 1156

(AO3)

Summary: Snowy kisses and warm jackets is just what El needs, especially if they come with one Michael Wheeler

“El, are you warm enough?” Mike Wheeler asks his girlfriend as she steps out of her bedroom, wrapped in one of Mike’s sweaters and a jacket. She pauses at the door frame, looking at her boyfriend. He was, unlike her, bundled up in more than a couple sweaters, his heavy winter coat already buttoned up to his chin. He looked ridiculous.

“I don’t think it’s that cold outside, is it?” She asks, confused. She could have sworn the weather forecast on the TV said that the storm would arrive in the evening. They still had a few hours to go.

“I know,” he says, already starting to unbutton his coat. “But it started snowing when I got here and it's really heavy now and it’s kind of windy and wet and I don’t want you to catch a cold, because Hopper will really kill me, for real this time, not like the other few times when I said he would kill me, and-”

“Mike.” El giggles, cutting off her boyfriend’s flustered monologue. “I’ll be fine.” He just stares at her, finishing shrugging off his coat.

“El, I’m wearing three sweaters and a shirt. The coat was a precaution. I want you to wear it.”

“I don’t mind the cold,” she protests. He knows she’s lying, and she knows he knows. After the whole incident with the Mind Flayer, no one seemed inclined to liking the cold. Mike continues to stare at her, coat in his outstretched hands, and she sighs, secretly relieved. She takes it and shrugs it on, giving Mike a look as she does. He just gives her that goofy grin she loves so much.

“Ready?” He asks after a moment. She nods, grabbing her gloves from their basket by the door, and together they step out of the cabin into a winter wonderland.

El was still a secret. The Snow Ball had been an exception, Hopper had said, and insisted she remain in hiding for another year before it was safe to be seen in public. That hadn’t stopped the party from spending the occasional evenings and weekends with her at Hopper’s cabin. Mike especially; he was glued to El’s side now that he had her back. Every time he showed up on their porch, Hopper would just run his hand down his face and hold the door open, allowing El to jump into his arms. Their day would be spent inside, watching movies Mike deemed ‘culturally crucial,’ such as Ghostbusters and Star Wars and soap dramas that El had convinced (though not with difficulty) Mike to watch, sharing a bucket of popcorn and blushing when their fingers brushed. It was a certain kind of quiet, reserved for the both of them. Mike, content to just see her, and El, content to stay hidden now that she was not alone.

Today was a special occasion. Hopper had declared it safe enough for her to go out for a couple hours, and Mike had immediately jumped at the chance. They couldn’t stray too far from the cabin, so he’d proposed a simple walk around the woods. Hopper had approved, and so here they were, bundled up to their cold-kissed noses.

“Careful, it’s slippery,” Mike says, stepping down the porch steps first and holding his hand out for El. She nods, gripping it tightly and following his footsteps, giggling at the crunch of the leaves when she steps on them. He laughs with her, and she breathes in the smell of winter, the pine and the fresh and the wonderful. She lets go of Mike’s hand and skips ahead, letting the woods welcome her into their cold embrace. “El, be careful!” He shouts at her back, but his words are drowned by a loud squeal as she promptly slips on the ice and falls onto her butt. Mike is by her side in an instant, worry on his face.

“I’m fine,” she giggles before he can even open his mouth, “really.” He gives her a look, the one where his lips purse and and his eyes narrow, a crease appearing between his eyebrows; the look that says “you say that but I don’t believe you,” and she places a hand on his arm to boost herself up, delivering the quickest of kisses on his cheek before using his weight to pull herself to her feet. Mike helps her automatically, but she can see on his face that he’s still flushed about the kiss, and she laughs. Her breaths puff out in front of her, mixing with Mike’s, and El realizes that she’s happy, so incredibly happy, at this moment.

“Mike,” she whispers, leaning in towards him. His attention is instantly on her, tilting his head down so that she can reach him with more ease.

“Yeah?” He whispers back, eyes dark, and on hers.

“I…” she trails off, tugging him just a little bit closer. He obliges, forehead brushing hers, and his lips part slightly. His breath is warm, and she sighs.

“Yeah?”

“I think…” She slides her hands up his arms, tangling her fingers in his hair, a twitch of lips away, a breath apart.

“El,” he murmurs, and she can’t help it, he’s so adorable. She giggles, unraveling her fingers and leaning back. He follows her, but she bypasses his lips for his ear, opting for a whisper rather than a kiss.

“I think I just fell for you.” She states, then slips out of his embrace and dashes off into the snow. He’s frozen for a moment, and she bursts out laughing. That breaks him out of his stupor, and he spins, the most indignant expression on his face.

“El!!” He protests, only to move out the way quickly before the incoming snowball could hit him. “Hey! No powers allowed in snowball fights!” He calls out, and El holds up her hands innocently. He shakes his head, a wide grin on his face, face red, and falls into a crouch. She smiles, walking over to him and placing her hand on his head, running her fingers through his hair. All of a sudden, her feet are knocked out from under her and she lands on three sweaters and a Mike, their faces inches away. She realizes, with a laugh, that he’d pulled her into the snow with him, and the chill from it is seeping into her sides, but she’s laying on top of Mike, warm and steady, and this time she gives in, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. He smiles at her, another one of his signature smiles, the soft, pure, warm and sweet smile, the one that makes her melt every single time, the one reserved for her and her alone. She’s warm and fuzzy, her heart light like the falling snow.

“Mike?” She whispers, cheeks warm.

“Yeah?” He whispers back, fingers brushing away the snow from her hair.

“I’m happy.” And he smiles, and that’s more than enough.

#mileven #Eleven (Stranger Things)#jane hopper #mike wheelr #snow dates are the cutest and you can quote me on that #fic: you are in love #look! an update!#stranger things #stranger things season 2 #stranger things s2 #st

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cyanpeacock · 4 years

Text

A mixed post this time. This one’s all over the place.

Today I am thankful for clean water, easily prepared food, quiet spaces, and autumn leaves.

Thanks given, I am still feeling sad.

This is because... I’m lonely?

I’m very lonely, and I’m scared of how it’s going to be when I meet new people again. My body won’t be as tense as it used to be, and I’ll have more control over its reactions, because I’ve relaxed a lot and learned a lot of new skills, but it will still be difficult to balance.

I’ve had a deep mistrust of familiarity. Familiar places are places where I got hurt, and familiar people hurt me. My kid brain extrapolated this to “any sense of familiarity is dangerous.”

I have become familiar with my apartment, and can only conclude it’s safe, because nobody even broke in when I left all the damn doors and windows open.

I am becoming increasingly familiar with myself. I guess I’m accepting that I go through periods of being one and many. Mark popped up again today. The conversation is private, but the gist is that... well, things are changing, regrets are surfacing and being expressed (what feels like) appropriately within the body. This means we have the language to express regrets outside the body appropriately, and I’m just lacking in (and working on) self-trust.

I’ve also had a deep mistrust of strangers, because I’ve been threatened repeatedly about the dangers of the outside world (meaning, outside the family). Made me believe they were all out to get me.

Evidently, this is not true, but some of them are, and they’re rather hard to spot.

I have learned this though experience.

From my experience, I conclude that people who feel secure and happy with themselves, even in their repeated patterns of apparently harmful-to-others behaviour, have a certain modus operandi and demeanor. It is not the same as the patterns I’ve observed in insecure people, who behave harmfully/abusively in referring pain from trauma of their own.

Now, I’m not a textbook, I’m just a person who knows too many long words, but this is what I gather:

So, these people who are secure in hurting others... seem to have a certain look about the eyes. I’d call it pompous, now. Self-assured in a way that can seem alluring, particularly to people who have been abused by either secure or insecure perpetrators before, who are actively looking for places of security.

They like to make a show of sharing what they have with their peers, which can make them seem very kind and generous. They might show preferential treatment to a few individuals who are close to them, such as spouses or children. It seems to me like they intentionally pick people they feel sorry for, and who are willing to listen to them, believing their methods will “sort them right out”.

They will “tolerate” behaviours they don’t like in the individuals they choose to “improve” (hurt) to lull the targets into a sense of false security. As time passes and the relationship deepens, the perpetrator’s behaviours change from evidently warm and supportive of the victim’s differences, to hostile and combative behind closed doors.

A sense of poor-self esteem is fostered in the victim, to make them vulnerable to further attacks on their morals and values, and thus their self-worth. Methods of control may be employed to bring the victim’s behaviour into line with what the abuser deems “appropriate.”

Where does physical abuse come into it? I don’t personally know, on the front of secure abusers. I’d hazard a guess that the patterns of coercion and control escalate into sexual violence, once the victim is sufficiently attached to the perpetrator, and habituated to being hurt in increasingly elaborate ways.

The distinction between secure and insecure abusers is that secure abusers are unwilling to acknowledge that what they are doing is harmful to another person, and to change. They’re quite happy to continue as they have always been doing, because they gain a sense of power from the destruction (”improvement”) of their targets. They don’t respond well to contest or challenge from the target, ask me how I know(!).

Sadly, I can see a lot of ways people get there, and a lot of ways those people can actually end up in mutually satisfying relationships - their “ideal” counterpart is the individual who has become secure in receiving pain, and even gains a sense of power from it. They won’t consider their relationship abusive, even if it appears that way from the outside (e.g. frequent fights, sexual violence), or if they do use the term “abuse”, the conflict is regarded as a source of power and (a kind of) happiness.

Becoming what I’m calling a “secure abuser” was the thing that frightened me most, actually. This was because I knew I’d behaved abusively myself, and I wanted to become secure, but didn’t want to settle in those patterns of behavior, or in being repeatedly ground down until I had to “just be happy” with whatever suffering another mind provided me.

I guess I want to make peace, then.

This puts me in a position where I’m aware I could be an “insecure abuser” again, demonstrating cycles of lashing out and excessive apology, if I’m not very conscious of how my past influences my behaviour in the present.

I can mitigate the risk with effective communication skills, and working on my ability to recognize people (and prospective partners) with a similar attachment style, mode of communication, and areas of passion and commitment.

So...

I guess I’m coming to trust that I won’t knowingly, intentionally harm anybody close to me, and that I’ll respond appropriately if I do hurt somebody, and they let me know about it?

But I do have to reconcile that with my desire to knowingly, intentionally, calculatedly “harm” some individuals. Namely, those who are hoarding obscene amounts of wealth while people like me die in concentration camps, and starve on the streets. I wouldn’t guillotine them myself, but I’d certainly raise their taxes on my own, if I had the power.

The terminology of abuse is a strong set of words, for a strong set of emotions. It’s a long cycle, and anyone can acquire any of the roles, at any point in their life. People can get very hostile about this, as with any social construct marked by strong differences of opinion, which... well, shit, it’s all of them. Difference of opinion is the source of human conflict. It kind of has to keep us going, because you can’t be them all.

However, I decided, like an idiot, if I can’t be them all... I’ll do my best to understand them all, and still pick a side.

So, yeah.

The labels of abuse (abuser, victim, survivor, enabler...) can be accepted by the selves involved, if a willingness to recognize the pattern of behaviour is present, and concrete efforts are made to reduce frequency and intensity of the harmful behaviours to a level that suits both parties, in a time frame that suits both parties. At what point is the relationship no longer abusive? That’s self-determined.

People have different sensitivities as to what they perceive as abusive behaviour. People who are already deeply or recently wounded are vulnerable to further incidents, and to viewpoints that contradict their own self-worth, but they may pursue relationships nonetheless to gain skills and connections - that is, to pursue happiness.

What helps people stuck in patterns of arguably “self-inflicted” harmful relationships most?

It’s validation of self-determination. Validation of perspective, and acknowledgement of variable capacity to consent, and of changes in perspective over time.

So... literally just, hang out with people who speak the same language as you, who are willing to listen to new language you bring them, who don’t annoy you unduly in their self-expression, and you’ll feel better?

That’s some shit. That’s a hell of a reduction of all the stages involved in the path from feeling like you’re the worst person on Earth and that you deserve to die, to feeling like you... well, just, deserve to live.

Shit, so it’s literally just, people have different experiences, and form different opinions from those experiences.

That’s “what makes you, you.”

How the fuck was I supposed to understand that when I didn’t even have a singular sense of Self?

Christ, but if you’ve never had a significant sense of not being just one person, or at least tried to imagine it with Feeling(tm), you wouldn’t understand why somebody couldn’t “just get it.”

So they are all robots. They’re all automatons. They absorb information, process it, and spit it back out again in different ways.

You just pick the machines you like the look and sound of?

It’s that simple?

Well, I guess it becomes that simple once you have a clear idea of how people/society function(s), what you like, and what you’re able/”allowed” to talk about.

Fuck me, my grandfather has no idea how many knots I have to unpick here. But then, he wouldn’t. I didn’t tell the guy shit about what was inside my brain, really. I thought it’d get back to my mother somehow. Probably would have done, considering he offered some things which counsellors as a profession should not, ethically speaking, be doing.

But then, ethics is a broad topic, with a lot of stances, isn’t it?

One of my Big Questions as a kid was “what is ethical?”

Turns out, you’re supposed to decide what’s ethical, except you don’t really decide, it just... gets made for you, by your brain, because brains Form Opinions, given enough information.

So... be careful what information you consume?

But then you’ll be biased.

But then, as one body, you can’t avoid being biased.

This is why consensus opinion is important, and even “facts” are mutable.

Man, fuck, it’s 1984. It’s Catch-22. It’s Brave New World. Modern society has become that, and it hasn’t always been. These were novels about a dystopian future, based on a worrying reality. We’re in the dystopia right now. You can’t get away from it, unless you’re sent away by the Men In Charge.

Don’t get caught if you want to make a big change?

Well, shit, I know I can run and hide. I can do it forever, if I have to, but for now... let’s try the social life. Let’s see how that works out.

Things are gonna change. Some things won’t. Scary.

#fliptext #abuse #trauma

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