#the absolute SILENCE and WEIGHT in his words bro

[winterwhisperz-blog]

Hey me again ☾ ! Hope you're still up for asks cause I really like your writing & I got some ideas >:) (the obsession with this game is real yo). Do you think you could write something with a MC who enjoys cooking and testing recipes + making the LI taste their dish please ? 👀👉🏽👈🏽

We know Vere likes cooking too so maybe some interactions with him would be cute (Him and MC being an absolute menace in the kitchen but still managing to make a tasty meal bwahaha).

Thanks & have a great day <3

This came exactly at the right time— BRO THE WRITING SLUMP IVE BEEN IN?? Siiigh, it’s been tragic. (Also I get the brain rot, the hold this game has is crazy) also i’m so happy you like my writing 😭 and I hope you have a great day too !!

NOW

this did take me awhile because uHHHHH I don’t know anything about food. When I do remember to eat it’s usually cottage cheese and chocolate (not together, obviously- I’m not crazy 🥺)

SO

Here was my plan okay

I have a huge map in my room and I stared at it like this: 🧍🏻‍♀️ and picked about 17? Countries and put them in a spinning wheel. I chose a TS LI and then span said wheel—and whatever it lands on, MC a makes a dish inspired by the meals there (does that make sense ??)

I might’ve made it too complicated but it was fun-

Warnings: None, vere is just vere. Very possibly ooc, creative liberty.

Notes: Fluff, GN mc. Not proofread and finished at 1 am.

LES START WITH AIS

Ais(Boeuf bourguignon (Beef burgundy)

ALR SO, this was originally Vere’s, but I was having creative difficulties—so I changed this to Ais’. This dish is from France!

So, this one, I think Ais is already hanging out with you (he’s lonely ): )

He’s been having a ROUGH time okay, and so you decide to try out a new recipe on him

One you think he’d like.

Instantly, this man is sauntering into your kitchen, hugging you from the back as he watches what you’re doing. He’s quiet for the most part, just curious as you mix and add ingredients.

He snatches a few as well, and you let him until you’re going to be short on ingredients.

As you stop his hand from picking a chopped carrot, he looks nearly comparable to a scolded dog that was caught counter-surfing.

“Wait just a moment, I’m making this for you, you know.”

Smirking, he reaches for the carrot again. “Ah, should be allowed this then,”

As you swat you wooden spoon at his knuckles, he quickly steals one last carrot before offering his hands up in surrender.

You banish him to the counter, where he returns to watching, (he’s the pretty girlfriend that sits on the counter as you cook omg)

Once you’ve finished, you serve the red stew along with some boiled potatoes, placing it in front of the ever so patient Ais (who definitely didn’t find a way to sneak a bit more snacking in)

You eat in silence for awhile, before you notice how Ais’ eyes keep flickering to you. A brow furrowed.

“Something wrong? Does it taste funny? I thought I followed the recipe—“

He lightly shakes his head, swallowing a mouthful of the stew.

“No, not that. It’s…good, really good.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

He draws a hand over his chin, pondering his words. Or, deciding whether or not to say something. “There a reason you made it for me?”

You didn’t expect him to catch on. You commonly make things for him, for everyone, really. But today was different. Special. You had been noticing the drop in Ais’ mood, the added weight to his steps and the tiredness in his eyes. You made this in hopes to cheer him up, but also to see if it’d get him to talk about what was bothering him.

“You’ve just…you look like you’ve been having a bad day.”

He lapses back into silence, chewing on another spoonful. “I don’t want you to think you need to take care of me.”

You freeze, readying a retort before he continues.

“But…thank you.”

You stir your stew, swallowing. “You’re welcome.”

Another silence, before Ais chuckles. “Stew could’ve used more carrots though.”

WEEEEEEEEEE

He’s such a brat, I love him.

ALR, Now unto Leander !

Leander/Kjøttkaker (Meatballs) sided with Brunost(Brown cheese)

Alright, Leander got Norway. I was originally just going to go for meatballs, but then I saw this brown cheese ?? And though it’s not cheese cheese, I thought it’d be fun since Leander likes cheese platters.

You’ve been feeling rather ambitious lately, and decide to take on your biggest task yet: cooking for all the bloodhounds.

It didn’t seem like a bad idea, since you’ve always loved cooking for people. But it’s already proving to be a harder task than anticipated, as Eridia certainly doesn’t seem to be the home of the freshest ingredients.

One morning searching through rotten vegetables was enough to get you discouraged. You managed to find scraps of fresh-enough spices, but if you wanted more, it would come down to stealing from one of the richer streets. And you definitely weren’t in the mood for that today.

All you really wanted to do was take a bath and get that rotten smell off you.

Popping your back, you sigh before stepping into the bar, avoiding the bustle of the bloodhounds as you make for the stairs.

“MC!”

Turning around, you spot Leander, waving at you from the bar-counter. And that’s when you see crates of crates of vegetables, milk, cheese, and meat. Stunned, you walk over, fingers picking through the vegetables—they’re fresh, fresher than you expected from this place. And the meat, milk, cheese—

“How did you?—“

You had told Leander you wanted to make dinner tonight, before you left- you didn’t expect him to go looking for ingredients.

“—how did you get all these?” You finish, picking up a jar of pearly white milk.

Leander only smiles, leaning forward on the counter. “I know somebody. Will these be enough?”

Avoiding the truth, you had grown to expect that from him. If you had more energy you would’ve prodded. Instead, you put down the milk and run a bandaged hand across your face. “Yeah, I think so—well,” you glance around at the full tables of bloodhounds, all probably starved from work and life down in low-town. At your furrowing brows, Leander straightens, looking ready to March back out the door and come back with another crate.

“No, never mind. This is perfect, thank you.”

Thankfully, it was enough to manage. And with Leander’s help, you were able to go up to bathe as he watched over the food. To reward him, you decide to also make brown cheese. And though it’s not cheese cheese, it was enough to get Leander’s face to light up. Especially when he managed to convince you to unwrap your bandages and feed him a slice or two.

Though, you’re still rather confused on where he got everything 🤨 and why he didn’t get you earlier so you could’ve avoided searching through rotten veggies. Thankfully, your hard work also came with the entire bloodhounds seeing you as some holy entity after finishing dinner.

Kuras: Cōng yóubǐng (Scallion Pancake)

Kuras got China, and with this one—I was able to find a few videos on it. And now I want to eat it—though I cannot cook whatsoever <333

So so so so, with this one, I imagine you get the idea because like…people have brought this up before—but does Kuras even like…eat? Do angels…need to eat?

And maybe you notice how very little, or not at all he seems to eat. And how much he just -works- and goes off into places you can’t follow and comes back from the wastelands. Does he even sleep either?

So one day, you decide to make something for him. You’ve made things for others before, your friends, maybe family, before things went wrong. You don’t really know why you hadn’t made him anything before. But hey! Now’s better than never.

You settle on something not too filling, and something he could snack on during the day. Something he could take out to eat in between patients and with him wherever he goes and refuses to tell you.

Scallion pancakes. You wake up earlier than usual to make them, once finished, instantly rushing over to his clinic so they’re still warm when he eats them. The early morning sends a chill down your cheeks—shivering, you wrap the swathe of cloth holding the pancakes into your cloak, praying it doesn’t get cold.

You narrowly miss a patient exiting the door, looking dull and tired. You nod your head in acknowledgment before rushing inside. “Kuras?”

You find him in the process on shutting the door, golden eyes widening slightly in shock before softening. “MC, are you well?”

You nod, unraveling your cloak to reveal the swathe of cloth. “I…uh, made you breakfast.” Holding it out to him, you watch as his expression turns mildly perplexed. Warm hands closing over yours as he slowly takes it from you.

Like it’s some kind of curious artifact, he unwraps the cloth and stares at the stack of flakey pancakes. He lifts it to his nose, taking a few sniffs. Humming, he then gives you a small smile.

“It smells delicious.”

He then doesn’t eat it, instead, the silence stretches on as the two of you stand there. After a few moments, you awkwardly shift on your feet.

“Is there something the matter?” Kuras asks, tilting his head.

“I didn’t poison it, or anything,” You say, gesturing to the stack.

He lets out a small, quiet chuckle. “I would hope not.”

“So uhm…you can eat it.”

blinking, Kuras raises a brow, golden eyes piercing the dim light of morning. “Eat it?”

You nod, feeling more confused. He recovers quickly, slowly putting it to his mouth. Then someone sneezes behind you and you whip around to see a patient, red-eyed and sniffling.

By the time you turn back, Kuras is wrapping the pancakes back up. “I’ll be right with you,” he says, giving you a nod as his hand comes to your shoulder. “Thank you for bringing me Breakfast—are you in need of anything else?”

You blink, feeling a little frustrated. “No, that was all.”

Though it didn’t go as planned, later that day when hanging out with Ais, you hear about how when he was helping around the clinic, Kuras would take a few bites of a stack of some kind of garlic-smelling pastries.

You would receive a thank you note also requesting another stack the following day.

Mhin: Vitumbua (coconut rice pancakes)

Mhin, got Tanzania :D and with this, I wanted to find something still sweet since they like desserts! Thus, Vitumbua! Also these look so good, I want them so bad )): (I also wanted to add that there’s different kinds of these !! Made in different countries with different names and such, these are just specifically Tanzanian coconut rice pancakes.)

Also I apologize if this time around I seem more scattered-this writing slump is eating me alive 🤗

Okay okay, this one actually makes me so happy cause I think it’s cute- these are also kinda pancakes—and you made them for Mhin to take with them on their patrols.

Every moment making you think of them more.

How they’re doing, if they got enough sleep, if they’re even sleeping and not out killing soulless. You hope that somehow, these make things easier for them. And remind them how much you care. Especially since you’re losing sleep baking for them.

Once the heavy dark night is lifted into a sulking grey, you stack the rice pancakes into a box and head for outside.

Before Mhin can leave, you catch them, offering the cute little box, wrapped with bow and all. You had been up all night baking them, along with a caramel sauce to top it all off.

“What is this?” They ask, tentatively reaching for the box.

You scrub at your eyes, trying not to yawn. “Just a little something warm to remind you of me~” You sing-song, wiggling your brows at them. Chuckling as a blush skates across their pale face.

“I don’t…need anything,” they mutter, glancing away. Shy rays of morning light casting shadows over their features.

“Of course you don’t, but I thought you’d like it anyway.”

Grumbling, they hide the box in their cloak. “…Thanks.”

You cup a hand over your ear, humming. “Huh, what was that?”

“I said…thanks.”

“Hmm, sorry, seems something is plugging my ears!”

They clear their throat, “I said—“ they stop, eyes narrowing. “Don’t press your luck.”

Laughing, you fold your arms, trying to ignore the chill. “Alright, alright. If you end up wanting more, come get me okay? I can show you how to make them.”

They open their mouth, evidently going to ask what ‘them’ are, but you’re already heading back, stretching your arms over your head in a loud yawn. “Have fun on your patrol, say hi to the kitties for me!”

Once you’ve left, Mhin gives the box one more curious look before peeling open the lid. Inside, are ten golden, round pastries resting alongside a jar of bronze sauce.

Gingerly lifting one with their fingers, they take a slow bite. The chilly air of the dreary morning melting in a blooming sweetness. Swallowing, they feel a blush creep over their neck.

You were right, they really were warm.

Somehow, even when killing soulless, or after an annoying, unwanted conversation with Vere, one bite of the rice pancakes made them feel a bit lighter.

And, though they would never admit it, it reminded them of you.

Vere(Spaghetti/Caprese Salad)

So like I said with Ais, this was originally his— but I switched them. These dishes are from Italy!

Okay okay, so something I think would be really cute is Vere not only tasting your new recipes, but helping you to prepare it

Like for spaghetti sauce, maybe you prefer to peel your tomatoes first, and Vere, who was on his way to annoy you, caught the curious smell of fresh vegetables, (or fruit, since uhhh tomatoes) and spots you carefully peeling the ruby skin

Your face is locked in concentration, unknowingly sticking out your tongue as you gingerly avoid cutting your fingers.

It’s such a goofy expression Vere can’t help but stare at you with a hand covering his chuckles—until of course, he can’t resist the urge to scare the crap out of u 😇

Too caught in your work to notice anything amiss, Vere skulks closer until peering over your shoulder, lightly grazing his jaw over the side of your neck. He opens his mouth to whisper something in your ear but—

Taken by surprise, you yelp, squeezing the life out of the tomato you were peeling. It explodes over the both of you, shooting it’s guts very impolitely across your faces.

Vere reels back, a hiss of disgust escaping his lips as he blindly searches for something to clean the tomato remains off his face. He reaches for you and you swat him away.

“Idiot,” He seethes, finding an abandoned wash cloth.

“You were the one that scared me!”

“Still jumpy, hmm? I don’t know how you’ve lasted so long in this pig sty.”

Flicking tomato off your face, you snatch the wash cloth from his fingers. “With you constantly breathing down my neck? It’s a mystery to me too.”

Though you sound irritated, your hands still carefully reach for his face, gently wiping away the spots he missed. When he flinches, you soften your expression. “I forgive you. Come on, you got some on your neck.”

Slowly, but softly, Vere relaxes, though he still watches you with that same confused look he gives every time you offer affection.

It doesn’t take long for his fingers to caress your cheeks, sweeping off the tomato juice and then licking it off his fingers. Eyes taking on a devilish glint.

Hand it to Vere for making cleaning tomato guts off your face seem sensual

Eventually though, you do return to cooking. Vere helping you with peeling, chopping up basil, (sneaking extra spices into the sauce) and stirring the noodles.

Once everything is made, including an extra salad, you find a secluded spot to eat everything. Vere’s eyes watching your face the entire time.

“Do I still have tomato guts somewhere?” You ask, lifting a hand to check your cheeks.

Vere props his chin on his palm. “Did you know you stick your tongue out when you’re focusing?”

“I do not.”

“It’s so cute,”

“You’re just making stuff up so you can make fun of me.”

“I don’t have to make things up to do that, sweetheart.”

You toss your napkin at his face.

————-

Alr, we have reached the end. I am, so so sorry for taking two thousand centuries. Again, thank you so so much for the ask <3 though I took forever, these were fun !!

I hope you take a really good nap, eat your favorite snack, and try something new !! (Also you should totally search these dishes up, they all look so good !!)

#virtual novel #thanks for the ask! #answered asks #leander #kuras #mhin #ais #vere #touchstarved #touchstarved x reader #touchstarved game

[runnning-outof-time]

A Bad Habit | Shelby Brothers x Reader

(Also wasn’t sure for this gif...so enjoy the Shelby bros again)

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Shelby Brothers x reader-preference blurbs

Summary: How Arthur, John, and Tommy would react to their partner's habit of biting her lips when something's bothering her.

Warnings: blood, langauge, mentions of violence (typical to series)

Word Count: 2563

A/N: another one that I put myself into...as I realize that I bite my lip regardless if I’m worried or not haha. Enjoy! :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in stories similar to this!

———

-Arthur-

(Y/N) was sitting in the chair by the fireplace, bouncing her leg out of habit until the front door to her home opened. Her head snapped to the entryway and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was Arthur who'd entered the house.

"Arthur," she said as she quickly stood from the chair to meet him halfway in the kitchen.

"There a fire or somethin', love?" he questioned with a grin, accepting the quick kiss that she gave him before he stepped back to look her up and down, "you alright?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he noticed her jittery nature.

"Yeah, yeah," she nodded her head as she took her bottom lip between her teeth and bit on it, "yeah, I'm alright."

"Then what's got you on edge?" he couldn't help but ask, turning his head slightly to show his inquisitive nature.

"I just, uh, had a rough day at work today," she said with a sigh, going back to biting her bottom lip when she finished speaking.

"You wanna talk about it?" Arthur asked then, finally removing his peaked cap and suit jacket so that he could hang them on the hooks next to the archway that connected the living room to the entryway.

"If you don't mind listening," she was hesitant to accept his offer as she placed her hand on the back of one of the dining chairs so that she'd be able to lean her weight on it.

"Not at all," Arthur smiled at her.

"I keep getting blamed for things that aren't my fault," she started, breathing out a sigh as she bit on her lip slightly, "and then I feel so underappreciated by my boss that whenever I do something, it's just kind of brushed over. And then today, Samantha pointed out that the lessons weren't fixed and everyone agreed that it was my turn to do them, but it wasn't I know it wasn't, and now my boss has got me in his sights for absolutely nothing," she finished off her rambling by biting on her bottom lip some more, her feet taking her back and forth in the same path a couple more times. "I just don't understand how they can be so rude to me over absolutely nothing. Like does it make sense to you that they would..."

"Your lip's bleeding, love," Arthur's voice cut off (Y/N)'s rambles, making her stop in her tracks and look towards her boyfriend with confusion on her features. "Your bottom lip," he gave some clarification, making her take her lip between her teeth yet again. This time, however, she noticed the metallic taste of blood.

"Shit," she muttered, as this was now another thing for her to worry about. She then moved over to the kitchen counters, where there was a rag sitting next to the sink. She wet it slightly before holding it against her lip, making sure that the bleeding would stop.

"You shouldn't let what those people say worry you so much, (Y/N)," Arthur said after a few moments of silence had passed.

(Y/N) sighed and shook her head before she removed the rag from her lips to check if the bleeding had stopped. "It's a bloody bad habit of mine," she said as she set the rag back onto the counter before turning and resting her back against it.

"A bloody bad habit for sure," Arthur cracked a joke, smiling with satisfaction when (Y/N)'s straight-faced expression melted away upon hearing his words. "And it's something those people aren't worthy of getting you to do," he continued as he stepped closer to her. "Tell ya what...we're working really hard at getting the tracks under our control, and once they are, you can quit that job of yours, yeah?" he reasoned with her, a grin on his face. "You'll have more money then all of those other teachers combined." (Y/N) couldn't help but smile as she rested her hands on top of Arthur's shoulders. "Things are gettin' better, my love," he promised her as he looked into her eyes.

"Thanks, Arthur," she smiled at him. She was unsure of what she was even thanking him for, but saying it just felt right in the moment.

"You've just gotta hold out at that place for a little longer," he continued on with his plan for her future; for their future. "Just until then we've gotta make sure that you don't get so worried about anything that you cause your lips to bleed."

(Y/N) only nodded at his statement and smiled as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She then allowed him to take her hand and lead her over to the couch, where they sat and cuddled up by the fire. It was in his arms that the stresses of (Y/N)'s day slowly melted away

——

-John-

"Mummy, mummy! You're never gonna believe what happened to Max today!" Katie Shelby exclaimed as she ran into her home on Watery Lane.

(Y/N) and her husband, John, were both sitting at the table. She was drinking some tea and John was reading the newspaper, but when their eldest daughter ran into the house, they both sent each other a glance. "What happened?" (Y/N) asked after turning her attention to her daughter, who was now standing in the kitchen with her hands on her knees as she tried to steady her breathing. It was obvious that she’d ran all the way home.

"He...he got into a...fight with another boy...in our grade," she got out in between the panted breaths she was taking, but (Y/N) heard her message loud and clear. In a second, the older woman’s eyes were wide and her mouth was gaped.

"Where is Max, Katie?" she asked her daughter with raised eyebrows.

"He was with some boys. I told him that I was gonna come home and tell," Katie answered without a second's pause.

(Y/N) looked to John then, a glare on her face when she saw that he had his finger between his teeth; a tell-tale sign of him trying to hide his smile. John sent an innocent look to try and save face, and (Y/N) gave him the wide-eyed stare for a few more moments before turning back to Katie with a smile, "go up to your room and get started on your homework, dear," she said to the girl, who nodded and made her way to the stairs. "You're going to go find our son right now, John," (Y/N) then spoke to her husband in a tone that showed she wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer.

"He'll make his way home eventually," John still tried to brush her order off all while he kept his expression straight. He was trying so hard not to begin boasting about his oldest son getting into fights. He was able to see the torch being passed, but it was obvious that his wife wasn't too keen on the behavior, so he had to keep his excitement under wraps.

"John," she repeated, her eyebrows now raised.

Something in her expression evoked a slight tinge of fear within the Shelby man, and it made him stand from his chair and go to grab his coat from the hooks by the door. "I'll go get him," he told her as he made his way out the door.

By the time that John came back to the house with Max in tow, (Y/N) was pacing the length of the kitchen with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. She couldn't even care about the slight amount of pain that she was feeling as a result of her worried habit; all that was on her mind at the moment was the well-being of her child.

It didn’t help when John proudly strode into the living area with Max behind him and a bright grin on his face. “Here he is with not a hair misplaced...did the Shelby name proud today,” he boasted as he moved aside so that (Y/N) could see the boy, who was cowering into himself because he knew what was coming from his mother.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief when she saw that her son was unharmed. Although she was unhappy about the fact that he’d got into a fight, she couldn’t help but feel proud that he managed to get through it unscathed. She did a surface level check of her own before she lowered herself slightly so that she was more on his level. The stern expression was back on her face as she spoke to him, “I’m very unhappy with you at the moment, young man. We are not supposed to be fighting at school. I want you to go up to your room and get started on your homework. I will be up to talk with you soon,” she told him and the boy nodded before he made his way to the stairs without saying a word.

(Y/N) stood straight again to look over at John, who had his eyebrows furrowed as he focused his gaze on her face. “What?” (Y/N) couldn’t help but ask with furrowed eyebrows.

“Is your lip bleeding?” he questioned, making her reach up to touch her lips before pulling her hand back to see that her fingers were now stained red.

She sighed and shook her head before bringing her bottom lip in between her teeth. She was able to taste the metallicity of the blood now, and it made her sigh again. “It’s a bad habit of mine. I do it without even thinking,” she said as she reached up to touch her lips again.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” John stated in a matter-of-fact tone as he stepped closer to her, “I can’t have you damaging these precious lips,” he concluded his statement with a grin as he reached over to take her into his arms.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his second statement, a grin forming on her face as she then decided to play along with what he was proposing. “What do you reckon I do then?” she asked, her eyebrows raised slightly.

“Kiss me instead,” John answered simply, “give me a kiss every time you get worried,”

“You’ll be in store for a lot of kisses then, John...” she trailed off with a slight laugh, “there’s Shelby blood in them kids,” she reminded him, her words making his grin grow.

“Don’t think I’ll ever complain about that,” he told her, his smile widening still as he leaned in to kiss her lips.

——

-Tommy-

Tensions were high as Tommy stormed into the living quarters of 6 Watery Lane from the betting shop’s floor. He breathed a slight sigh of relief as he saw the person he was looking for. She was sitting on the couch and reading a book, completely oblivious to the storm that was making its way towards Small Heath. He wished that he could keep it that way, but she needed to know what was going on. She needed to know that there was a possibility that he could die today.

“Tommy?” her sweet voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and when he focused on her he saw that she was now looking in his direction with furrowed eyebrows.

“Come here, love,” he beckoned her over, unable to walk much further into the room because he knew that he needed to be going soon.

“What’s wrong?” (Y/N) inquired as she stood from the couch so that she’d be able to adhere to his directions. As she made her way over to him, she brought her bottom lip in between her teeth and bit on it slightly; something that she did whenever she sensed worry.

“There’s trouble comin’ into town. Kimber and his men are making their way here, and we’re outnumbered at the moment,” he began to explain to her, his hands falling onto her arms when she got in reach of him. He searched her eyes for a moment before continuing, “I don’t know what’s going to go on, but it may not be good, so I wanted to tell you before...”

“Before you get yourself killed, right?” (Y/N) filled in the blank before he was able to. Her words were spoken out of worry, and immediately her heart started racing at the thought of the worst possible thing happening to her partner. She took her bottom lip between her teeth and began biting on it again as a way to try and alleviate the anxiousness that she was feeling, but it wasn’t helping, so she kept biting harder.

“No,” Tommy shook his head slightly, “I won’t let that happen.”

“You can’t promise that,” she was quick to point out.

“I know that...” he trailed off, trying to think of a way to cover up his flawed statement; for her sake, “I’ve got a plan. Everything’s gonna be ok,” he spoke assuredly, his eyes not straying from hers.

(Y/N) couldn’t do anything other than blink rapidly in hopes to keep the tears at bay and bite on her lips in hopes that doing so would get rid of the worry that was filling up her body. “Your lip’s bleeding, love,” Tommy pointed out after a few moments had passed. He furrowed his eyebrows slightly then as he focused on her lips to make sure that he was seeing correctly.

“It’s what I do when I’m worried,” (Y/N) confirmed to him that her lip was indeed bleeding, “and I’m really, really worried right now, Tommy,” she stressed her statement as she glanced at him with widened eyes.

“There’s no need to be, (Y/N),” he again tried to put her fears to rest. “I’m going to be fine. I’m going to take down Kimber, finish this war, and then we’ll fucking celebrate, eh?” he laid out his plan, the grin on his face and his final statement doing the trick in making (Y/N) smile and laugh through her tears. His grin widened at the reaction he got from her, and he reached up then to take hold of her cheek. His thumb swiped across her bottom lip, effectively wiping away the blood that had risen from it. “Please don’t be doin’ this anymore...I don’t want your lips bein’ bloody when I come home and kiss you,” he said softly then, his eyes staying locked on his.

(Y/N) softly laughed again at his words before she brought her hand up to rest against his which was caressing her cheek. “I’ll try my best,” she told him, slightly leaning into the warmth that his hand was exuding.

“I’ve got to go,” he said after a few silent seconds.

“I’ll stay here,” she told him, mustering up the courage to continue thinking positive thoughts.

“Good,” he nodded, searching her eyes for a second, “I’ll be back soon,” he promised her, leaning in to kiss her lips before they broke their embrace so that he could leave and she could go find something to do to keep her mind off of what was about to happen.

———

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @magicalxdaydream @the-anxious-youth @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @easilyobessedbutflighty @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole

MASTERLIST

#shelby brothers x reader #shelby brothers preferences #tommy shelby x reader #arthur shelby x reader #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders preference #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

[green-lotus]

Headcanons for how the bros would react during/after the first fight with their partner? I’m feeling extra angsty today 🫠

I can't write lol

But! I tried

This came out way longer than I expected, and it turned more into a general description of a disagreement, but I felt that giving some context to the situation would make the whole thing more realistic. Hope it'll be alright to the person asking

So sorry if Donnie & Mikey parts are off key or out of character! I don't yet feel nearly as confident writing about those two as I do in Raph's or occasionally Leo's case, but I decided to give it a go anyway

Raphael

• It wasn't literally anything important that started it. Some most minor stuff about cleaning or putting something back on its spot. And it never happened before, Raph held his temper in check around you, he wanted so badly to make a better impression on you then as the aggressive meathead he too often came across as

• But he just forgot himself. He forgot that you're you, and not one of his brothers, you were both so comfortable around each other after more than a year in a solid relationship it sometimes would slip his mind that you're someone special

• And as you both threw shorter and shorter and more pinching remarks at each other, he just lost it and abruptly jumping to you, yelled over your voice, sending the nearest pile of cans flying towards the wall with one movement of his arm... And his hand flew dangerously closed to your face

• But since you were never a meek sort yourself - you pushed him away instantly, at least as much as you were able to, and screamed back at him, even louder

• Silence fell immediately, and you could both almost hear each other's hearts pounding

• You were scared. Just a bit, but even so. Raph the others knew threw tantrums like that constantly, but your Raph? He never did that. You always assumed a day like that will come, but it still wasn't any less unpleasant. You know he would never lay a hand you and all of that was accidental, but even so... Six inches and you may have been slapped

• You were staring him straight in the eyes, lips squeezed together, breathing heavily, furious, but already feeling the tension slipping off your body, a good sign

• Raph? Raph was only getting worse, terrified, his eyes changed immediately after he realised what he just did

• And now he was an image of pure misery. So confused and so ashamed, and with absolutely no idea how to express it

• He moved his lips, but made no sound; you composed yourself, ready to talk normally, but then he broke, shook his head as if trying to apologises, turned from you and ran away like a beaten dog

• You remained on the spot and took care to calm yourself first.

• He wouldn't seek you out first out of shame, and you knew that.

• So when you felt ready, you found him, pouring all his tension and unresolved emotions onto the punching bag as always, and the moment he spotted you he froze.

• You nodded, just to signal him you weren't angry any longer, but didn't say anything more. And after you have him the peaceful space, words came pouring out of his mind.

• "Y/n... I... I... Eeeeh... Baby, i'm so sorry. You know... You know I would never, ever hurt ya, ya know... I..." He looked into your eyes, his own still so uncertain. "You... Believe me, right? Tell me... You believe me, I don't deserve it maybe, but... Please..."

• You smirked and reached to his face, and took his head in your arms, telling him that you believe him and that all couples fight eventually, and your first one was still remarkably short and quickly resolved. As he leaned into you, you could feel his breath slowing down and all the tension releasing from his muscles. He chuckled into your neck

• "Thanks... Hey, but, next time I go off the range like that... Just throw something at me, will ya? Whatever's close to your hand"

• "Like this shit?" You picked the smallest weight you could find from the weight bar, and still could barely hold it up for a moment.

• Raph snorted. "Oh yeah. Will do"

Leonardo

• Congratulations! You found some subject on which you and Leo don't agree on, and neither of you are willing to back down, standing your ground firmly as always

• That's why you're so strongly drawn to each other anyway, and why you feel so right at each other's side...but this was just waiting to happen

• So the discussion kept heating up, until one of you eventually stood up and decided to raise your voice, and the other responded with the same thing, subconsciously refusing to be overruled

• Leo was astounded. You haven't met or got together yesterday, but still, he never before experienced the situation in which you annoyed him so. You were always his equal & partner, and now... He was just so damn pissed going over the same thing over and over again when talking, he never felt so badly out of touch with you, it was terrifying. He could argue with his brothers, but you were something else... What if that's a sign things are not working out between you? What if this wasn't right? What if he was doing something wrong?

• His anger quickly passed, or more likely, turned into confusion, and you couldn't not notice that

• "Leo... Leo, for fuck's sake, talk to me! What is it? What did I say?"

• "It's not..." He wanted to say something, but didn't really know what. "It's not you, it's... It's me. Excuse me" His voice was cold and static, but shy

• He tried to storm off, but you knew him too well by now and knew that him escaping an unresolved situation is never a good sign for anyone involved, so you grabbed his arm and walked over to him

• "No no no no, no, i'm not doing that. Just say what you want, i'm not gonna change my mind, but just say it, would you?"

• Leo took a deep breath.

• Initially, he wanted to just spit out the most trivial, obvious explanation and carry on. He didn't have strength to deal with anyone so steadfastly set in their opiniom

• But then... He realised... It was you, hell, it was you he was talking about, his woman, his beloved person. Why was he acting so stupid on purpose?

• He really didn't want to think about the fact he MIGHT be doing it on purpose

• He lowered his eyes and hunched slightly, letting his guard down

• "Listen, I guess... I just never thought we could really argue. I know it's inevitable in a couple, but you..." He took your hands in his and cradled them for a moment. "You are... So special to me. I didn't WANT to argue. But it still... Happened."

• "Uh - huh"

• "Uhu?! You don't have anything ... Else to say? We were just at each other's throats, it shouldn't have happened"

• "Were we?"

• "It felt like that to me."

• "Yeah. And now we're not. You could say we're past our first official couple fallout. How triumphant is that, sensei?"

• Leo capitutaled and chuckled. This one half - ironic, half - affectionate nickname always got through to him

• "Very. I'm proud of us, love"

• You embraced each other, but even so, he whispered in your ear softly: "you're still such a knucklehead... sometimes, i guess"

• "Yeah, that's fine. Love you too"

Michelangelo

• It took an unhuman amount of patience & extravagance to deal & exist with Mikey on a daily basis. And you were always more than happy to provide that. No one could ever quite keep up with YOU either, so

• But this one time, even your temper ran short.

• You would most often accompany Mikey in every not really reasonable venture he came up with. Going above ground to join a dress - up parade? Strolling through the city roofs in broad daylight and avoiding all sight? Got it, you were never the one to hold him back, and Mikey fell deeper in love with you every single time

• Until this one time.

• He just kept on fooling around, in the least suitable moment. Brothers were stressed, Leo needed peace & quiet after some serious talk with Splinter and Mikey didn't seem to notice that fact at all, and you had a really, really rough day and the last thing you were in the mood for were his wild ideas

• "Mikey, jesus, just shut up for a second, would you? Could you do that?"

• He looked at you, astounded, but not quite catching on the mood of the situation

• "Hey, my baby, what is it? Did those crabs get you down behind my shell? You need some special Michelangelo treatment?"

• If he corrected himself now perhaps you wouldn't have lashed out - but you simply couldn't take it anymore

• "No! Just shut up, Mikey, shut it! I'm tired, i'm sad, i can't deal with you!"

• Mikey stared at you with his blue eyes, utterly confused. He was clueless - what happened to you? You never acted like that in response to him, especially when he was acting out his very best for your smile & laughter

• "What do you mean? Baby doll, what do you want? What's wrong?"

• "Nothing, just... Mikey, i'm tired of you"

• That maybe wasn't the best choice of words, but there was no other right now

• "You're tired of me? How can you say that? You only just got here, i'm trying to cheer you up, i'm doing my best for you, angelcakes!"

• What you said hurt him more than he would have thought

• He had such a perfect partner in you. Always

• You didn't patronise him, didn't treat him like the younger, less serious one, he didn't have to hold back one bit, didn't need to overcompensate for any of his shortcomings with some extra acts, you were 200% on his ride and he would never think you can get tired of his behavior, what the hell happened? Did he do something wrong? Did you grow out of loving his dazzling personality and temper?

• No fucking way, no, it couldn't be

• "Angelcakes! Sugar plum! What's going on?" He grabbed you suddenly, feeling all his insecurities rising in his throat; but since you haven't calmed down just yet, you shook his hands off and stepped away, and that was somehow even worse

• How was he supposed to explain anything and talk and possibly even argue, not having hugged you in the first place, without showing how much he loved you first?

• "What are you doing?!" He shouted. "Don't you like me anymore? I'm trying my best here babygirl, don't do this to me! I love you!"

• A gulp in his throat was getting bigger and bigger

• "Don't you love my anymore?"

• He was overwhelming you. Quite a new sensation

• "Of course I do, Mikey, just... Give ma a second, alright? Give me some time? Leave me alone for a moment? Please?"

• At least she said that.

• Mikey wasn't stupid. He saw reason, he saw now how agitated you were. He should have noticed that sooner... And he wanted with all of his being to cheer you up, make you smile, but still, what you said... It hurt him. He knew he should have acted differently, but that burn inside him wasn't going away

• "Alright!" He exclaimed, raising his arms. "Alright! I get it! You wanna be alone angelcakes, you got it, i'm leaving! It's fine! All good!"

• That were the best words he could find that sounded right in between supportive & accepting and angry & obscene.

• He felt your gaze at his shell as he was backing away. Suddenly he felt like... crying. Why did he have to go through anything unpleasant with his beloved, sweetest dollcake? Why?

• And before he went too far, he collapsed on the stairs and realised he was snuffling and his eyes were wet.

• And despite what just happened between you two, you couldn't look at him like that. More calm now, you went to him and embraced him from behind, and you didn't have to see his face to know how happy he suddenly was

• "Hey, cupcake... I'm sorry, i know what you meant"

• "Yeah... Me too."

Donatello

• "But you don't! You don't know anything about it, you don't even know basic commands, just stop talking, it all sounds idiotic!"

• Right after saying that, Donnie realised... He maybe shouldn't have. Or should have done it more... Carefully.

• He certainly didn't want to insult you. Never. He had do much respect & love for everything you were & everything you said.

• But... You didn't know anything about what you were saying. It was his area of expertise... Wasn't it? He WAS in the right, factually. Was it impolite to point that out? Or to call things what they were?

• Yea... It was. Even without seeing your face... He knew he should have acted IT all out very differently

• A sudden panic took over him. Why, why did he have to say that...

• "Hey, hey, that's not what I meant, i mean... I mean i did mean that, but not like that, it's just i was right and..."

• He was only sinking deeper, words were twisting in his mouth, between stress and desire to make things right

• He gave up on trying to say anything else, and just sat down, desperately thinking what was he supposed to do now

• You stared at him in silence. It wasn't much of an insult what he said, it wasn't even that unpleasant, but just something about the way he said it and the dismissiveness in his voice... It wouldn't let you forget. It worried you, you've never seen your Donnie so... full of himself and so overconfident, he was right, you didn't know much about what you were discussing, but to say it like that?

• As neither of you could really come up with anything clever to explain your standing point, you considered running off, but what would be the point of that? It wouldn't solve anything

• And you knew Donnie thought the same - his gaze lingered at the far corner of the room, but then, it came back to you

• So you decided it would be best to do the same - and even if you weren't feeling quite ready to start the conversation again, you sat on the floor next to your purple turtle, staring into the nearest wall

• And you sat there for quite some time, without a word

• Until finally, you felt Donnie's hand gently slipping onto yours. You turned your head, only to meet his eyes, full of uncertainty

• "Emmm... I'm sorry if I... Hurt you"

• "No, it's not that"

• "Really?" Surprise in his voice almost made you laugh. "Then... What is?"

• "I mean... Donnie, i'm not as knowledgeable as you, not by half, but do you have to say it like that? I'm really trying to catch up to you in every conversation we have..."

• Donnie felt a tender pulse of heat somewhere inside him. "Do you? I mean!..."

• "Yeah."

• "That's..." You glanced at him again, and realised he was smiling. "That's... So wonderful of you"

• You opened your mouth, but Donnie, this time, was quicker

• "Then I promise... No, I promise you anyway, with extra consideration for that fact... That i'll never overlook that again"

• None of you were best at words to choose when dealing with emotions, but you knew each other well enough to know what the other is trying to express. You smirked

• "Fair enough. I promise to never say anything idiotic"

• Abrupt change in his expression was way too amusing. "No no, don't say that, that's exactly the opposite of what i was trying..."

• You placed a small peck on his arm. "I know. It's alright"

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt bayverse #bayverse #bayverse tmnt #bayverse turtles #tmnt headcannons #tmnt headcanons #tmnt asks #tmnt raph #tmnt raphael #tmnt leo #tmnt leonardo #tmnt mikey #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt donnie #tmnt donatello #tmnt scenarios

[kitcat992]

│Identity Saga │Narrative Discourse (The Parker's)

One More Day? No Way Home?

Oh, you mean Anti-Aunt May content. Nah bro, we don't do that here. We love, support, and thrive off May Parker's involvement in Peter's life, and we celebrate her presence with an abundance of inclusion in this series.

Prior to the MCU, my absolute favorite version of May Parker came from — you guessed it — the ultimate comics. To this day I've gotta say, Marisa Tomei's version in the MCU is the closest adaption we've gotten of that iteration, and very quickly became my new favorite. In my eyes, she's the perfect mash up of "responsible legal guardian" and "big sister" while still feeling like the aunt she is. She and Peter are the tried and true Found Family, and I've had such a blast writing them in the Identity Saga.

We aren't over yet, but here's some of my favorite highlights in the journey so far.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 18: Homecoming

Tony hadn’t moved in hours.

Moving took energy, something he was severely lacking.

He simply sat, catatonic. Motionless.

Time passed, first by the minutes and then by hours, but he didn’t bother checking a clock or asking FRIDAY.

He didn’t care.

He needed nothing but solitude, to be alone. At this point, it was a must. Once he found it, he clung to it, letting the strange silence echo each pounding beat of his migraine.

Exhaustion coursed through his every muscle, weighing him down. His eyelids were heavy, and he held his face in his hands, hunched over in the chair that took his weight.

The crash from adrenaline was powerful, a vicious anchor that nearly took him under. Had it not been for the fear, Tony would have surrendered. Fear kept him going, fear of the unknown, fear of the uncertain outcome. It was like poison, infecting him, festering in his mind.

Tony didn’t know when he got in touch with Happy or how long it had been after they arrived back at the compound. All he knew was that the phone call was short, sweet and to the point.

Get the kid’s aunt. Bring her here. Quickly.

That was the last time he spoke. It was the last thing he did, possibly hours passing as he sat and waited.

And waited.

For what, he wasn’t too sure.

It was nothing short of a miracle that he staved away another panic attack. The very thought of that woman saying goodbye to her nephew made his chest constrict under the crushing pressure of an ocean he had escaped from. But it was a possibility, a real one, and it was one he couldn’t bear to entertain.

If anyone deserved a proper goodbye, it was her. He owed her a goodbye. He owed her a lot of things, none money could buy for him but this...this at least was within his control.

Right now, Tony needed to do what was in his control.

It was quiet, for the most part. He was spent, emotionally and physically drained, unable to do anything but sit still in a chair outside of the compounds medical wing.

The area was interesting, if he had to choose a word to describe it. It was more a waiting room than anything else; TV’s hanging on the wall that he hadn’t turned on, magazines shelved in a short rack at the corner beside a potted plant. It was an area of the compound they almost never utilized. They had no reason to.

If a team member were ever injured, they typically gathered in the lounge. It was their spot, their go-to for them and only them.

This was created more for formalities, for other staff, other departments. Not for Tony Stark.

For a long time, it was quiet. No one dared to bother him, not the team, not security, not Rogers. So when Tony heard what seemed to be an argument taking place down the hallway, it quickly caught his attention.

“Mrs. Parker, please wait —”

“I’ve waited an hour in that damn car. I’m not—”

“It was an forty minutes. I broke speed limits getting us here. If you just hold on, I need to get you a badge and —”

Tony stumbled out of the chair, heavily leaning against the armrest to straighten his back, his muscles throbbing at the sudden movement. He looked down the hallway just as May came storming through, her purse swinging violently by her hip.

Happy followed closely behind.

“Mrs. Parker —”

“Happy.” May spun around to face him, a stern finger pointing in his face. “Cram it.”

Tony tensed. What little energy he had left began to boil into anxiety, his breath hitching while watching the two approach him.

Vivid memories of Miriam Sharpe flashed before his eyes, a reminder of a mother who lost her son, a child who lost their life — all because of him.

It was history repeating itself.

May was going to lose it, and she had every right to. She could slap him, punch him, kick him, spend all her loathing on dragging him down until he was nothing. Because that’s what he was — nothing. He let this happen to her nephew, to Peter. He deserved whatever came his way.

Happy sprinted to keep up with her, already slightly out of breath. “Tony, I tried getting her to —”

Tony held his hand up, stopping him from saying anything else.

“May, I...” his voice broke from disuse, his throat red hot and tender. “Listen, I —”

She narrowed her eyes, and her feet stomped up to him. “Where is he?”

“He’s here,” Tony reassured. “He’s in surgery. They’ve — he’s — he’s been in surgery. May, I’m —ofph!”

Tony let out a nearly inaudible gasp, the sound gruff and husky.

May leapt forward, grabbing him tightly in an embrace that stole his breath.

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, shaking with a strength he was envious of. Yet any sense of composure she tried to retain was washed away in the blink of an eye as she splintered under the force of her tears. "Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you.”

Her cries were heavy, wails that were smothered in his chest. Tony stood still, his arms dangling at his side, unable to comprehend the moment.

May repeated the same words, the same gratitude until she couldn’t anymore. Her words became messy, incoherent sobs.

He looked up at Happy, who only shrugged and gave the saddest, smallest smile he had ever seen. Tony decided to ignore the tears were glossing in the man’s eyes, reflecting from the overhead lights. If he acknowledged that, he’d crumble himself.

“He’s all I have. He’s all I have left,” May cried, heavy and ugly sobs leaking onto his shirt. “Thank you...thank you, thank you...you brought him back, you brought him home, you saved him— thank you.”

Tony's arm twitched. For a moment he considered wrapping it around her, only deciding against it when he felt the tremble that shook against his hip.

When May pulled away, both her hands gripped his face, forcing him to look directly at her as she asked, “Are you okay?”

The question made Tony's head stutter still.

“Tony, are you okay?” she impossibly repeated.

Tony tried to look away, look anywhere that wasn’t at May, but her grip was strong and he felt uncomfortable that his bloodshot, puffy eyes were so openly exposed to her. Not even in his rawest moments did he let Pepper see him so broken, so demoralized.

“I...”

The words died on his tongue. He was confident he had heard her wrong. She wasn’t asking how he was — she couldn’t be asking that. He was the cause behind this. He was the one who put her under the impression that she’d have to bury her boy with no closure to grieve with. Why would she care about him?

And yet here she was, pulling his face back to her, soft brown eyes locking with his.

“God, I can’t even imagine. Everything you’ve done — Happy told me you’ve been at this for days. This must have been hell for you.” May crinkled her nose, patting his cheek softly. “You should shower, you smell like rotten fish.”

Tony blinked, looking over at Happy and back at May, unsure if he had finally gone mad and began hallucinating.

“I’m...I’m sorry, what’s going on here?” The words tumbled out of his mouth. “Why are you not yelling at me?”

It was the least eloquent question he could ask, so blunt that any other day Tony would berate himself for failing at the basics of being more articulate.

May didn’t seem to mind. Her expression softened and she let go of his face. One hand reached under her glasses to dry her cheeks while the other moved to grip his shoulder tightly.

“I’ve done my fair share of yelling at you, more than I’m proud of. But anger won’t help either one of us right now. You’ve dealt with a lot —”

“You don’t know that,” Tony interrupted, cut and cold.

May’s frown lingered. “I might not be your biggest fan, Tony. But I’m also not your enemy here. And if you freak out, then I’m going to freak out, and that’s...that’s the last thing any of us need right now.”

Tony found it hard to look at her. He stared over her shoulder at the pale blue walls, occasional sparing a glance at Happy, too tired to argue and too tired to reflect. She was hanging on by a thread and quite frankly, so was he.

But if he was made of iron, May Parker was made of steel. Easily, hands down, there was no doubting it. It had become very obvious to him where Peter got a lot of his strength from.

He flicked his thumb over his nose, sniffing hard. “Happy will get you where you need to be.”

Tony was beyond his comfort zone of vulnerability in front of her and luckily for him, she was eager to leave. May looked over her shoulder and at Happy, who nodded while pointing straight ahead. There was no hesitation to follow the direction she was told to go.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 20: Family Ties

The cynical side of May wanted to do nothing more than disregard the conversation she had with Pepper, chalking it up to false pleasantries she’d be lucky to receive again. Even after Happy returned to show her Peter’s private bedroom at the compound, and even after she took in the enormous amount of effort Stark clearly put into the living space for her boy, she refused to let herself believe it was anything more than basic courtesy.

So when she returned to Peter’s hospital room and found a gift basket awaiting her, she couldn’t help but be surprised.

And it wasn’t just because Captain America was the one there to give it to her.

“Mrs. Parker,” he greeted. “Pepper personally wanted to make sure you got this tonight.”

“Oh.” May reached out to take it from him. “Thanks.”

It wasn’t until she had it in her hands that May realized how comically large the woven wooden basket actually was. Held against Captain’s America’s chest, it barely looked to be the size of her purse, his admirably large physique easily downplaying its size.

She barely managed to get it across the room, setting it down on the bay window ledge with a muffled grunt. While she would wait to open it, many items laying on top caught her attention. Most were the basics; toiletries, essentials, food and water bottles of brands she never recognized and was sure she could never afford. Deeper inside she caught sight of unexpected items; blankets, a bottle of wine — was that a Starkpad?

“That’s one thing Pep and Tony have in common.” His voice caught her attention. May turned to look at him as he casually shrugged. “They both like to go all out on certain things.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” May huffed, pointing to the basket with a quirked eyebrow. “How much do you think I could sell this all for?”

Steve grinned, the whites of his teeth shining brightly from the overhead fluorescent lights. “Please, use it. You need to take care of yourself too, Mrs. Parker.”

“It’s May,” she corrected. “Please, if one more person calls me ‘Mrs. Parker’ I might actually start to feel my age.”

As she settled into the over-sized upholstered armchair at Peter’s bedside — ‘Stark really does go all out here’ — across from her, Steve chuckled and leaned his hip against the footrest of the hospital bed.

“Fair enough. It’s good to see you again, May.” He gestured to the open chair across from her. “Would you mind if I sit with you and Peter for a while? I might become...a little tied up here soon. I would like to...”

Though his words trailed off, she understood his intention.

“Of course. But we can never tell him you were here. At least not while he was like...” May motioned to the bed with a somber expression. “...this.”

Steve slowly sat down, his gaze softening. “Why’s that?”

For a moment, May looked dumbfounded. She swiveled her gaze between Peter and Steve, ultimately settling on the latter with high arched eyebrows.

“He’s a teenager. This right here — it’s the be all and end all to embarrassment. He’ll be mortified.” She slouched wearily in the chair, managing a faint smile along the way. “I can hear him already. ‘May, god! I can’t believe you let Captain America see me in nothing but a hospital gown. Ugh, god, blergh, eck, hashtag why didn’t you just let me die’.”

Her voice was absurdly exaggerated, and though Steve seemed to be slightly confused and extremely horrified, May carelessly waved him off.

“Kids have gotten more dramatic these days,” she explained. “Don’t think I understand it. I swear it’s like they have own language.”

Steve nodded, chuckling. “Sounds about right. Me and an old friend of mine were similar back in the day. Our parents couldn’t seem to keep up with the lingo.”

May found herself curling up further in the chair, to the point where she was hugging her knees close to her chest.

“Then I guess there’s no turning back for me. I find myself using Urban Dictionary way more then I’ve ever wanted to.” A beat passed, and she didn’t need to look at Steve to see his lack of understanding. “Don’t look it up. I’ll save you the horrors, just come to me if you need anything translated, got it mister?”

He laughed, his smile so amiable and natural that May was sure it could melt even the hardest of hearts. She liked him better in person, his compassion much more authentic, more substantial than the old war posters and videos she watched growing up.

“Duly noted.” Steve’s laugh faded away, and he looked towards Peter affectionately. His expression was soft, strong, but it was impossible not to notice the crack forming underneath the surface.

It was different from the night he arrived at her home to break the news of Peter’s then-assumed-death.

It was a glimmer of remorse, reflecting vividly in his eyes.

It reminded her of Happy, of Clint, of Tony — so many people she had come to find out would give their lives to defend this boy. She thought she had been alone in protecting Peter, her sole responsibility, her burden to carry. Come to find out she was terribly wrong about that.

“You know, I have to say...Peter reminds me a lot of that friend.” Steve looked up, forcing a smile that held more sadness than anything else. “Looking out for the little guy? It’s a very noble thing to do. You should be proud of him.”

She was, but it never hurt to hear it again.

May’s hand reached out for Peter’s, a swarm of butterflies rolling in her stomach from the sheer amount of maternal pride. Sure, this wasn’t the life she ever expected to live, not after taking Peter in and not even after losing Ben. It wasn’t her normal, and she wasn’t efficient at letting others help, that much was clear.

But hearing about how much Peter had changed, how he was flawlessly growing into such a heroic man behind her expectations — May started to believe she could manage some change as well. It was hard, change always was, but having others around to help would make a little easier.

She cleared her throat a few times. “That friend of yours...he make it out okay?”

Steve didn’t answer right away. Instead, he dropped his head, slowly crossing his arms over his chest in deep thought. The topic seemed to be troublesome for him, and she almost apologized for bringing up what was clearly a sore subject.

“He’s getting there,” Steve finally answered, right before she could say anything. “And so will Peter. Consider this nothing more than a bump in the road.”

May nodded, her thumb absentmindedly caressing around the clear tape sticking to Peter’s skin.

Suddenly, it didn’t seem so threatening — it was just tape, she remembered. It was just tape keeping IV’s in place, of which were simply there to make Peter better. The monitors weren’t as scary anymore, the beeping a pleasant reminder that he was alive, that his heart was beating in a similar rhythm as theirs.

‘It’s all just a bump in the road’, she told herself.

She could handle that.

“You know, speaking of bump in the road.” Steve awkwardly cleared his throat. “Pete here told us he’s working on getting his driver’s license?”

May practically choked on her snort. “Yeah, and I promise to give plenty of heads up when that happens. Whenever Peter Parker hits the streets, you will be rightfully notified to stay on the sidewalks.”

Steve’s laughter guided her into a gentle state of relaxation, one she let saturate her every nerve. Somehow along the way, he encouraged May to tell him what was later dubbed as the ‘Whole Foods parking lot disaster’, a story she was sure Peter would straight up murder her for repeating.

She could still hear his defense ring in her ears. “May, c'mon, you are such a drama queen. I didn’t hit seven shopping carts. It was six and a half, everyone knows the tiny carts don’t count as full carts.”

She lost count of time after that, the sun that had been beaming in through the bay window now nothing but dazzling stars across the compound’s acres of land. Her time wasn’t spent listening, rather telling, her stories reminiscent of an easier time in their lives.

Steve sat and took it all in, smiling and laughing along the way.

It didn’t take long for May to realize there was something different about him, a unique trait that made him stand out from the others. While it seemed everyone wanted to tell her a story about Peter, Steve wanted to hear what she had to say. It was as if he wanted to get to know Peter better, treating him more than just some kid who had gotten in over his head or someone he felt responsible for having gotten hurt.

May had a feeling that after all was said and done, Peter wasn’t going anywhere in these people’s lives. It was funny in retrospect; she had been worried he was a nuisance to them all. Yet they couldn’t seem happier to have him around.

She had just finished telling Steve about Peter’s ninth birthday party — “I swear if we had the money, he would have been both Iron Man and Captain America. But those costumes are expensive, and he had to pick between the two. If it’s any consolation, I remember the Iron Man costume being significantly cheaper.” — when Tony came strolling through the room’s automatic doors.

“Rogers,” he curtly greeted. “Treating the woman well, I hope.”

Identity Theft │ Chapter 21: Sins of the Father

“It’s okay, Pete. You can let go.”

In and out. It was all he knew — the voices would come in and out, his mind would go in and out, and he wasn’t even sure where he would go when it happened. He felt detached, muddled, a wandering soul with no terrain to land on.

“You’re safe now. It’s okay to let go.”

He clung to those words. For the longest time, it was all he had to hold onto. For the longest time, he floated between the then and now, unsure of what was a dream and what was real.

When his mind finally re-connected with his body, it happened all at once. It felt like a crashing meteor plummeting to the earth, hard and fast, and the lack of control smothered him.

Peter felt trapped.

Not under a building, not to a wall, but trapped within a body he couldn’t move or function. Every breath he involuntary breathed sent agony radiating down his core to his every muscle, each inhale causing a scorched inundation of red pain to simmer in his stomach.

Peter moaned. He could feel it taper off in his chest, the keening never forceful enough to part from his lips. One after another they came, a string of groggy sounds loud in his own ears.

Distantly, he remembered when he first got his spider powers. After the mutation took place, after he was violently ill and swore up and down that he would die, he proceeded to spend two very long days locked up in his room. He jammed his earbuds tightly into his ears though no music played; he was just desperate to block out the noise, adding a pillow over his head and wishing — praying — that the world would go quiet.

Before he learned how to control his heightened senses, they controlled him. And it was hell.

This was like that. Only five hundred times worse.

Beeping, whirring, dripping, hissing — the sounds, the smells, the sights — it was all a constant presence. Each beep felt like a screw drilled into his head, the smell of chemicals burned his nose and he couldn’t open his eyes without the lights stabbing into his retinas. He felt as if he could taste the colors in the room, each and every one making him overwhelmingly sick.

He had once told Mr. Stark that his senses were dialed to eleven. This had to be eleven hundred. It wouldn’t stop, it wouldn’t go away.

Peter felt helpless to it all.

“You’re safe now.” The words were his only lifeline. He clung to them, tighter than ever.

Peter jerked awake, or at least jolted in the bed, unsure if he had ever fallen asleep in the first place. His back jostled off the bed and — shit that hurt — the uncomfortable feeling of something up his nose began to bother him. It left a tickle in his nostril that made him want to sneeze.

His hands lazily reached up for it, sloppily attempting to yank on the intrusive tube.

“Don’t touch that, kid.” An exhausted voice slithered into his ears. It was familiar. Safe. “Trust me, you don’t want to pull it out. Been there, done that. It’s not all that fun.”

A painful groan rumbled in his chest, constricted, restricted. His hand reached for his face and callous fingers gripped his, the rough skin coarse against his own. He focused on the feeling. It was better than the persistent fire that lanced up and down his body, shock-waves controlling his every twitch.

The pain came and went in waves, in tides, some moments more pronounced than others. Things were moving. He felt dizzy, like he was floating, spinning around on a fast-moving Tilt-A-Whirl. A sheet of sweat sat on his body, feeling both hot and cold at the same time. The smells were raw, too clean and they set fire into his nostrils, or at least the one open nostril he had. The invading object sliding into his other made him want to throw up every time he dry swallowed.

God, just make it stop.

Memories came back to him in chunks. He was wet at one point. Drowning. Or was that a dream? His dreams blurred together with reality, forming a nightmare he couldn’t escape from. He was never sure if he cried in those dreams or in real life.

"...'m here, sweetie, it’s okay.” He heard May’s reassurance over the piercing machinery around him, soft around his ear. “Cry all you need to, I’m right here.”

Her voice came with a nervous energy, the type of worry that made him anxious. His intuition told him that her being upset was a bad thing, that she shouldn’t be so worried about him. But he wasn’t sure what he could do to fix that.

So he drifted. It was easier that way.

Time passed in scattered moments and Peter wasn’t sure how long each separated from the other. There was a lethargic feeling in his bones, a film behind his eyelids that told him he had been sleeping for a long time, that things weren’t happening all at once. It was the only grounding thing he could feel. Everything else happened in splintered stages.

He went to swallow and the dryness caused him to cough, no saliva resting in his mouth for him to work with. Without warning, the pain he had been feeling flared up to anew. The pounding in his ears went in sync with each beat of his heart, sometimes a steady flutter, other times a frantic throbbing.

“....hh, shh, it’s okay, honey. It’s okay. Here.” Something cold rested on his tongue. At contact he sunk into the mattress of the bed, unaware of how good the wetness felt in his mouth. “There you go, baby. You’re okay.”

His vision came in fragmented pictures, too bright to make out details. The lights burned the shadows out and it felt like his eyes were lagging, like the damaged computer monitor with broken pixels that he once found from the dumpster. He’d make out one thing, one image and it’d freeze on a frame, surrounded by a blistering white light.

It was usually faces.

May. Doctor Banner. Many other people he didn’t know.

Mr. Stark.

“Easy Petey, easy.”

It was always pain that drew him back into awareness. The next time he moved, he let out of a guttural cry. The callous hand found his again, gripping it, tethering him to reality. Though the contact on his skin hurt, causing nerves to scream at the slightest pressure on bruises and broken bones, it also brought comfort.

“You’re safe, Underoo’s. No one’s going to hurt you, not on my watch.”

The voice penetrated any fear he had pullulating inside.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 22: Sweet Sixteen

“I didn’t know he had a knack for photography,” Tony softly stated. “I’ve seen him take photos with his phone but...never anything like this.”

“That’s because he stopped when Ben died.”

Tony froze, his finger mid-swipe when he heard May speak. Almost immediately, his stomach dropped.

“Oh,” he managed.

It was one thing to see photos of Peter and his mother; after all, Tony knew first-hand everything that had happened with the kid’s parents.

Ben, though, was always a subject Peter never wanted to talk about. 

Being that Tony could relate, he never pushed it.

It had always been clear Peter and his uncle were close, even more clear that the wound was still fresh.

But suddenly, looking through the old Instagram photos was less enticing, each holding a story of a much happier boy, one who held more sunshine to offer the world.

“I don’t think he wanted to touch the camera again. Too many memories,” May explained, suddenly hugging herself tightly. “Plus, you know...the whole Spider-Man thing.”

“Right.” Tony cleared his throat, placing the tablet down to sit in his lap. “Maybe we can, uh...we can work on that. I’ve been thinking... it might help if I take a step back. Get him to focus less on the superhero-ing gig and all.”

“Take a step back?” May raised her eyebrows and quickly shook her head. “Uh, that’s not the agreement we had with this, mister.”

Tony looked studiously through the pages of photos down on the screen below him, pretending they interested him when in reality, he simply struggled to find the right response to say.

“I know," was the best he could start with. "But he needs to be a kid again, May. He needs to go back to this stuff, not...galloping around with self-sacrificing suicidal idiots like us.” Tony licked his lips, looking up at her with a dry smirk. “The idiot part applying to them, obviously. The self-sacrificing suicidal part me.”

May couldn’t find it in her to smile at his weak attempt at humor. She gripped her cardigan tighter around herself, sitting up taller in the plush armchair.

“I don’t disagree that he needs to prioritize, Tony. Pick and choose his battles, for sure, get a little better at following curfew, take a few weekends off. But we both know you’ll never be able to rid him entirely of this." May cocked an eyebrow at his insistent need to not look at her. "I’ve spent the better part of this year learning to accept that — you wanted me to accept that. So where’s this all coming from?”

Tony looked down to his lap, barely lifting the Starkpad high enough for her to see over the guardrails of the hospital bed.

“This,” he dryly replied. “He was safer doing this kind of stuff. We’re not going to be the reason—...I’m not going to be the reason he doesn’t get to see his college days. Besides, he’s... he's a teenager. He’ll get over it.”

Tony brushed off the subject with a nonchalance that could only be obtained from having had the conversation multiple times before. Rhodey, Pepper, now May — the latter of which currently stared at him as if he had grown four heads and started speaking a foreign language.

She raised one eyebrow high in the air and squinted her other eye, all while slowly letting go of the tight hold on her cardigan.

“Okay..." May slowly started. “Then can I ask why the sudden change of heart? Why stop him now and not before?”

Tony kept his head bowed, and his eyes focused on the tablet, easily deflecting with a flat-toned statement of, “It’s for the best, May.”

“Mgmmghh...” Peter moaned, his head lolling against the pillows.

While May all but shot up from her chair, Tony kept his head bowed low, lifting only his eyes to make sure everything was okay. Even that proved to be a punch in his gut. They both had very, unfortunately, become accustomed to the occasional abrupt groans and whimpers from Peter.

Still, the timing seemed to mock him, like the kid was listening in on the conversation himself.

“Shhh, shh, you’re okay sweetheart. It’s okay,” May reassured, her voice a low whisper as she brushed Peter’s hair away from his forehead. “Try and go back to sleep, baby. Shh, just sleep.”

It was truly a miracle that Tony bit his tongue and didn’t snap at her. Listening as Peter choked a cry against the cotton of his pillow, seeing as the kid grimaced so hard the oxygen mask resting against his face practically fell down — how the hell was he supposed to ‘just sleep’ like this?

Tony settled on shaking his head, returning his focus on the tablet. It was easier that way; keep his mouth shut and there wouldn’t be a problem.

As he did, May readjusted to a more comfortable position in her chair, all the while keeping one hand on Peter’s forearm.

“You know, losing Ben was hard on him.” May was quiet when she spoke up. Tony almost didn’t hear her, needing to look up and confirm that she did indeed say something. “It changed him, it took something from him.”

She gently caressed Peter’s arm, small circles to avoid the tubes and catheters, and Tony waited patiently for her to continue. He couldn’t help but notice that she seemed to have aged ten years since this whole ordeal started, the lines around her mouth more profound, the bags under her eyes darker.

“But I have to admit, ever since you came into his life — really came into his life, ‘ice cream after his finals’ sort of thing...”

May gave him a look, one that saw past his front and made him vastly uncomfortable.

Tony made a mental note to chastise Happy’s big mouth at a later date.

“He’s been more like himself again. There’s a side to him that’s returned, something I haven’t seen since Ben passed. It’s been nice.”

And then she said what Tony would have paid millions of dollars not to hear.

“He’s been happy with you around.”

Identity Theft │ Chapter 23: Bridge Over Troubled Water

Happy swiped his employee badge to gain access to the compound, the chirp chirp that followed unlocking the door.

“After you,” he insisted, holding it open for May.

She gave him a sloppy salute. “Why thank you, good sir.”

It was early morning by the time they both arrived back at the compound. The sun was rising over the large facility, and the light mocked them in unflattering ways, highlighting the dark bags sitting under their eyes.

May couldn’t be blamed for the entirety of their late-night outing; though she easily spent longer than anticipated digging through Peter’s belongings for what she needed, the drive alone was a couple hours round trip and the spontaneous stop to Happy’s favorite diner only added to their time.

She didn’t mind. It was nice finally seeing something besides the same four walls.

“Are you sure you don’t want to hit up the cafeteria before going back to the infirmary?” Happy asked, as if reading her thoughts. He pointed his thumb behind his back, the two of them already starting to go their separate directions. “If you get there early enough before the SHIELD trainees ran-sack the place, you can get the bagels while they're still fresh out of the oven. ”

“Happy.” May shook her head with a laugh. “I’m good, really. I think I just want to curl up in a chair and take a nice, long nap.”

Happy shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll save you one, just in case.”

His wink didn’t go unnoticed. May chuckled, pulling up the strap of her purse as she walked away.

“And they said chivalry was dead.”

It had been a long enough week that, despite how large the facility was, she now knew the way to areas like the cafeteria and, of course, Peter’s personal quarters. Still, her feet took the same path she had memorized back to the med-bay.

May didn’t have any need to go elsewhere; at least, that’s what she figured at the time.

Happy was half-way down the hall when he spun around, raising his voice to get her attention. “Hey, you wanted all that stuff in Peter’s room with you, right?”

May met his gaze. “Everything but the box,” she called out.

“Well, yeah, of course,” Happy said, remembering the conversation they had over hot coffee and greasy diner food. “I’ll take care of that tomorrow. Good?”

May nodded. “Good. Thanks, Happy.”

She hated leaving his company, but she wasn’t lying when she said that she wanted to sleep — sleep for hours, days if she could. Right now, she’d be grateful for just a nap.

A normal sleep schedule didn’t mean anything anymore, not with Peter here, not as long as he was injured and recovering. Sleeping while the sun rose over the horizon was a mere act of survival, unusual for most but now a necessity for her.

Nurses quietly greeted her as she walked the halls of the infirmary and May waved back, only failing to greet a few when she took the time to throw her hair up into a sloppy bun. She couldn’t remember the last time she had washed it.

The effort was forgotten when she turned the corner that led to Peter’s room, her hands dropping from behind her head and her long, brown hair falling back down with neglect.

She came to a sudden halt, frowning as she looked ahead with a cocked head and perplexed expression.

“Huh.”

May froze at the entryway, not even close enough for the automatic doors to slide open. The glass panels gave a clear sight to what laid inside, or, well — who laid inside.

While it had become normal to see Peter resting, asleep in the hospital bed within the room, seeing Tony lay side-by-side with him, her nephew using the billionaire as his own personal pillow — well, that was...more uncommon.

God, her life had gotten to be so bizarre.

It wasn’t long until she began to chuckle, her shoulders jostling up and shaking down the strap of her purse until she needed to fetch it from the crook of her elbow.

“Alright then,” she murmured to no one in particular.

She realized that after nearly a week in the compound, she’d finally be utilizing space outside of the infirmary. It was a good thing Happy had showed her Peter’s quarters after all.

Maybe it was for the best, she supposed. And not necessarily just for her.

May smiled, pulling out her cell phone and snapping a quick picture of the scene ahead of her. It was a close enough distance that, reviewing the impromptu photo, she could see Peter sleeping soundly against Tony’s chest as the older man used the crown of her nephew’s head for cushion.

It took two taps on her touchscreen to create a text message with the image attached, clicking the recipient she wanted to send it to from her contact list.

The message written was simple.

With the pad of her thumb she hit send, turning around to leave and let the two rest without any interruptions. Walking back through the hallways, she found that there was surprisingly less weight on her shoulders than when she first arrived.

Maybe she would stop and get a bagel after all.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 24: Grounds For Improvement

Tony flashed a hint of a smile, making for the exit and only stopping before the doors would open for him. He spun on his heels with a finger pointed squarely at Peter.

“Rest up, Parker — is that clear? I expect a full recitement of Pi next time I see you.”

The automatic doors slid open with another airy hum. Tony disappeared somewhere out in the hallway, his departure taking with him the ringing of his cell phone. Only his shadow was visible as he stopped somewhere a few feet away, having whipped out his phone to handle business like the busy man Peter knew he was.

Peter looked away from that shadow and back to May with knitted brows. “I...I don’t think I can —”

“He’s joking.” May ran her fingers through his hair with a shake her head. “And no, he’s not very funny. I’m telling you kiddo, the past week with that man has been—”

“Week!?” Peter’s shout fell out of his mouth as a croak, his eyes widening to impressive saucers. “Week? It’s — it’s been a week?”

“Hey hey, calm down,” May stressed, keeping her fingers in his hair and continuing to brush through the curls with slow, soft motions. “A few days, okay? Five, I think. But don’t go freaking out on me. You know I freak out when you freak out.”

Peter could see May had resorted to what she did best — mitigating. Her sloppy bun, over-sized cardigan, and puffy, swollen eyes told him a different story, though.

She had been freaking out, and he hadn’t even been around to witness it.

Even worse — he was the cause of it.

“Sorry. Sorry, sorry, I just...” Peter swallowed thickly, goosebumps fleeing up and down his arm. His hands bunched tightly in the sheets below him. “It’s been...been that long? I...I…”

Peter went to adjust himself again and was crudely reminded that his body did not want to be moved right now. He winced, trying his best to breathe past the pain, despite breathing being the very thing causing the pain.

“I’m so, so sorry, May,” he managed, hands fumbling to adjust the nasal cannula strapped around his face. There was a sudden need to feel the coolness entering his lungs, to believe he was breathing — to believe he was alive.

“Hey, whoa,” May interjected, calm and persuasive. “Why you apologizing?”

Peter bit his lower lip, hesitant to respond.

He always knew two things growing up — Uncle Ben stayed calm, always cool as a cucumber while Aunt May was tough as nails; a strong woman inside and out. He knew that for her to be crying, it had to come with the conjunction of something major.

Losing family. Losing a loved one.

He may not fully remember what happened to him, but Peter knew one thing for certain — an upset May was a bad thing.

“I can’t believe I...that I put you through so much. I put you through this. I — I let this happen, and I promised I’d be careful as Spider-Man and I wasn’t, I messed up — and now you —”

“Okay, take a breath there, bug boy.” May moved her hands to his shoulders, holding her grip firm. “It’s okay, this was way out of your control. I’m not mad. I’m just —”

She interrupted her own words to lean in and kiss him on the cheek, making an audible ‘mhpf!’ sound with it. “I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

Peter kept his head low, staring at the sheets rather than looking at May. Her words of reassurance meant little. Not with her appearance, not with how rattled she looked.

He hadn’t seen her look so rough around the edges since Ben passed.

Peter shifted uneasily, the need to sleep suddenly replaced with an overwhelming desire to hide away. To curl in a ball and let himself mope — cry — for days, weeks, months.

And yet he couldn’t even curl in a ball right if he wanted to. His own body was incapable of even shifting to the side, not without a blinding pain reminding him that he was hurt — that he almost died.

As irrational as the thought was, Peter found himself angry at that. At having that option taken away from him, at having limited movement to his own body. It was foolish, it made no sense — it wasn’t like him to think this way. This wasn’t like him at all.

‘Yeah, well, it’s not like you to get kidnapped and nearly killed either, Parker.' Peter pressed the heels of his hands firmly against his eyes, desperate to keep the burning, unshed tears at bay. 'Way to go on that one.’

God, he really screwed up this time. This was on a whole other playing field from the incident at Times Square, from letting Mysterio steal the chameleon helmet. This was embarrassingly huge — way beyond the Ferry.

Peter had no clue how he was going to prove himself again after this.

“Peter?” May watched him carefully, squeezing her grip. “Talk to me, you’re scaring me.”

He hadn't realized he'd zoned out, again, until May clenched his shoulder with colored nails that dug through the oversized hospital gown he wore. It had begun to slip down the front of his chest, and Peter went to adjust the gown, only to stop halfway there and shake his head with growing frustration.

“I’m just...really upset that I made you worry.” Peter hated hearing his voice waver with weakness, with wet with tears he hadn’t let loose. “I don’t like it when you’re upset.”

If his voice had grown any more quiet, the beeping of machines attached to him would've swallowed the words whole.

May heard, nonetheless. Peter had a feeling she would've heard regardless.

“I’m not upset, sweetie, But I think you are.” May couldn’t have been any softer, her tone delicate — reassuring. Everything Peter didn't realize he desperately needed. “What’s going on? Talk to me, it’s just you and me. Lay it out.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond — insist he was fine, that he was okay.

That there was nothing for May to worry about, that she didn't need to stress out over him.

That he was fine.

Instead, a harsh cry got caught in his throat, strangling his words on their escape.

May sighed. “Oh, honey —”

“I’m f-f-ine,” Peter insisted, his hands flying to his face and covering himself from view. “I’m fin—”

He wished he hadn’t tried to respond in the first place. Like a rubber band pulled back too tight, he found himself snapping — breaking. His cries were loud, smothered only by the palms of his hands.

“I’m s-sorry!” Peter sobbed, as loud as his voice would let him — yet his words muffled in the skin of his own hands. “I’m-sorry-sor —!”

He latched onto May’s voice as she brought him close to her chest, her familiar and old cardigan a grounding feeling against his skin.

“Shh, shh, honey it’s okay,” May cajoled, as if she had been prepared for the moment all along. “It’s okay. Let it out, you're okay."

Identity Theft │ Chapter 26: Building Blocks

“Ms. Parker,” Tony called out.

May shot her head up at the sound, removing one of the two hands she had gripping the gurney’s railings to wave him over.

At first unsure about getting any closer to the scene, Tony managed to wiggle his way through the crowd and stand at the top of the bed where Peter laid. He watched the kid’s hazy brown eyes drift back and forth like a loose ping-pong ball, eyeing the busy activity around with him both wonderment and confusion.

“...wha’s goin’ on?” Peter asked, his voice thick and mildly incoherent.

Tony smirked, following the moving gurney down the hall while May patted her nephew’s arm.

“They already gave him something to help relax him. He’s just a bit confused,” May whispered his way before she turned back to Peter. “You’re fine honey, we’re getting that super uncomfortable metal out of your leg, remember?”

Peter sluggishly blinked. “...’s my leg better?”

“Not quite, tough guy,” May chuckled, rubbing his arm with reassurance. “But Tony has something that’s way more comfortable for you, remember?”

Peter eyed May curiously. “He does?”

She nodded, giving him an encouraging thumbs up.

Peter lazily smiled, the grin all teeth. “...mr. ‘tark ‘s the best.”

May failed at suppressing her laugh, one that Tony hadn’t realized was because of him. It wasn’t until he noticed that his jaw was hanging loose and his openly exposed eyes had widened comically that he moved quickly to recover, looking away to where she couldn’t see him.

Still, May smiled in his direction.

“Yeah,” she softly agreed, walking along the gurney with her eyes set on Tony. “Yeah, he is.”

Tony ducked his head low, realizing that Peter was so out of it he didn’t even know who was standing near the top his head. He stayed quiet as they wheeled the gurney down the halls, only stopping as they came to the double doors that led down into the operating rooms.

May gave his arm one more supportive squeeze before calling out, “I’ll be there when you wake up sweetie, okay?”

Both were almost positive Peter didn’t hear her as they wheeled him away, the gurney eventually disappearing behind automatic doors that slid shut with an air hum.

Tony and May stood side-by-side as they watched through clear-glass doors.

“Helen says that after this he'll have another week in recovery, a few sessions in P.T and then he’ll be good to go.” Tony spared her a glance. “Back in your trustworthy hands once again.”

“Damn,” May cursed with a snap of her fingers. “And here I was getting used to not having to cook every night.”

Tony managed to stifle his laugh and disguise it under a poorly received cough. “You cook every night?”

“Ya know,” May went on to say, folding both her arms over her chest. “It’s amazing how you can follow a recipe to the tee and it still turns out bad.”

Tony kept his walnut date loaf comments to himself, deciding that no matter how carefree the conversation, there was no safety in joking about a woman’s cooking.

Pepper Potts lesson number fifty-six.

“So what's the deal, Tony Stark?” May asked, her tone more easy-going than he had heard in days, her hip playfully swinging into his. “We doing this or not?”

Tony frowned and blinked. “Huh?”

May arched an amused eyebrow, turning on her heels to casually and slowly walk away. Tony matched her pace, no hurry to leave and no other place to be.

"You pawning him back off to me or are we going to manage some poorly structured semblance of support in his life?” May’s question came with a quiet smile.

Tony shrugged, hands reaching deep into his pant pockets. “Be honest May, do you really want me in his life? After all that's happen?”

They walked down the hall together, one slow step after another. And though Tony appreciated her thoughtfulness and persistence — the drawings she gave him still sitting in his workshop as a harsh reminder to keep his pestering anxiety at bay — he couldn’t help but remain a skeptic.

It was in his nature, his blood. Even now, after all they had gone through, it was still easier to run away than stay.

Thankfully there were people like May nearby to put a stop to that. She hummed loudly, with exaggerated consideration.

“I don't know, you could be useful,” she drawled out, blithely. “Besides, I think he listens to you more than he listens to me.”

This time, Tony did laugh. “If that’s the case than I'm deeply disturbed by how little he listens to you.”

“Yeah, well, you know how it is.” May sighed, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “I honestly think it's just a woman thing. Even when Ben was around, he always listened to him more. I think he just needs that fatherly figure in his life, you know?”

Tony stopped suddenly and May cracked a smile, staring down at her shoes.

“God, you are not subtle, are you?” His smile bled out the bite in his words and May finally looked at him, losing her composure just as she thought she would.

“Tell you what,” she managed around the chuckling. “I’ll make an agreement with you.”

Tony bit his lower lip somewhat comically. “Mhmm, I’m not allowed to make those without Pepper around to pre-approve.”

May gave a half-roll of her eyes.

“You keep him protected, the best that you can — unforeseen circumstances aside, and I have no problems letting him continue...whatever this is.” May pointed a finger in the air. “On one condition.”

Tony arched his eyebrow expectantly, waiting for her to finish.

The finger she held up changed directions, gesturing emphatically towards his chest. “You are responsible for buying his backpacks from this point forward.”

Tony was momentarily stunned.

“That's...it?”

She gave a curt nod. “That's it.”

For a moment, he was at a loss for words. All things considered, her request was on the very bottom of things he’d consider unreasonable. Here he was ready and willing to get the kid a full ride through college — who was he kidding, he was still planning to do that, MIT or not. And all she wanted was a few school supplies?

Consider him getting off easy.

“Okay then,” he finally answered, hand extended out to her. “Shake on it, Mrs. Parker?”

She unwrapped her arms from around her waist, giving him a firm handshake that he accepted, patting the cusp of her elbow in return. Not even a few seconds later and they resumed their leisurely walk down the corridor.

Identity Theft │ Chapter 27: Growing Pains

“You going to put that down anytime soon?”

Peter peered over his phone to look at May. He blinked twice, not realizing how dry his eyes had become, stars dancing in his vision from the sun blasting through the window ahead.

Slowly he could make out May’s figure, bent over and stuffing items into her purse.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly apologized. “There’s so much I have to catch up on!”

“Uh-huh,” May hummed, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’m sure the nerd clique is just bustling with activity.”

Peter gaped, feigning melodramatic offense. “Hey!”

“Put it down soon, mister.” May wagged a finger at him. “You’re here to rest.”

“I am resting!” Peter defended, gesturing to the bed he laid in and the blankets covering him. He hadn’t even moved from the curled up position on his good side — the painful lesson of not messing with his right side one he wouldn’t forget anytime soon — practically wrapped like a burrito in the softest blankest he’d ever had granted the pleasure of using.

“Don’t get smart with me, tough guy,” May jokingly threatened, a lighthearted laugh in her tone. “Or I’ll take that phone with me on my way out to work.”

The smell of coffee hit his nostrils before the doors to the infirmary room even slid open. Peter was a hairsbreadth away from letting May know that Mr. Stark was arriving when — woosh — the man already strolling into the room.

Damn, his senses really weren’t up to par lately.

“Mhmm, smells like teenage discipline in here,” Tony greeted, handing May one of the two styrofoam cups he had in his hands. “One for the road. What’s going on with the pip-squeak?”

“Thank you,” she replied easily, as if it was a common experience to have a billionaire hand her coffee — which for all Peter knew had become the norm for her, what with a missing week in his life having gone by. She nodded her head over in Peter’s direction. “Gave him his phone back this morning. He hasn’t put it down since.”

Peter frowned, head jerking back at offense to May’s tattle-telling.

Tony crossed the room, taking a sip of his coffee as he passed by Peter’s bed. Or at least that’s what Peter assumed, half his face being pleasantly smooshed into his pillows.

“Listen to Aunt Hottie, kid. Or I’ll take the phone away myself,” he warned.

“Pssh,” Peter muttered, eyes locked on the screen of his device. “No you won’t.”

A large hand dipped into his frame of vision, snatching the phone right out of his grip.

Peter gawked, staring at his fingers that gripped only air. He looked up, seeing Tony walking away with the device and pocketing it into his blazer.

Did that just…? He spared a glance to May, who seemed equally humored, doing a poor job at hiding her laugh behind a clearly fake cough.

“Oh, damn.” Peter sat up straighter in bed, smiling ear-to-ear. “It gotta be like that?"

Tony snorted humorlessly, smacking the side of Peter’s leg lightly with the back of his hand.

Peter watched him head for the recliner chair nearby with a blank expression, worried for a moment that he may have said something wrong. Normally Mr. Stark was quick to engage in witty banter with him, always one to throw it back faster than he received it. This time though, he kept any wisecracks to himself, wordlessly opening the laptop he kept in the room and filling the silence with clickclickclicks of the mouse and keyboard.

Peter looked away, slowly but surely adjusting himself in bed so that he was sitting up. First and foremost, he gave himself a pat on the back for not crying like a baby in front of Mr. Stark when he moved, because damn that still hurt. Moving still equaled pain. Noted.

As Tony typed away on his laptop, Peter convinced himself that he had to be busy — he had stuff to do. He was Tony Stark. He really needed to stop taking everything so personally. 

“Alright sweetie,” May cut through his running-rampant thoughts. “I’ll be back later tonight. Behave.”

“Yeah,” Peter snorted, rolling his eyes. “Cause there’s so much trouble I can get into here.”

She stopped on her way to the doors, shooting him a glare that had him sinking against the cushions of his bed. “Mouth. Watch it.”

Tony let out a noticeable chuckle from his position across the room.

May shot him the same glare, an added finger wagging toward him thrown in the mix. “Don’t even, I think he gets some of it from you.”

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 1: Prologue

“Hey, May!?” Peter shouted — already in a sitting position on his bed, phone discarded at his hip.

Within a few seconds, May had popped her head in-between the door, shouting back,

“Hey, Peter!?”

“Whoa.” Peter cringed, one hand rubbing tenderly and dramatically at his ear. “Loud much?”

May cocked her head to the side, the smile in her eyes giving away her faux serious posture.

“I’m literally in the kitchen,” she sassed back, one hand smugly resting against her hip while a dishtowel dangled in the other. “You didn’t need to yell for me.”

“Right, right.” Peter nodded too many times for his own good, following up with, “Hey, do we have any tools to fix the bathroom sink? I can hear it dripping from my bedroom.”

May gave an incredulous laugh. “Of all the things those super-duper ears pick up on and that’s what’s bothering you right now? Didn’t you once mention that the Johnson's in 3.B play M.A.S.H about —”

“Five hundred times a day and yes, someone needs to introduce them to something new!” Peter gestured to the wall of his bedroom, arm extended fully. “Of all the amazing things Netflix and Hulu have to offer and they insist on playing those reruns day in and day out. It’s driving me insane.”

“You can’t beat the classics,” May said, grinning at his over-the-top theatrics, eye-roll included. “And regarding the sink, just fix it yourself. You know...”

She gestured her hands in a twisting motion — like she was tightening a pipe.

“Yeah..” Peter drawled out, inwardly cringing, “last time I did I...sorta broke the kitchen sink?”

May froze and her eyes squinted with realization. “So that’s how that happened.”

Sitting on his bed, Peter smiled sheepishly, somehow managing to make himself seem two times smaller than his physique actually allowed him to be.

“I’ll call the landlord," May wagged the dishtowel in his direction, "see what he can do.”

Peter's nod was enough acknowledgment for them both. May turned on her heels to leave, barely two steps out the door when she spun back around, the kitchen towel waving at the movement.

“Hey — last day of summer vacation. Any big plans?”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t think so. Mr. Stark’s road trip was enough, ya know?”

His eyes drifted to his phone, laying by his hip, face down across the ruffled blankets and sheets of his twin bed. The last stream of text messages from Ned stood out fresh in his mind.

“But there is this party —”

“You should go!”

Peter shot his head back to her with wide eyes and an expression so wild May nearly doubled over laughing. He couldn’t help it, beyond confused — practically bewildered at her uncanny encouragement to attend some random teenage party. Which, now that he thought about it, was a common experience before knowing about Spider-Man.

Things definitely changed after Homecoming though, even tenfold after his whole ‘death fake-out' four months ago. Some days he was still surprised she let him on the trip with Mr. Stark, though he was sure some smooth-talking was likely had before a yes was even given.

“I feel like you have an alternative motive here,” he managed to squeak out. “You know, Ned’s mom is taking him out for dinner —”

May threw the dishtowel at him. “Well I’m not Ned’s mother and you know I can’t stand that woman so why would you compare me to her?”

Peter laughed, catching the dirty rag before it could land on his face. He tossed it right back at her. “I’m just saying. Feeling a bit kicked out here.”

May softened, leaning against his door frame with a warm smile. Her demeanor seemed to change all at once, her shoulders dropping, her fingers fidgeting with the seams of the dishtowel.

Peter hated when she looked at him that way, her face conveying a sort of sympathy for all he had been through. It only reminded him that she’d been through so much herself, more than she needed to with him dragging her along for this crazy superhero ride.

At the same time, he didn’t know what he’d do without her.

“Seriously, go have some fun,” May stressed, lighthearted with encouragement. “You had a rough spring, you deserve to end the summer with a bang. Hey, I’ll even drive you there.”

Peter picked up his cell phone, tossing it between both hands as he stared ahead at nothing. If he was completely honest with May, he didn’t have much of a desire to go. Ned wouldn’t be there, he still got odd feelings when he was around MJ, and it was Flash’s party — which just meant all sorts of yucky things.

But the suitcase on the floor was still open with clothes needing to be put away.

“Actually...” Peter felt a grin pulling at his lips. “I might be able to catch a ride.”

May gave him a corny thumbs up and Peter stopped tossing his phone like a ping-pong ball.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 9: Gray Area

“Something tells me this brunch isn’t going to be all curfew talk,” she said, only briefly looking away once realizing a couple seated at the table nearby were gawking at them both.

Beneath his sunglasses, Tony rolled his eyes. The momentary distraction didn’t last long, the waiter of whom he had slipped a few hundred dollars quickly addressing the situation and saving them any headache. It had become as routine as his monthly brunches with May.

In fact, he was pretty sure that he had paid for the new shoes the waiter was wearing. Interesting choice in what to spend the extraneous tip money on. Tony would have gone for a savings or stock, but that was neither here nor there and —

He sighed, running his hand through his goatee. His mind always wandered when avoiding problems he didn’t want to deal with.

“Has Peter talked to you at all since Sunday?” Tony abruptly asked, looking at his water and pessimistically wishing it was something slightly stronger. Sobriety and him were still an ongoing tango most days.

May paused at the question, looking away with thoughtful consideration. Ultimately, she shook her head.

“I’m lucky to see him grab a frozen waffle on the way out of the door,” she chuckled slightly. “Still frozen. Boy rolls right out of bed, doesn’t give himself any time to throw something in the toaster. It’s truly amazing how he’s not all skin and bones.”

Despite her attempt at lightening the mood, Tony’s somber expression didn’t change. He continued to graze his fingers through the prickle hair of his goatee, his sunglasses unable to hide his far-off stare.

May frowned, her eyebrows dipping with concern. “What happened?”

The persistent tapping of his Louis Vuitton dress shoes filled the pause between them. The same dress shoes the waiter wore, walking by to fill his glass of water on the table. Tony squinted one eye, distantly wondering if it was a flattery thing or if the college-aged boy just wanted to buy the most expensive item he could get his hands on.

Distraction. Right.

Tony cleared his throat a few times, briefly considering taking a sip of his drink before deciding to just rip off the band-aid.

“We got into an argument,” he grudgingly admitted.

May’s demeanor softened almost immediately. She waved him off with a half-hearted smile.

“I told you not to let him eat whatever he wants. He gets irritable and gassy and —”

“He had a panic attack.”

May’s face dropped.

“What?” her words were practically spoken in a breath, confusion speaking volumes.

Tony sighed, shrugging with such force that his sunglasses slipped a little further down his nose. He didn’t reach to move them up.

“He’s...expectantly denying it now.” Tony scratched at his cheek, focusing on the sights from within the cafe as opposed to where May was seated. Somehow, it was easier to watch barista’s inside fumble with making a late. “But he did. Have one.”

It was the most he could manage without feeling uncomfortable, or more uncomfortable than what he already felt. Despite having a good four monthly ‘Co-parenting Catch-ups’ under their belt, Tony had yet to encounter a time where he and May needed to discuss something beyond surface level.

Grades, curfews, not to mention pushing her to allow him responsibility for the cost of school tuition and the likes that came with it — their conversations had yet to reach a level quite this deep.

He looked down at his glass of water. Sobriety be damned, he officially regretted not getting a cocktail himself.

May appeared to have trouble letting the information sink in, her face twisting and contorting without ever settling on one specific emotion or the other.

“Are you sure —”

“Yeah,” Tony interrupted, straightening in his chair with faux pose. “I’m kinda the expert. Know one to call one, and all.”

May sat on the news. Though she seemed surprisingly less startled than Tony had expected to be, her moment of reflection hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“That’s strange.” She raised her glass to her lips, the action of her swallowing visible, followed by another mouthful done only to buy herself time. “He hasn’t mentioned that at all.”

Tony nodded. “Not surprised. I want to say he’s embarrassed — hell, I know he’s embarrassed. Stormed out on me, started ignoring my texts, won’t even give Happy much time of day. And you know something’s up when Happy’s questioning why the kid isn’t nagging him.”

It was going on four days, and as of five minutes ago, there was only one text message conversation between them. This was the same kid who spammed Tony’s phone with ridiculous questions and memes at all times of the day.

Now, radio silence.

The entire incident still seemed to boggle Tony’s mind. He wanted to think that it wasn’t like Peter to behave that way, that something had gotten into him recently to provoke such an outburst. But the further he looked back, the more he realized the signs were building up.

The kid was pissed a few weekends back when he'd been grounded.

And the panic attack — well, he had been waiting for that since the moment they rescued the kid from drowning waters.

“What was it about?”

Tony looked up, caught off guard. “Huh?”

May crossed her legs, making sure not to bump into the small metal table between them.

“The fight,” she specified.

Tony pointed a finger her way. “Argument —”

“I know you, Stark,” May said, the smile on her lips breaking any tension from her words. “It was a fight. Deets, now.”

Tony audibly groaned, rubbing at his forehead with his index finger and thumb, his eyes tightly pinched shut.

“Oh god, you talk like one of them.” He gestured his hand out to nothing in particular. “Is this contagious? Will I be next? Should I forewarn Pepper — oh God, don’t tell me I’ll pass it onto her. I cannot have a forty-three-year-old woman representing the company who talks like some Gen Z tween. Our stocks will tank.”

Tony cracked one eye open, not the least bit surprised to see May staring him down, the brown strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face somehow making her seem more intimidating. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Pepper was giving her lessons on the side.

Not fair. As if his fiancée wasn’t difficult enough to handle on her own.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 10: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Without another thought, Peter stood up from the couch. “Am I grounded?”

“What?” May blinked, and then blinked again. “I — I don’t know —”

“I want to go to my room,” Peter quickly interrupted, his voice growing flat. “Can I please go to my room?”

May stared at him for the longest time, as if searching for something that he knew she wouldn’t find. Maybe she was looking for a reason for his attitude, in which case he had no answer to give her. Perhaps it was a resolution to their bickering, which he knew wouldn’t come anytime soon.

And from the looks of it, she knew it wasn’t happening either.

Ultimately she caved, waving her hand down the hall while the other reached for her discarded cell phone.

“Okay, fine. I need to call Tony anyway.”

Peter’s knees buckled.

“What? Wait, no, why?” he panicked, almost diving for her cell phone before quickly realizing how incredibly stupid that would have been. “May, don’t tell Mr. Stark about this, please. I’ll – I’ll stay home this weekend, you can ground me, whatever you want. Please, just leave him out of this.”

May held tightly onto her phone, stunned at Peter’s outburst, at how red his cheeks had grown in a second’s time.

“Why? Peter, he wants to be involved —”

“Him being involved is exactly what caused this!” Peter’s throat started to burn, growing hoarse with each word that cracked and broke in pitch. He suddenly felt lightheaded, dizziness nearly stealing his balance. “People keep thinking he’s my dad — even you’re treating him like he’s my dad! He’s Mr. Stark, he doesn’t need to know about this! It wasn’t even a fight, it was nothing, really! I’ll go to detention, I’ll do what I have to do, it’s fine — just don’t tell him about this!”

May sat quietly during Peter’s explosion, patient as she waited for him to finish. Only once the detonation of his frustration began to clear away, only when he finally took a moment to let his chest heave in the air he so desperately needed, did she finally speak up.

“You know, he’s worried about you.”

Her calm did nothing to off-put his agitation.

“Yeah, because he’s freaking out over everything I do lately!” Peter could feel his arms begin to tremble as his anger boiled over, unearthed from his gut, quick to temper. “You can’t tell him about this, he’s just going to flip out —”

“He thinks you’re acting strange.” May was the one to interrupt this time, steadier than he expected her to be. “And I’m inclined to agree.”

“Mr. Stark doesn’t know what’s going on,” Peter stressed each word, dragged on each syllable. “May, please —”

“If he doesn’t know what’s going on,” May folded her arms across her chest, “then tell me.”

Peter spun around, unable to face his aunt anymore, worried that the tremble in his hands would lead to a hole in the drywall straight ahead of him.

“Nothing is going on, I’m fine —!”

“Cut the bullshit!”

Everything in Peter froze. His breath halted in his chest, his mouth ran dry. And as quickly as May stood up from the couch, she stormed over towards him, her heels dangerously forceful against the floor.

“I know you’re not sleeping. I know you’re not eating,” May’s voice was cold, steely. “I know that you passed out last weekend at the compound. That’s not fine!”

Peter blinked rapidly; whether it was to urge unshed tears back in their place or digest what May had said, he didn’t know.

He didn’t know what to say.

He vaguely realized May was staring at him, hugging herself tightly. Yet the corners of his vision were growing dim again, shadows invading the room. A darkening gray veiled his eyesight in a way that didn’t feel right, didn’t feel normal.

“Talk to me, Peter,” she begged him, a shuddering breath conveying a fierce concern that consumed her. “If what happened back...if it’s bothering you —”

Peter jolted away from May before her touch could reach him.

“It’s not!” His shout was sudden, grating, like a needle digging underneath his skin. “Why are you saying that? Why does everyone insist on bringing that up?! It’s not bothering me, I don’t care, and I don’t want to talk about it!”

If May had anything to say, Peter didn’t give her the time to respond. He stormed past her, each step he took pounding with the anger that flooded through his core, practically shaking the walls and picture frames where they were hung.

“I don’t need to talk about it! It happened, and it’s over. Why is nobody else just happy that it’s...over!?”

Peter stopped halfway to his room, suddenly grabbing hysterically at the roots of his hair, pulling so hard May could see his knuckles grow white — even from where she stood down the hall.

“And why is the bathroom sink STILL LEAKING!?”

Peter’s scream was only drowned out by the slamming of his bedroom door.

The wood near the hinges cracked and splintered.

It left an echo that swept through the apartment.

May stayed standing in the living room, unmoving, aghast to the moment that just occurred.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 13: Into The Abyss

Buzzzz.

Buzzbuzzzzz.

Buzzbuzzzbuzzz.

Buzz.

Buzzbuzzbuzzz —

“...wha the…?” Peter scrunched his face into something tight, rolling onto his side with a groan louder than the noisy streets of Queens that could be heard through his bedroom walls.

With one hand and both eyes closed, he blindly reached out to stop the persistent vibrating clattering against his dresser. It was annoying, going off every second, buzzing like a bee on steroids. Not to mention the sheer volume of how loud it was, piercing through his eardrums like a hot, scolding knife. His head ached something fierce, pounding ruthlessly from his hairline down into his neck.

It was official. He slept like shit last night.

Finally grabbing hold of his phone, Peter pressed his thumb hard on the mute button before he clumsily brought it into bed with him. In the process, his arm knocked down two plastic water bottles, a small desk fan that ran on high, and an old hard disk drive he found the other week in the dumpsters by Brooklyn.

There was no attempt made to clean up the clutter.

Peter flopped onto his back, wincing as even his bedsprings squeaked and rattled. The pull of sleep was tempting; he didn’t want to even open his eyes. An all-consuming urge to forget the day and call it a loss was every bit as overwhelming and enticing as it could get.

Buzzbuzzzzz —

“Oh my — ugh!”

So much for that.

One balled fist rubbed harshly at his eyes, wiping eye crust away until he saw dancing flares where there should only be darkness. A moment later and Peter peaked an eyelid open, testing the waters before doing the same on the other side.

His room was barely lit, dim, and shadowy without the use of artificial lamps. The soft glow of a fading sun was the only light seeping through his bedroom window.

It was still sunrise? Peter furrowed his brows. He didn’t remember going to sleep til late, long after Happy dropped him off and way past midnight. Sure, it wasn’t like he expected a good night’s rest, certainly not after what happened yesterday —

The thought stirred a sharp cramp in his stomach, his skin growing hot with a flush of sweat. The memory came bombarding back to him like a broken dam releasing floodwaters.

Yesterday.

Shit.

Peter shook the thought off. Still. Surely he should’ve gotten more than a couple of hours of sleep, regardless of what happened.

As his eyes came into focus, so did the yellow sticky note taped to the upper bunk of his bed, directly in his eye-line. Peter didn’t even bother reaching for it, reading it exactly where it had been placed.

"Sleep. You earned a day of laziness.

Pizza money on the counter. Working a double at the shelter tonight.

Please don’t beat yourself up. I know you’re upset.

We’ll talk later.

Promise.

Love love love LOVE you,

May."

Peter scanned the note, and then again, reading it until his groggy mind could comprehend what he was seeing and the words made sense.

Not a second later, and he tore it off from the bunk, crumbling it into a crinkled, messy ball.

Promise. Peter huffed, slowly sitting up on his bed until his back hit the wall with a thud. What good anyone’s promises did these days.

He leaned his head back until it pressed flush against the drywall, gently, careful not to aggravate his already pre-imploding skull. One wrong move and he was afraid the bomb rattling near his brain would explode. Both hands pushed back his hair, greasy at the roots and in major need of a shower.

None of this would have happened if May had just kept her promise. Peter set his jaw; this was exactly why he didn’t want Mr. Stark to know about the fight with Flash, about every single detail in his life. It always caused trouble, it always blew up into something way bigger than it needed to be.

And now...

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 16: Web of Lies and Deceit

“Talk to me. Please.” May begged, her voice cracking at the edges. “It’s just you and me here, no one else. It stays between us, it...it…”

The words froze Peter for a moment — brain, mouth, all the way down to his fidgeting fingers that locked up, bent at crude angles. His eyes crept over to May, lips still moving, still speaking.

“I need to know, Peter,” she finished with a shaking breath. “I mean it. Just you and me.”

Peter blinked. He stared at May, straight on, his gaze turning cold and steely. A razor-deep spike tore straight into him, without warning, with no caution.

If it was anger he felt, it was incapacitating; crushing any deliberate and clear thought he once had. All consuming, beyond the control of his unsteady, decrepit attempts at suppression.

“If I tell you anything, you’re just going to tell Mr. Stark.” His words sounded painful, and jarring – as he if were forcing them out of a throat that just refused to corporate.

May seemed taken aback. “Peter, I’m not —”

“You’ve been doing it all year!”

The shout tumbled out of his mouth, hitting the walls at full force — and May, who’s eyes had grown wider than the glasses on her face.

“Every time — every time we talk, you go and tell Mr. Stark. Every time!” Peter’s tongue dripped with disdain, his spine taunt with indignance. “I can’t tell him anything myself because you’ve already told him! I get bad grades, he knows. I get in a fight, he knows! I swear if I stay up too late he knows that too! Ever since that stuff happened months ago, it’s like you two don’t trust me to do anything anymore! You two are constantly looking over my shoulder like at any moment I’ll be snatched up, like — like I won’t be able to do anything about it and I can — I can protect myself, I can!”

Peter swallowed thickly, his throat raw, chafed. Feeling as if he had ripped apart his vocal cords with a yell that was foreign to his own ears. The outburst hit like an erupting volcano, destructive, devastating everything in its path.

His heart hammered against his ribs, his chest heaving desperately. Urgently sucking in a breath he’d wasted in a moment that made him dizzy, abruptly too light on his feet.

May stared at him, stunned and stuttering.

“I — I know that sweetie…” she tried, suddenly quiet, timid. “I — we never meant to make you feel like you were —”

“See? It’s we,” Peter croaked, stomping forward, barely noticing May instinctively take a few steps back. “You have to include him in everything, even when he’s not here!”

She shook her head, the crease between her forehead deepening. “Peter, what is your problem with Tony all of a sudden?”

“Nothing!” The crack in his voice did little to help his case. “My problem is you constantly involving him with everything in my life! I don’t need him to know everything, I don’t need him for everything — I did just fine before him!”

May opened her mouth to respond, but faltered. Her lips clamped shut a moment later, her eyes wildly looking Peter up and down, the grip on her cardigan growing so tight that her knuckles were turning pale.

“I thought...we thought you wanted that. I thought —”

“Not like this!” Peter’s shout thundered across the living room, and this time, he did notice May backing away from him. Somehow, it only added to his outrage, fuel to the firing pit of anger that simmered hot in his veins.

May shook her head, viciously, her expression growing stern.

“You can’t just pick the good things for people to hear, Peter,” she insisted. “If you want Tony in your life, he has to hear about the bad stuff too. That’s just how it works.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Peter firmly, coldly, insisted. “Not if you don’t tell him! Not if —”

“That’s not how it works —”

“Will you just let me talk!?”

A breath of air stuttered in Peter’s chest, oxygen suddenly too hard to come by. The feeling seemed to be reciprocal; May stilled, frozen in the wake of his outburst.

Peter swore, just for a moment — a fleeting second that passed by too quickly — that his vision went dark and his ears grew deaf. The brutal rage seeping through his very being coursed on like a rampage, dismantling him in ways that should have otherwise frightened him no different than before.

But the anger felt good. It felt better than the fear, better than the panic. He held onto it, unknowingly, clinging to the renewed energy it provided.

The breath caught in his chest escaped through gritted teeth. Peter set his jaw tight.

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice began to sound rough, abused. It almost didn’t sound like him, laced with so much untapped emotion that he was losing track of what there was to be angry about. “If I tell you, you’ll go running back to tell him. And then he’ll be on my case, and so will you, and no one will actually listen to what I have to say so what’s the point!?”

The only response to his yell was the dog barking across the hall.

Weeks of resentment had snowballed too big, built up a boil that had split over the pot and drenched the floor. Peter couldn’t help raising his voice, he didn’t care that his shouting had disturbed the neighbors and their pet.

It felt good to let it out. Like scratching an itch, like water that was too hot against sore skin.

It felt wrongfully good.

“Peter…” May slowly started, cautious to keep distance between them. “If I tell Tony anything, trust me — it’s for your own good. I swear, sweetie, I…” her voice grew quiet, close to impossible to hear. “I swear on...on Ben’s life. It’s only to help you.”

If the sound of his uncle’s name didn’t break him, the look on May’s face did.

Peter flinched, though he failed to realize it in the moment. He blinked, once and then again, realizing his eyes were suddenly burning with the fire he’d felt surging through his veins.

A chill swept over him.

Suddenly, he was tired.

Really, really tired.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Peter found himself muttering, unable to look anywhere but the top corner of the apartment, far away from his aunt and the tears that glossed over her eyes. Right alongside his own.

He didn’t want to fight anymore.

He didn’t want to have to lie anymore.

He just…

Peter rubbed two tightly closed fists against his eyes, pushing against his face until it hurt. He just wanted to forget any of this happened — go to sleep and figure it out tomorrow.

“Please, Peter…” May breathed deeply, frustrated and yet somehow something more. “Talk to me. Say something, anything — please.”

It was impossible to ignore the wetness that coated May’s plea, the raw sorrow that filled an otherwise cold and tense living room.

Peter scrubbed harder at his face, the fabric of his hoodie scraping into his skin.

He needed help, right?

Could May help?

Or wait, no...someone else was helping him. He didn’t need anyone else’s help.

Right?

He was confused. It was too hard to think, he was suddenly too tired to make sense of it all. Peter couldn’t remember what was what, exhaustion making it impossible to do anything but push his legs forward, his body absentmindedly heading right towards his bedroom.

“I’ve got nothing to tell you,” he mumbled, struggling to keep his knees from buckling as he dragged his feet across the hallway. “I’m fine. Really.”

He barely got halfway there before May spun towards him.

“Hey!” she shouted, sniffing hard past the tears, folding her arms tightly over her chest. “I’m not done talking to you, mister!”

Peter spun around, throwing his arms in the air. “Yeah? Well, I’m done, okay?”

There was no more heat to his voice, no more anger in his tone. The fury that lit him ablaze had quickly been smothered, extinguished to nothing but soot and smog.

Peter turned back around, his hand already on the doorknob to his bedroom when May spoke again.

“Peter!”

He went to respond — he wanted to say something, he really did. A crippling yell was on the tip of his tongue, his throat already constricted with a shout that burned in his belly.

But something clenched deep in his stomach, and his head fell til his chin touched his chest, swaying tremendously with vertigo that threatened his balance. Energy had all been but sucked away from every inch of his body.

Peter stayed quiet, stayed in place. Never once tried to search for his voice, never tried to turn and face his aunt. His back stayed facing her, even as her quiet sniffs made it abundantly clear that she was long past holding in her tears.

“The super came by this morning,” May managed to say, clearing her throat with a wet sound before speaking again. “He fixed that leaking pipe. The one that had been bothering you so much.”

Peter’s grip on the doorknob tightened as his eyes closed, and for a moment that felt like five lifetimes, he didn’t move.

Without warning, a wave of everything came crashing down on him. The guilt was paralyzing, and he let himself feel it — feel everything he was doing wrong, had done wrong — all of it.

It wasn’t right. No matter how right it felt, it wasn’t right.

That needed to change. With or without help.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 22: Welcome to Wakanda

Tony sighed, moving his hand off Peter’s knee and resting it on his own.

“While we’re on this little honesty escapade...I didn’t just pull the security footage from your school after the attack on your principal. I had access to it from the get-go.” Tony let his chest expand before he returned his attention to Peter. “Last year, after your whole...Vulture incident, I tied FRIDAY into the cameras on your campus. Last headache either of us need is anything Spider-Man related being tied back to some high-school in Midtown. This way, I’d have first-dibs on the footage, and I’d be able to safely tuck it away before your guidance counselor could lecture you on your questionable after-school activities.”

Peter frowned. Not mad, surprisingly, especially considering how angry he’d been at Mr. Stark’s apparent ‘spying’ as of late. It was more taken aback than anything else.

“Oh. O-okay,” he articulately managed. His fingers began to fidget with the seams of his sweatshirt. It didn’t feel like spying. It felt more like the Baby Monitor Protocol, than anything else. Annoying, but somehow helpful. “That’s...yeah, that’s – that’s fine. That’s...thanks. Thanks, that helps me. I think.”

Tony scoffed.

“Oh trust me, it does. For the love of God, you need to stop jumping out five-story-windows at your school. You’re bound to give some middle-aged calculus teacher a heart attack. And learn to tuck the suit inside the backpack if you insist on carrying it around with you.” Tony dryly said, before his voice softened. So much so that he almost sounded sad. “But the camera access is also how I found out about your fight with the Flash kid.”

Just like that, Peter’ face fell flat.

His heart didn’t stop — it couldn’t have, not according to the monitors stuck to his chest.

“...what?”

 But it sure as hell felt like it did. 

His back stood up straighter than a stiff board.

That meant —

“It wasn’t May,” Tony admitted. “She didn’t break her promise to you. She didn’t tell me anything. Actually, she called me that night and chewed me a new asshole for invading your privacy. Which I yielded to. I’ve said it once before, I’ll take a hit to my pride and say it again. I overstepped my boundaries. You don’t need me watching over your back —”

“May didn’t tell you?” 

Peter’s ears were ringing. He wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to find out someone had set off a grenade in the Quinjet. Especially one that exploded right into his face. 

Because he didn’t catch a single word Tony said after the initial confession. 

He didn’t hear anything past ‘it wasn’t May.’

Tony gave a curt nod, but all Peter saw were his lips moving. 

“She didn’t say a word.” 

Peter visibly gulped.

It wasn’t May.

All he could hear was ringing.

“I know I’ve been overbearing. Rhodey’s always telling me I go one extreme or the other.” Tony kept talking. Peter didn’t register any of it. “Hell, here I am telling you to stick to the gray area but I can’t do it myself. Walking hypocrisy, thou be my name. I’m just trying to do right by you. I worry about you, kid, and —”

“Where’s my phone?”

The abrupt question — demand? Tony furrowed his brows. It came so suddenly, without warning, that he almost gave himself whiplash looking towards Peter.

“What?” Tony cocked his head to the side. “Come again?”

Any color that had managed to liven Peter’s skin quickly drained away, his complexion growing as pale as the white clouds outside the jet. It was unsettling how fast his cheeks grew ashen. A corpses gray. 

Tony noticed. 

He immediately didn’t like what he saw.

“Where’s my phone?” Peter asked again. He hastily — frantically — struggled to sit up on the cot, failing more times than not. “I need to call May.  Right now. I need to — Mr. Stark, I need my phone. Now.”

Peter swung his legs over the edge of the bed with force, planting them on the ground with a thud that startled Bruce. He briefly glanced at Tony, the look not returned. 

No, Tony was far too busy eyeing Peter up and down. Wondering where the hell this burst of energy was when they needed it back at the compound. It would’ve been far more useful on their escape route to the hanger bay, that was for certain. 

“Pete, it’s…” Tony’s frown deepened and he sighed, offering Peter the most apologetic look he could scrounger up. “I can’t do that, bud.”

“Why not?” Peter went to stand up. He didn’t get very far.

Tony quirked an eyebrow.

“Because I’m pretty sure May would rather you wait than deal with the roaming charges that come with a phone call across the Atlantic ocean.” He inched over on the cot, nearing closer to where Peter sat. One hand outward as if to catch the kid from falling flat on his face. “Listen, you don’t need to worry about this right now. I spoke with her not long ago. She’s —”

“I need to speak with her.” Peter turned to Tony and glared, beads of sweat beginning to glisten across his skin. The temperature in the jet hadn’t changed. Tony would’ve been the first to know. “Do you, or do you not have my phone?”

Both hands gripping the nearest monitor, Bruce stared at Tony, his thumb mid-push on a button that remained untouched. 

Tony barely gave him a courtesy glance. 

They were both thinking the same thing. Neither were in a hurry to acknowledge it.

“Yes, but —”

“I need it.” Peter wasn’t asking, and the look on his face wasn’t the cranky, pouty type of look Tony normally saw when he wanted something. It was a scowl. A heated, fervent glare. “Please. I need to talk to her. Where are you keeping it? Where are you hiding it? Where —?” 

“Whoa, whoa, okay, take a breath there, kiddo.” Tony went to lay a hand on Peter’s knee. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Peter threw that hand back. “Hey! It’s okay. I’m not hiding your phone. It’s somewhere safe, you have my word. You also have my word that I already talked to May. She’s in the loop. She’s not upset, she’s —”

“You don’t know that!” Peter’s shout quaked his body, and damn near the foundation of the jet. “You don’t know her like I do! You don’t — you don’t understand, Mr. Stark. You don’t know what happened, you don’t — you have to give me my phone. You have to let me call her.”

Bruce was definitely staring at them now, and Tony had no doubt the others upfront were as well. Surely questioning what the hell was going on.

They weren’t alone.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 33: Comes Great Responsibility

Peter ran the back of his hand across his face, smearing away her wet mark with his knuckles as his smile slowly, but steadily, began to drop a bit.

“I, uhm…” he cleared his throat, timidly, looking into the kitchen if only to avoid looking at his aunt. “I also met with Principal Morita. After school.”

May raised both her eyebrows.

“Oh?” The dishtowel began to slip down her shoulder and she reached for it, putting it back in place.

Peter delayed on any immediate response; the pot on the stove made gurgling noises that filled the place of any words he would’ve said. The sauce inside splashed in little bits, and he watched as it splattered the lid that covered the top, keeping the contents inside where it all belonged.

“He’s doing a lot better,” Peter finally settled on saying, a nod following suit. And he kept nodding, the bounce of his head speaking more to his nerves than anything else.

He never tore his eyes away from the stove, not even as he spoke.

May smiled at him, all the same time.

“That’s so great,” she said — genuinely, relief coating her tone. She leaned forward on the sofa, pressing her balled fist into Peter’s knee to get his attention. “How’d it feel? Talking to him?”

Even with May tapping him back to reality, Peter took a second before looking away from the kitchen. The burners still blazed with a reddish-orange color, and the pot still splashed sauce inside where it simmered to a boil, but it didn’t require anyone’s immediate attention. May was ‘babysitting dinner’ as she’d always call it. Keeping an eye on it while it cooked for itself.

Peter looked to his lap before looking back up at May.

“I...I still feel bad. About what happened,” he admitted. The nodding stopped, and instead he cleared his throat to get the next words out. “But, you know...staying guilty doesn’t fix things. I’m going to do better. Next time. This time? Present time. Not to say that in the future I won’t — either way. I’m going to do —”

“I know you are, tough guy,” May seamlessly interrupted him, opening her balled fist to lay her hand down on Peter’s knee, squeezing the jean material and the flesh beneath it. “You’re a good kid. Your mistakes don’t change that.”

Peter craned his head around, looking to his hip where the smelly-goat-cloth-covered-item sat on the couch. He went to pick it up, only to simply hold it in his hand.

It weight absolutely nothing to Peter, but lifting it was suddenly an impossible task. So he stared at it instead.

“I know I’ve said it like, sixteen thousand times so far...but...I’m really sorry,” Peter began, so quiet that the neighbors dog almost overtook his voice — shrill barking came from across the hall and easily leaked into their apartment. “For treating you that way. For scaring you.”

The neighbors Maltese was definitely louder than that last part.

Nonetheless, Peter was pretty sure May heard him. The expression on her face confirmed as much when he finally forced himself to look back at her.

He also had to force himself to ease the grip he had on the cloth-wrapped-item. He didn’t care how many backpack straps he ripped in two, there was no way he’d forgive himself if he broke this.

Peter threw his head back around, looking at it one last time.

“I wanted to give this to you when we first got back, but...I got…” Peter trailed off, a frown pulling harshly at his face. He shook it off. “I dunno. I got stuck in my head overthinking it, or something. Mr. Stark’s always telling me not to do that.”

Biting the bullet, Peter grabbed the object and twisted around on the couch, practically shoving it right at May.

“Here.”

He did shove it right at May — she startled back, the item so close that it nearly rammed right into her stomach. Luckily, she reached out for it before any harm could be done; taking the rectangle sized plank from Peter with cautious speed.

“What is this?” she asked, both curious and confused all in one go.

Peter sucked in his lips to the point where they disappeared somewhere inside his mouth.

May took that as ‘find out for yourself.’

The cloth that encased the item was heavier than both the material of her shirt and Peter’s combined. It was tied off with a thin, braided rope; frayed from top to bottom, tied in an unfamiliar bow that May easily pulled apart.

“Oh my gosh,” May breathed out, uncovering the item one fold at a time, until the cloth was completely unwrapped and she was able to lift the item off her lap. “Peter, this is beautiful.”

The little light still remaining from outside shined in through the living room windows, casting off the canvas that May held in the air. She turned it over in her hands to get a complete look, viewing it from front and back.

The portrait caught the sunset and reflected colors that both May and Peter swore they’d never seen before.

“Wakanda?” May turned to face him, her one hand pressing against her chest as the other kept the item in the air. “You got this in Wakanda?”

Peter gave a tight-lipped smile and a brisk nod. At the same time, May ran her fingers across the length of the portrait — the wooden canvas was smooth and sanded, and chiseled in many places that were embedded with twine. It was art that used only natures material for its paint. Hand crafted, with a design that would catch anyone’s eye.

May kept her gaze locked on it, even as Peter spoke.

“Before we left, they let me tour the city — well, I kinda begged to see the city, and Mr. Stark wasn’t cool with it at first but Shuri tagged along and King T’Challa even spent time with us and — anyway, there was this super small jewelry shop in their marketplace, ran by this woman and her daughter — I can’t remember their names but they were so friendly.” The only reason Peter paused was to take in a breath of air. “Everyone there was so nice, May, it was so cool, you would’ve loved it.”

As Peter rambled, May briefly gave him her attention — with her eyebrow arched, and a tug pulling at her lips.

“Anyway,” Peter caught on. So much for promising to slow down when he talked. “I saw this and told them, you know, it was really pretty. And they told me it had this meaning behind it — that-that all the details mean something.”

Nervously, Peter scooted closer to May on the sofa. What little distance between them no longer existed as Peter pointed to the bottom of the portrait — a slack of wood that had been polished and fashioned into something more.

“The, uh — the twine part, here, it represents roots.” Peter’s finger slid from the bottom towards the center. “And the disconnect in the middle, right there, its about — uhm, it’s-it’s about loss. And the way that this separate piece here comes in,” his finger followed the path he spoke of, “and wraps around the broken twine, it, uhm...its about how...another person, uh, comes in and...and takes-takes over the role that was left behind.”

As quickly as Peter scooted close to May, he pulled himself away — just a bounce backward on the cushion, enough space so they could both breathe fresh air, free of the residual goat fur that was permanently embedded in the material of the cloth.

His fingers, suddenly idle without a task to keep him occupied, clasped together as he closed his hands and squeezed tight.

“The mother and daughter who owned the shop, they were…” Peter stuttered over his words, in all the ways he usually did when nervous — just never when he was around May. “Uhm, the-the daughter was adopted. By her aunt. Her mother...her biological mother...passed away when she was a kid.” Peter cleared his throat, more than once. “Actually, her, uh – her aunt wasn’t even her aunt as in like, her mother’s sister. She was, uhm...married into it.” Peter forced a laugh — a very forced, and very nervous laugh. “We had a lot in common, we talked a lot — I can’t believe I don’t remember her name. Like, of all things to have in common —”

“Peter,” May gently interrupted.

With a sheepish smile, Peter looked back down at the portrait in May’s lap, some of the frayed rope having fallen to the ground — he’d remember to pick those up before either of them vacuumed over it and it resulted in another broken vacuum.

“I uhm, I don’t know if I’ve…”

Peter felt his voice give out. He tried clearing his throat, but it did nothing the second time around.

As May continued to study the piece of art, he fell quiet.

The strings of twine, looped in through chiseled sections of real wood from real trees of Wakanda, stood out to Peter — in both literal sense of how the art was forged, and how the story of its origin reflected back in the craft.

He wanted to look at May when he spoke. Yet the heat on his cheeks was too much to look anywhere but at the art, and her hands gripping it.

“I don’t know...if I’ve ever, actually...if I’ve ever actually told you this, May, but…” Peter couldn’t keep his foot from tapping on the floor. His socks beat against the carpet in a frantic, nervous pattern. “Thank you, for...for being that mom...to me.”

A hand laid firmly down on his knee, the same one bouncing hard enough to shake his whole leg off his body. Peter snapped his head over to May, no later than the moment her hand touched down.

“I promise I’m going to do better,” he swore, talking right over anything she had planned to say. May’s mouth closed shut, but her hand stayed on his leg. “I swear, this won’t happen again. I’ll do better — I’ll be better. I promise.”

May reached forward immediately, wrapping one arm firmly around his back and pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Peter…” she let out, so close to his ear that she had to move away and let his head rest in the tuck of her neck. One hand carded into his hair and stayed there. “You are so good. You are so good, here and now — you’re a good kid, Peter.”

Pulling him away, May laid both her hands down against each shoulder of his, her smile as wet as her eyes had quickly become.

“And your Ben would be so proud of you,” she had to whisper, but not by intent. Her words choked and she smiled the sound away.

Peter did her a favor and smiled in return. He didn’t need to argue her solace — he allowed her reassurance to be as contagious as her enthusiasm. Allowing her words of encouragement to spread towards him, even if he didn’t have all it took to believe in them that very moment.

He’d allow himself to believe it, slowly, as time went on. Day by day, sometimes second by second.

He’d get there.

With everyone’s help, Peter had no doubt he’d get there.

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 2: R.S.V.P

Happy didn't even get a chance to open the lid of the cardboard pizza box before Peter whipped around on the couch, so fast it was a feat he didn't tip over the back of the sofa along the way.

“Angelo's? Heck no!” Peter couldn't have shot to attention any faster had he actually been shot, his voice easily reaching over the movie and Ned's obnoxiously loud cheese slurping. “Everyone knows the best pizza place in Queens is —”

As quickly as Peter had started to talk, words suddenly failed him.

He blinked twice to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

And then a third time, just to be sure.

“Hey, Hap...” Peter slowly drawled out, his eyebrow so high up his forehead it might as well have reached the apartment above them. “Since when did you need Nascar gear to drive a Rolls Royce?”

If it had just been the leather jacket, Peter may not have questioned it at all. The gloves, however, were a tip-off, and the helmet on the kitchen ledge — well, that was as odd things could get. The longer Peter stared at it and he began to wonder how Happy's head even fit into that helmet — sleek and stylish, full-faced and definitely not something he could picture the Forehead of Security, as Mr. Stark so elegantly nicknamed him, wearing around town.

Happy had already started to take off his thick and heavy-looking leather gloves when he went to answer.

“Happy's going through a mid-life crisis,” May beat him to it — still paying attention only to the screen of her laptop, even when Happy threw her a look normally reserved for the teenagers sitting across the apartment.

“I am not going through a — ”

“Oh my god!” Ned’s exclamation easily tore through any defense Happy may have conjured up. No different than Peter, he flipped over the couch at a speed that did nearly tip him over the back of the sofa. It was only with Peter's help that he regained balance, all the while excitedly asking, “Did you get a motorcycle, Mr. Hogan?”

Peter quickly shot his head towards Ned, and just as quickly back to Happy. The expression on the man’s face said it all, and if that didn't, the look of exasperation on May's certainly did.

“Not just any motorcycle,” Happy went on to answer regardless, the gleam in his eyes making him seem nearly as giddy as both the kids. “A Harley Cruiser, the best low rider on the market right now. Brand spankin’ new, too — custom-designed paint job, one of a kind.”

Ned squealed, easily out-doing Happy’s excitement.

“Dude, seriously?” Peter wasn't far behind them both — his grin grew large enough to see his back molars, and he was already jumping over the back of the sofa to hustle into the kitchen — literally jumping over the back, yet making sure his feet landed gracefully and without so much a thud to upset the downstairs neighbors. “You got a bike? That’s so cool!”

Taking off her glasses with one hand, May looked away from her laptop and craned her head up at Happy.

“Tell them what you originally wanted.”

A beat of silence fell over the kitchen. The movie kept playing in the background, even as Peter stumbled into the kitchen — the bottoms of his worn out but still very pink Hello Kitty pajama pants nearly tripped him up twice.

He looked at Happy, expectedly, the building curiosity in his eyes somehow louder than all the nonstop ramblings he could have for hours on end.

Happy tried making his shrug as casual as possible. “Technically I was looking for a sports bike, something more like a crotch rocket —”

“No, it was a crotch rocket,” May couldn’t help but interrupt, her words saturated with easy laughter as she leaned back into the kitchen nook. Folding both arms across her chest, and lifting her chin up high, she caught Happy’s gaze with a smirk. “And tell them why you couldn’t get one.”

At this point, even Ned had turned away from the TV, though he stayed put on the sofa as he picked for another slice of pizza to consume — reaching into the box blindly, not daring to tear his focus away from the conversation taking place.

Happy looked to Peter and back to May, and then back at Peter, before finally answering,

“It…it hurt my back.”

May scoffed and went right back to her laptop, already typing away before Happy could even consider gathering his defenses.

“Just a little, nothing major,” he eventually managed, turning away from Peter and right towards May — wagging a finger as if it bettered his case. “And you know, I still think I may have slept wrong the night before, I could’ve probably just gotten that Suzuki 650 —”

“So anyway,” May shot her head up and looked right at Peter, “Happy’s going through a mid-life crisis.”

Peter was already halfway across the apartment before she'd even finished talking.

“Is it out there? Right now?” Yanking up the blinds, Peter practically stuffed his face against the window, pressing his nose so hard against the glass it left puff marks with each breath he took. “The bike? Is it here?”

Happy rolled his eyes so dramatically, it was remarkable they didn't get stuck at the back of his skull. “No, I walked here — what do you think, kid?”

Completely unfazed by the sarcasm, Peter whipped around and pushed off the window — already five leaps across the apartment in the time it took to take a single breath.

“Can you show me how to ride it?”

It was hard to say if it was Peter's animated enthusiasm that caught May’s attention, or his rapid reappearance into the living room — both did the trick well, and May shot her head up at a speed that should've given her whiplash.

“What?” She tugged forcefully at her ear. “Say that again?”

Peter threw both his arms out wide.

“I’m a quick learner!” he insisted, realizing that his justification was a bit on the weak side as he went to yank up the waistband of his Hello Kitty pajama pants. Scrambling for a better defense, he practically jogged to the kitchen table to break the distance between them. “And what's the harm? I have my license now and everything!”

May brought down the screen of her laptop with a hearty chuckle. “You need a whole different license for that, bug boy.”

Though Peter's face noticeably dropped, he kept pushing on.

“Okay, but like, really, what's the harm?” Peter looked to Happy, as if hoping the man would join his side — only to find him busy with the different boxes of pizza laid out on the kitchen table. As he decided between pepperoni or supreme for his choice of dinner, Peter turned back to his aunt. “What if I need to know how to ride a bike? What if, one day, I need that information, May?”

May looked completely unpersuaded. “You can YouTube it.”

Peter's face dropped even more, and he pointed a finger at the man decked out in leather. “Happy can teach me now!”

“Tony Stark himself could barely teach you how to drive a car,” May reminded him, her head tilting so far to the side that her earlobe pressed up against her shoulder. “You just barely passed that driving test.”

Peter swung his finger from Happy right over to May. “But I passed.”

May met his smugness with her own. “Seven shopping carts, Peter.”

“Six and a half!” Peter argued, immediately. The small smirk that bled through his bite put a brief pause between them before he eventually clarified, “The small ones don’t count as a full cart.”

Identity Crisis │ Chapter 3: Something Old

“Is he losing things again?”

The voice came at a distance to Peter, but that was mostly because he’d stuck his head behind the file cabinet to see if anything happened to wind up back there.

When he looked back around, Happy was already inside the office, both hands stuffed casually inside his pant pockets.

“Of course he is,” May answered easily, watching with a straight face as Peter began looking through the bookcase pressed up against the wall. When he started pulling out books, going so far to open them up to see if anything were between the pages, she simply rolled her eyes.

“Not very responsible sounding,” Happy’s answer was just as simple, earning a honest chuckle from May — and a clap of her hands that followed suit.

“Alright Peter,” she said, clapping two times in total, “you’ve torn apart my office enough as it is. Happy’s here — go, get out, you don’t have time for this.”

“Give me a minute!” Peter shoved a handful of books back into the bookcase, standing on his tippy-toes to see the shelf that hung above it. “Just a minute — I’ll find it, I just need to…”

No sooner than Peter trailed off did he twist around, grabbing the cup of pens and pencils from May’s desk and dumping the contents out completely. When that gave him nothing, he went looking inside her box of tissues next.

Happy noticeably arched an eyebrow at the scene up ahead. Though he kept his comment to himself, he had to shake his head to look away — more than once, at that — but eventually, he turned to face May, all the while pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

“You know you’ve got a truck driver outside yelling something about limes…?” he drifted off, sounding confused at what he said.

May finally let out the sigh she’d been working so hard to hold back.

“Time,” she corrected him, rubbing forcibly at her temple. “He’s not yelling about limes, he’s yelling about time — he has an accent, and I told the guys they needed to bust their butt unloading that truck!” May marched forward towards her desk only to change her mind last minute, spinning around and already making it halfway out of her office. “I don’t have time for this — I really gotta get going to this parent-teacher conference before I’m late.” May threw her one arm in Peter’s direction while the other reached for her purse sitting on a nearby chair. “Peter! You also don’t have time for this —”

“I know, I know, I’m going!” Peter dropped the tissue box with a large sigh, going to scratch at his scalp with his eyes tightly clenched shut — racking his brain a mile a minute as he mused out loud, “I swear I left them around here somewhere…”

Happy just barely resisted a snort.

“Well, that sounds familiar,” he dryly mumbled instead — not quiet enough that May didn’t hear, but not loud enough that Peter could start a defense on how he was totally responsible with his belongings and definitely didn’t lose his backpack once a week.

Even if Peter had started that defense, it would’ve been negligible — there was no way of making himself appear responsible as he hurriedly made his way to the fake fig tree in the corner of the office, bending low so he could start digging through pebbles and rocks that filled the pot.

May shook her head as she swung her purse over her shoulder, giving Peter that look all the way out of the office — stopping short of the entryway where Happy stood.

“I gotta go,” she told Happy, suddenly grinning ear-to-ear with a positivity as fake as the plant that Peter was now tearing apart. “Hey, maybe I can find some reliable help on my way to the school since Dylan never wants to show up for his shifts on time.”

Happy met May’s false enthusiasm with his own genuine seriousness. “You should really fire that guy, you know.”

May looked like she wanted to say something witty, only to stop a second short of a snappy retort.

“Later,” she decided to say in lieu of anything else, laying a relaxed hand against Happy’s arm. “Right now I gotta make sure the school isn’t going to nail me for truancy with how many absences this kid’s ranked up this year.” May patted that same arm before lifting herself slightly high on her tippy-toes to reach him. “Be safe. Don’t have too much fun.”

The peck on the lips they both shared happened to come at the exact same time Peter stopped digging through the pebbles and rocks — and the expression that followed as he turned to look at them contorted his face into something he wasn’t sure his muscles were capable of.

“That’s…never not gunna be weird,” he flatly mumbled — a handful of pebbles still clutched in his fist, and the fake tree offering no success to his search.

Though she wasn’t looking at him, Peter could see May roll her eyes.

“Lock the door on your way out, Peter,” May said as she took her exit — Happy elected to turn away entirely, finding the situation as weird as Peter had. He cleared his throat multiple times as she left the office, with her holler heard down the hallway. “And I meant what I said about grounding you! Until graduation, mister!”

#spider-man #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man fanfic #fanfic #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfic #fanfiction #peter parker #may parker #aunt may #happy hogan #tony stark #irondad #iron dad #peter parker & tony stark #peter parker & may parker

[lunar-lattice]

0 for Liam and Greed!

green dudes......... (actually greed isnt very green but he exists in my head as such for some reason)

under the cut bc it got kinda long!

Liam

1) What would their social media page/activity be like?

Liam's the guy who stays in his corner and quietly shares content of games he likes and geckos. He shares absolutely nothing of his personal life and uses a handle.

2) What animal they remind me of

Geckos are His Thing

3) My thoughts on their design/aesthetic alone

realizing some of these dont quite work for OCs hm. His design is one of my favorites of mine but i gotta do more art of him and his punk duds

4) Physical headcanons (sleeping habits, favourite food, all that)

Gonna use this for just a related fact! Liam's an insomniac but when he gets tired enough, he can and will sleep anywhere. He also struggles to gain any weight past 'being a twig' weight and it annoys him.

5) Social headcanons (what do they think of their friends/allies if they have any, what are they looking for in relationship, what people tend to think about them...)

He had a friend group in high school that he drifted away from and really regrets having done so.

6) Psychological headcanons (tastes, fears, talents, regrets, how they deal with anger, just anything that comes to mind on the topic)

Liam always needs some kind of sound in the background, pure silence sets off his paranoia. He's got a lot of regrets but he regrets how easy he lashed out at others as a teenager and how much he struggled to put that into check as an adult.

7) Ship(s) with them that I like or at least consider

I mean The Ships for him are Liam/Sketches (which is good for monster romance and just general wish fulfillment for Liam) and Liam/Sebastian (good for more grounded plots)

8) Made-up connections with other characters that weren't in the canon (friends, enemies, whatever)

There's a bunch of characters of mine he'd never interact with: He'd be actually really scared of Van and vibe pretty well with Vice.

9) Headcanons about their past

Liam used to dress all up as a teenager when his whole punk outfit, INCLUDING even makeup and the like. He did start dressing more comfortably after he grew up but he kinda misses it.

10) Content about them I'd like to see more of

I mean I make the content...more content I wanna make with him is more funky surreal art and more of the babysitter AU

Greed

1) What would their social media page/activity be like

Greed picks fights with people for fun online and incessantly bothers his siblings (mainly Envy bc they Have to have the last word so arguments are hysterical)

2) What animal they remind me of

Flamingo? Or any kind of tropical flashy bird

3) My thoughts on their design/aesthetic alone

Both Greed designs are SO good but I miss Greed 1.0's vest with the fur collar. I also find it amusing Greedling basically just has Ed's same look but pokes fun at him abt his taste

4) Physical headcanons (sleeping habits, favourite food, all that)

Greed is not picky about food in the slightest and likes anything and everything. He says he prefers is when it's more expensive but he's got a soft spot for terrible junk food.

5) Social headcanons (what do they think of their friends/allies if they have any, what are they looking for in relationship, what people tend to think about them...)

He is a social butterfly and kind of resents his status as a homunculus making it so its difficult to go out and meet people. He's not really all that picky about what kinda people he gets along with

6) Psychological headcanons (tastes, fears, talents, regrets, how they deal with anger, just anything that comes to mind on the topic)

Surprisingly good singer! Actually surprisingly good at a lot of things because knowledge is something else he feels he must acquire and hoard

7) Ship(s) with them that I like or at least consider

I think I like Greed/Ling best though I also just like them as bros

8) Made-up connections with other characters that weren't in the canon (friends, enemies, whatever)

They had like .2 seconds of interaction so that doesn't count but I just know Greed would hassle Mustang just as bad as Ed

9) Headcanons about their past

The Devil's Nest is only the latest place he's settled down at, he's prone to moving around, whether people start asking questions or he just gets bored

10) Content about them I'd like to see more of

I haven't really ventured far into FMA fan content admittingly so I'm not really sure!

#wildcat answers #thank youuu

[thediamondswordsman]

There is a bitter triumph in crashing when you should be soaring. 

- REWRITING ICARUS

#my art #dream smp #tommyinnit #tommyinnit fanart #mcyt #mcyt fanart #this lil moment lives in my head rent free #the absolute SILENCE and WEIGHT in his words bro #no music - no dream - just tommy

[obeymeoasis]

Demon Bros React: MC Compliments Them Aggresively

Warnings: A generally thirsty MC, Beel’s react has a brief mention of choking.

Lucifer

It was rare that Lucifer had time off during the afternoon and you were fully taking advantage of it. 

Holding hands, you were taking a leisurely stroll around the garden. Every few minutes you stopped to point out a flower or a bug that had caught your eye.

“Ooh Luci, look at this one! It looks like a rainbow! Oh my god, it’s so shiny, I love it!”

You heard Lucifer chuckling at you and turned to ask what was so funny when you stood still in shock at the sight before you. The glow of the afternoon sun illuminated Lucifer beautifully, his black hair almost glowing, his face open and happy, smiling at you. He looked absolutely radiant. And you were going to tell him as much.

“Oh my god Lucifer, what is wrong with you?”

Lucifer’s smile dimmed immediately and his eyes narrowed. “Love, whatever do you mean?” His voice was careful and tense.

“I mean, it is illegal for you to look that good! Oh my god! Do you see you? You look like a greek god like what in the actual world!”

Lucifer’s mouth opened in surprise at your sudden outburst.

“How are you even my boyfriend? Like you’re literally glowing Luci. Oh my god my eyes, you’re too bright I can’t even look at you!”

Lucifer blinked a couple of times as if to clear his head. Slowly a satisfied smirk replaced his confused look and he moved to press a kiss against the back of your hand.

“Love, what on earth has gotten into you today?”

“What, I’m not allowed to compliment my boyfriend?”

“Of course you are, although I’d prefer it if the compliments were given in a more... private place next time.”

“...Fine.”

Mammon

Mammon had apparently made some money in one of his schemes and he practically dragged you to Majolish one morning to go shopping.

Once in the store Mammon had sped off in a flurry of activity, adding clothes to an ever-growing pile before herding you toward the dressing room. 

"Wait for me outside, okay? Ya gotta tell me how each outfit looks.”

A few minutes later, Mammon stepped out in a pair of dark jeans that hugged his toned legs and a black v-neck sweater that showed off his collarbone. A thin gold chain adorned his neck and the look was completed with a pair of combat boots.

“Well, whattaya think?”

“Mammon. What the hell.”

Mammon’s shoulders drooped a little. “Not good?”

“Mammon. You look so hot. So fucking hot. Like. A supermodel? An icon? You’re stunning!”

He was beginning to blush and you could see how pleased your compliments made him. “O-Of course you think I’m hot! I’m the Great Mammon! I always look good in whatever I wear.”

He expected you to stop at that point and chide him to be more humble but was surprised when you amped up the compliments.

“You do babe, you really do. Look at how long your legs are! And your arms, oh my god. And your chest, wow, I kinda want to lick your chest right now.”

“MC!” Shocked and a little embarrassed, Mammon fled to the inside of the dressing room, swishing the curtain shut behind him. He could feel his cheeks burning. 

“Sorry Mams, I’ll stop if you want me to. But I meant every word.”

“...Please don’t stop.”

Leviathan

You were in his room, cuddled on some cushions, watching a new anime together. 

Your head on Levi’s shoulder, you were so comfortable that you were close to drifting off to sleep, until Levi nudged your shoulder. “Sorry, I have to go feed Henry.”

You watched Levi sprinkle food into the large tank, his face illuminated by the soft glow. The bubbles and movement from the tank created dancing patterns on his face. As Levi watched Henry eat, he smiled a soft, private smile, and in that moment he looked ethereal.

“Levi, you’re so beautiful.”

Levi’s head whipped around to look at you. “W-What are you talking about?”

You got up and moved closer until you were inches from his face, studying his features. “I’m serious Levi, you’re absolutely gorgeous. Devastatingly handsome. I could honestly stare at you all day. You are so so beautiful.”

With each compliment, Levi’s mouth grew a little bit wider until he was gaping at you.

“I-Is this some kind of joke? Are you making fun of me right now? Why would you- You know how I feel about-”

“Levi, please. Have a little more faith in me. You know I’d never make fun of you. I’m being completely serious right now when I say that you’re incredibly beautiful.”

Levi thinks his brain might have stopped working.

His face is burning, his body is all tingly, and he can’t get any words out?

“Levi? Come back to me, Levi! Hello?” You’re waving your hand in front of his face but you think he might be broken.

You take his hand and slowly lead him back toward the cushions for kisses and more cuddling. 

Satan

Reading with Satan was one of your favorite ways to spend an afternoon.

You sat in opposite armchairs and let the comfortable silence fill the room. The only disturbance would be if either of you wanted to share a line or passage from the book you were reading.

Legs curled against your chest, you watched the flame of the candles make flickering shadows against Satan’s bookshelves.

He tapped you on the shoulder and you turned to see his outstretched hand holding his book.

“Love, look at this line.”

You read in amusement as the hero of the story made a witty joke. "That was a good one-"

You turned and saw Satan, his eyes crinkled in laughter, a light blush dusting his cheeks, his lips bitten in an attempt to hold in a giggle.

"Satan... you're so fucking cute."

Immediately one of his eyebrows cocked in confusion. "What-"

"You are so adorable, wow. I want to squish your cheeks and like keep you inside my pocket or something."

"Love, I am the Avatar of Wrath. I am not... cute."

"Yeah? Well I beg to differ. I call it like I see it and right now, I can see that you are the cutest being I've ever seen in my life. The way your eyes light up and you get all blushy. So adorable, I can't stand it."

Satan seemed to be stunned by your exclamation, his features frozen in a mixture of confusion and shock.

You walked over to him and began pressing kisses against his eyelids, on his cheeks, nose, and then finally, lips. "I'm gonna keep kissing you because you're so cute, okay?"

He ended up tugging you against his chest and holding you in a princess-carry, trying to bury his face in your hair so you couldn't see how flustered he was.

Asmodeus

You were in Asmo's room helping him pick an outfit. Well, more like you were scrolling through your D.D.D. while Asmo went through his entire closet complaining about how he had nothing to wear.

He had some sort of big business meeting coming up with a perfume company who wanted his help in designing their new line of products.

Every outfit so far had been beautiful and Asmo looked amazing in each one, as always. You weren't sure how to help him.

"MC, this next outfit is a little different. It's not really my style but it was a gift from the designer so tell me what you think, okay?"

Asmo swished aside the curtain of his dressing room and walked out in a formal black business suit. The shirt was open at the throat, exposing his delicate neck, and he had added a pink pocket square. A large silver watch shone on his left wrist. His shiny black shoes clicked against the floor as he walked toward you.

"So, what do you think?"

"Asmo... If I'm being honest I kind of want you to pin me against the wall right now."

"Darling! You're usually never this forward."

You stood up and twirled him around. "My god Asmo, you look incredible. You look so sexy and professional. Like a rich CEO or something. Scratch the wall thing, I kinda need you to bend me over your desk."

Asmo had never been more surprised by you, but his shock didn’t last long.

"Do you really like it, MC? Do you like when I wear this sort of thing? I should wear suits more often if it means you talking like that. I love this side of you darling!"

He began stalking toward you until your back was gently pressed against the wall, his arms making a kind of cage around you. “Is this what you pictured, MC?” He began kissing you fiercely and you grabbed onto the lapel of his jacket to keep yourself steady. 

“Asmo?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Don’t go to the meeting today.”

Beelzebub

You were in the gym with Beel. He was lifting weights and you were bouncing on a medicine ball next to him.

Even though you didn’t exercise at all, Beel said he liked you being there with him. And since it was such a hot day outside, you didn’t mind spending the afternoon in the cool air-conditioned building.

But despite the chill of the room, Beel’s shirt was soaked with sweat. He was lifting enormous weights and you could see the muscles of his arms straining with the effort. 

Beel was, well, absolutely ripped. His arms, legs, and stomach all looked like they had been carved from marble. And you spent enough time cuddling with him to know that his body felt exactly like it looked, solid and incredibly strong.

People who didn’t know Beel personally would have found it hard to believe that the demon with an eight-pack had the personality of a hungry golden retriever.

A grunt from Beel startled you out of your thoughts and you realized you had been staring at him this whole time. Uncomfortable at the way his shirt was sticking to his body from sweat, Beel peeled it off of himself.

“Beel?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re killing me here.”

He looked at you in confusion, worried he had done something. “MC, what’s wrong?”

“Beel, do you even see yourself right now? You literally look like sex on legs. How are you even real? I want to touch you all over. But I also kind of want you to choke me.”

“MC!” Beel cried out in surprise and you could see his neck was flushed. “You know I would never hurt you.”

“I know big guy, I trust you.” You let out a low whistle and reveled in how Beel looked, a combination of pleased and a bit embarrassed. “Beel, you’re so perfect. You look like you could protect me from the world.”

“I would you know,” he whispered. “I want to protect you, I don’t want anything or anyone to hurt you.”

You smiled at him. “I know Beel, and I love you for it.” You let the silence hang in the air for a moment. “But also, can I lick your abs?”

“MC!”

Belphegor

It was a rare occasion that you and Belphie were outside, as you both usually preferred to stay in.

You had both woken up late and decided to stop by a local cafe for some lunch because you were too lazy to cook. 

Belphie sat across from you at the small table and sipped his tea delicately while you polished off the rest of your sandwich. You had one of your ankles hooked around his.

He was looking out the window, his face turned toward the side, and you used the opportunity to study his features.

Long black eyelashes framed his piercing purple eyes. His silky dark hair stood out against his pale complexion and your eyes traced the high bridge of his nose, the softness of his lips.

As if feeling your stare Belphie turned toward you with a smirk. “Something I can help you with?”

“Belphie... you’re really pretty.” 

You could see that you had surprised him a little with your honesty. “You’re so pretty, Belphie. I know a lot of people would kill to have eyelashes as long as yours. And your mouth looks so kissable. You kind of look like a doll. You’re honestly so gorgeous.”

His face was completely blank for a moment then morphed into a calculating stare. “Are... are you being serious right now?” His gaze suddenly turned cold.

“Why would I joke about something like this? I’m telling you right now that think you’re pretty. You’re beautiful.”

Belphie's voice betrayed no emotion. “Nobody’s ever called me pretty before. Or beautiful.”

“Oh, Belphie.” You took his hand from across the table and pressed a kiss against his palm and then the inside of his wrist, the way he did to you all the time. “I’ll repeat it everyday for the rest of my life if you want.”

He scrunched up his nose and whispered, “Don’t. You’re being embarrassing.” But you could tell he didn’t really mean it by the way the corners of his lips quirked up.

He was mostly silent for the rest of lunch, apparently deep in thought, only nodding occasionally at your comments.

When it was time to leave, however, he reached to hold your hand and didn’t let go the entire way home.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me hcs #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me! shall we date? #obey me! #om! headcanons #om! hcs #om! imagines

[barzyyy]

I’m hella in my feels. Break my heart.

one too many.

a/n: prepare yourselves for this one. TW: includes mention of death, alcohol/heavy drinking and self-depricating thoughts. it is heavy. please read at your own discretion. my dm’s are open if anyone needs to talk!

italics = flashback.

read this first, if you haven’t already.

————————————

mat could feel the alcohol meeting his stomach. when did he become this way? he knew that he was not in a condition to be drinking as much as he was. he hadn’t eaten in at least a day. somehow the simplest tasks have become the most difficult.

it didn’t help that it was the offseason. all of his teammates were off on vacation. the jealousy quickly turned into resentment. he deleted all of his social media apps because he couldn’t bear to see anyone else happy. he locked himself inside your once shared house, alone. what used to feel like home now felt unsafe. with every corner he turned, there was something that reminded him of you. lipstick on the counter, your shoes kicked off next to the couch, he left them all in the same spot, praying that this was all a dream and that you would come walking through the door again.

he couldn’t get himself to come to terms with reality.

he drunkely stumbled to the couch, mindlessly turning on the tv and surfing through the channels. he landed on a random channel because his thoughts were overtaking him once again.

mat dreamed of being a dad. you both used to talk about starting a family of your own. would your kids have mat’s hair and your eyes? which one of your personalities would they adopt? he wanted so badly to look through the glass at a game and see you standing on the other side with your baby. he wanted to raise a son and teach him all he knew about how to play. he wanted a little girl to put makeup on him and make him sing the songs of all of her favorite disney princesses.

now, he didn’t want a family at all. you were going perfect mother. no one could ever compete with you. and now that you’re gone, he promised himself that no one would ever take your place. sure, he could have kids with someone else, but they would never be the kids he would have had with you. he didn’t want it.

it was easier to put up a wall and block out the feelings. his grief of losing you was too much for him to handle. he would rather just push everything out, experiencing nothing rather than experiencing everything all at once. every time he thought of you, another part of him was taken away. he was a shell of who he once was.

things would have been different if he had went home to you. had he not gone out to the bar with his teammates after the game, you would have never been in the accident. there would have been no reason for you to go over to your friend’s house. now, instead of remembering the celebratory reason why he went out, his memory was plagued by the phone call he received as he got the worst news of his life.

mat could feel the alcohol meeting his stomach. who was he to turn down free alcohol? getting the game winning goal in game 7 made him feel like he was on top of the world. fans in the bar were covering mat’s tab, and he was partying with all of his teammates. out of the corner of his eye, he saw his phone light up with your caller i.d. and his favorite picture of the two of you. he picked it up and started walking through the mass of people to find a quieter place as he answered the call.

“babe, you won’t believe how many people are here! everyone is buying me drinks and-“

“hello?”

the manly voice was unrecognizable. mat stopped in his tracks.

“who is this?” he questioned.

“this is tom haltford, i’m a paramedic with the long island fire department. do you have a relationship with (y/n) barzal?” he asked.

he immediately sobered up. “she’s my wife, what is going on?” his heart was beating out of his chest.

“sir, i regret to inform you that your wife was in an accident. she was in a head-on collision with an impaired driver. she is currently being transported to nassau university medical center. do you have a safe way of getting there? i can send a police officer to pick you up.”

mat could only muster one sentence.

“is she alive?”

silence.

“i am sending an officer to your location. i am so sorry.”

what brought him out of his trance was the feeling of tears hitting his hand. he had not realized that he was crying, but did nothing to stop the onset of emotions that were to come. he buried his head in his hands, taking in the weight of the fact that you would have still been here had he not decided to go out. his shoulders heaved, but he stayed silent. he sobbed for a half an hour straight.

silence was something mat was becoming all too familiar with. he could no longer listen to the radio because every song he heard remided him of you. he didn’t dare go outside, because he couldn’t stop the jealousy that arose when he saw a couple out together. the best he could do was stay at home. his interaction was limited. when he did eat, all he did was get it delivered. even then, his options were scarce because he didn’t want to eat anything that felt significant to your relationship. he no longer ordered take out from your shared favorite thai restaurant down the street. he avoided anything that remided himself of you.

he would have teammates, family and friends text him every now and again to check in. he made it a point at your funeral to promise that he would reach out if he needed help. deep down, he knew from the beginning that those promises were as hollow as the newly-formed void in his heart.

maybe the irony of it all was that what killed you was the same thing he was using to self medicate. over time, one beer turned into to three, then six. he felt as if it was his only escape - alcohol only solidifed the numbness that he had been feeling. but tonight, he knew that he had gone overboard. there were freshly-chugged beer bottles on the table, and the only thing stopping him from taking some of your sleeping pills was his hope that you would come back for them. in addition to the beer, he was down a glass and a half of wine when his body finally began to reject the liquid. he tried to run to the bathroom, but the closest place he could make it was the kitchen sink. his stomach uncontrollably emptied itself, and he was left gasping in between his heaves. when he was done, he ran his hands under the sink and put water on his face. pulling the kitchen towel from the oven to wipe off his face, he looked up and his eyes were met with the picture on your counter from the wedding.

he was in immediate tears as he saw you walking down the aisle. your dress perfectly hugged your curves and your smile had been the biggest he’d ever seen. he felt a soft nudge from behind him.

”stay strong man, stay strong.” beau whispered, trying to help mat preserve any ounce that was left of his ego.

“bro, i can’t.” he whispered back, tears running down his face. at that point, you began to cry, and then the whole room was crying.

you both struggled through the tears to read eachother your vows. you were so impressed with how heartfelt his were.

“you helped me learn who i was outside of hockey, and i still fall in love with you every single day. ...and you’re a smokin’ 10, too. so that’s a plus.”

the after party was absolutely insane. you danced and drank the night away with your closest family and friends. you were talking to your best friend when mat came stumbling over to you, hugged you and said “can you believe we’re fucking MARRIED BABE?”

that was it. he couldn’t give up on life anymore. who he was becoming was scaring him. he knew that this is not what you would want. with a shaking hand and a breaking heart, he haphazardly picked up his phone and dialed the first number he could think of. there was an answer halfway through the first ring.

“hey man, you all good?”

inbetween sobs, his words slurred together. “beau, i need you.”

——————————————————

#islanders #mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagine #nyislanders #prompt #hockey #fanfic #barzal #mathew barzal #barzy

[your-highnessmarvel]

From Bleak to Bright - Part Thirteen

All other parts on on my masterlist, link provided below.

AN:  SOOOO SORRY FOR HOW LATE THIS IS, but please, have the best piece of writing i’ve made in 2021! I am still forever shy about writing smut. Please forgive me.

Warnings: angst, language, SMUT (18+ ONLY)

MASTERLIST - SERIES MASTERLIST

PART THIRTEEN

After Loki begged you to runaway with him, he ate dinner with you and returned “home” to “take care of unfinished business”. It left a weary feeling lodged in your chest, you had to admit, but it gave you the space to digest everything that had happened. And was said. 

If Loki was taking you away, you all but hoped it was not on some other planet. Hell, you barely knew if you could stomach the ride there. Loki did not have access to the Space Stone anymore, and so his intergalatical traveling must be done aboard something. And you were not - absolutely not! - stepping foot on an alien spaceship.

The smell of him still lingered in your small apartment as you showered and looked at your pitiful wardrobe. What should you pack? Jeans? Sweaters? What would the weather be like? 

Your stomach roiled, your skin prickling, and you wondered if you’d made the right choice. 

The part of you, forever tied to him, the part wedged deep in your chest, burned and sung that yes, you’d made the only possible choice. You knew spending the rest of your life in this pathetic limbo, going through the day like a robot, was not the life you wanted to go back to. Any life, whatever it may be, whatever future beheld you and Loki, you knew it was the right one.

You phone buzzed on the kitchen counter and you sighed, trudging to the kitchen, feeling tired and weighed down.

It was Bruce.

Your finger hovered over the accept button, biting on your lower lip.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sis.” His tone was soft, careful. “I’m just checking up on you.” 

You hadn’t forgotten just how drastically you’d barged out of the restaurant not even a few hours ago. 

Your heart leapt, lungs compressing against the guilt. “I’m alright.” You knew your voice didn’t sound fine, but you just hoped Bruce wouldn’t come rushing over. If he caught a whiff of whom had been in this place, he’d tear you away and put you right back in isolation.

The thought of it, the walls, the locked doors, no phone, had you tightening your fists.

“I know how hard it has been for you,” Bruce sighed on the other end. “And you’ve been doing so well. I’m sorry if my comment about boys and all made you feel clustered. I promise never to cross that boundary with you ever again.”

You smiled, remembering just how caring and respectful your brother was - how he would hold true to that promise until his very last breath.

How you would never see him again... no. You didn’t want to think that far. 

Your lip quivered but you bit it hard to stop the tears from coming. “Thanks, Bruce,” you said with a smile. “Means a lot.”

He laughed. “Alright, Y/N,” he answered. “I got us tickets to a Celine Dion imitator in the village, this Saturday at seven. Do you work?”

Your throat tightened and you resisted the urge to lie. Fuck. 

Bending your head, you inhaled. “I don’t work,” you said, your voice barely above a mumble. “I can make it.”

You tried not to picture him waiting for you on the curb, clutching the tickets, his curly brown hair caught in the wind. You tried not to picture him looking at his watch, calling you. You tried not to picture his face when he found out you’d never show up. Ever again. 

“Perfect!” he said, his voice cheery. “I scored us front row, too. So you’ll be able to touch them!”

There was a sharp stinging pain drifting in your chest. “That sounds great, Bruce.” You hoped you didn’t sound as sorrowful as you felt.

“Yeah!” There was a long pause, too long. “It gets better, Y/N. I love you.”

You swore, there and then, you’d burst out crying. But you held yourself together, piece by piece, feeling the thinning hold about to burst. “Thank you, big bro,” you answered, your voice barely stable. “I love you too, so much.”

When the line cut and the only thing in the apartment was the heavy silence and the smell of your soulmate, the tears came so fiercely you thought you’d throw up. 

It was like being torn in a million little pieces. On one hand, you did not want to leave your brother, not after all he went through to keep you safe and to make sure you were happy. He needed you as well. You were the only one who could tame the green beast, and that’s what got you caught up in all of this in the first place. How could you leave him, just like that? As easy as it sounded - grabbing some clothes and walking away - the idea of him searching for you, fearing the worst, made you second guess everything.

On the other hand, the part that grew in you every second of every day, wanted you to choose Loki. That part of you, tethered to him so tightly, burned. It flamed and churned, a fire so bright and so hot, that the heat threatened to overwhelm you. But you loved it. You craved it. Every day of the past two years had been absolute agony. It was anguish and torment. And you never wanted to live that again, ever. The simple thought of Loki never coming back burned every fiber of you to a crisp.

You went to bed, curled up into a ball. If you weren’t crying, you were agonizing, anxiety a sharp glass ball in your sternum. And when the time was three and the sky was dusk, the air beside you rattled, disturbed, and the bed dipped beneath the weight of him.

You didn’t want him to see you like this; all swollen eyes and sniffy and hiccupping. You turned to the wall, feeling the warmth of him at your back. 

His fingers pulled your hair away from your damp cheek. “He will forget,” Loki said, his voice a hum in the dark, silent bedroom. You frowned. “In time, when it will have been decades, he will forget this small wound.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” you mumbled, and the fact that Loki knew what you were crying about made your heart leap. “I hate the thought that this will cause him fear and pain.”

Loki curled and arm around your waist, gently pulling you to his chest. He was so warm and solid. “I understand,” he mumbled into your hair. “I know the relationship that you have with your brother is something you never want to lose.”

The tears came again and your lower lip quivered. “He will hate me,” you whispered, sniffing.

Loki’s arm tightened, his hand tucked under your waist. “He will not,” he answered curtly. “I assure you. If you tell him you are safe, in a few years, you’ll be able to see him again.”

“Don’t lie to me, Loki,” you warned, hating that you still didn’t fully trust him. You could tell it wounded him as well because him pulled back away slightly, but then he kissed your temple.

“I am not lying to you, Y/N.” His voice was like honey. “I am promising you. I will do whatever you need me to do to help assure him and to insure you will see him again.”

You knew you needed to flee and be especially invisible for the first years because your sudden absence would spark not only fear and panic but resurging suspicion involving Loki. 

But now he was telling you that a few years was all it took and then you’d be able to see Bruce again. 

His chin tucked against your shoulder. “I know the fire that can be built between two siblings,” he said, the dark softening with the coming sun. “I also know that the love between them can be stronger than anything in the world.”

Something shifted in you and the dark cloud of sorrow lifted, making the corners of your mouth tug upwards slightly. “I could never leave my brother,” you admitted. “But I also can never leave you.”

You knew he was smiling just by the way you felt his skin move against yours. “I know,” he said, voice thick.

You swallowed hard. “Why did you come back?” you asked, your voice faint.

He was silent for a moment. “I’d never seen the world so bright before,” he murmured, the sound close to your ear. “A thousand years in bleak nothingness. And then you.”

He turned you around slowly until you were lying on your back, his face hovering over yours. you could tell he was shirtless. In the faint light of morning, you could see the sharp outline of him; the straight nose, the edge of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, the dark halo of his curls. 

“You were...” he trailed off, swallowing hard. “You were all to me, in the past two years. You took me out of the dark. I couldn’t lose you. I... I got lost in your brilliance.”

You never thought you’d hear such words from him. In that moment, spread over you, he was vulnerable. Completely open, and he was letting you in. He was letting you see him for the first time. 

He kissed you, softly at first, brushing his lips against yours. His hand found your jaw and yours found his shoulder, trailing the curve upward until your could sink your fingers into his hair. 

“I am forever yours,” he whispered against your lips. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, a sound like a whimper leaving your lips, and his arms tightened around you. He moved until he pressed one knee between your legs, his hands sliding down your arms, raising fire as they went. He lips kept tasting you, his tongue delving past your teeth, and every time his hands found knew skin, it was like touching heaven.

His hands found the band of your pajama shorts and he stilled, raising his head, searching your gaze. “May I?” he asked and you nodded once. He smiled, kissing you deeply as his fingers hooked into the material and pulled down. Your arched your hips off the bed until he could slid shorts and panties off, tossing them at the edge of the bed. 

His fingers skimmed the sensitive skin at your hip, trailing across your belly. “I will be good to you, Y/N.” His voice was thick, hard in the silence, but his fingers were delicate as they found your soaked heat. Your chest arched off the mattress, a strangled moan passing through your parted lips. 

He pressed two fingers to your clit and rubbed light, slow circles. Your hands turned to fists in the sheets as he bent forward, catching your moan with his mouth. You grabbed onto his shoulders, kissing him back fiercely. 

Just having him this close, this intimately near, made you so irrevocably happy.

He pressed slightly harder on your clit, the circles turning into slow rubs until you were writhing against him, whimpering and groaning against his mouth. 

“Am I torturing you, love?” he asked against your mouth, kissing along your jaw, down your neck. 

“Yes,” you gritted, wriggling your hips, rocking against his hand. 

He trailed wet lips along your wind pipe. “What would you like from me, princess?” His voice was pure sin, making a knot begin to coil deep in your belly, like thick, dark smoke. “I am waiting,” he urged.

You dug your nails into his shoulders hard, rocking against his hand, and he chuckled. He slipped two fingers into your core, so easily that it was embarrassing. He hissed, lips turning to teeth on your neck. “All this for me?” he groaned against your skin. 

He stroked the spot in you that made you cry out, his thumb applying pressure to your nub. 

“My name is all but hard to pronounce, love,” he teased.

You hissed, rocking against his fingers, his thumb, until the coiling turned sharp and his name erupted passed your lips.

“Like that,” he urged, pumping in you until you were gripping his shoulders so hard you were sure there’d be blood. 

You held on until the coil erupted and you clenched hard around his fingers, his lips trailing kisses along your jaw. “You are so lovely when you cum for me, darling,” he whispered, voice low, smoky. 

You lay there, heart beating relentlessly, breathing in the smell of him, feeling every inch of your flesh on fire. 

When you cooled and Loki’s hands were stroking your thighs, you pressed both hands to his chest and pushed until you turned him over. He went with a huff, grasping at your wrists.

You straddled him, watching him look up at you, eyes wide in wonder. His hands found your hips and you sat comfortably, feeling the length of him hard beneath his joggings.

When your fingers trailed down the hard muscle of his stomach and fiddled with the hem of his pants, his hands flew to your wrists, stopping you. “You mustn’t feel obligated,” he told you, eyes sincere in the dimming darkness. “I am satisfied as it is.”

You nodded, but slid your hips back until your could tug at his joggings, pulling it down his hips until his length sprang fee. He gave a sharp inhale and you lowered yourself, grasping him lightly. 

“Oh, princess,” he groaned, hand delicately placed on your chin so you could meet his eyes. “You’re so beautiful.” 

You smiled, stroking him once, twice, his head lolling back against your pillows. Your belly fluttered at the sight, and you lowered further until you could take the tip between your lips, sucking slightly. 

“You are going to be the death of me,” he whispered, hand tangling in your hair, holding it away from your face. 

You eased him past your mouth, tasting, humming at the warmth and hardness. His hips bucked up once, unable to restrain himself, and he groaned deep in his chest. 

With the hand in your hair, he help you find his rhythm, pushing you down and pulling you up. Your eyes watered with the effort, but the sounds pulling from him all but encouraged you, stoking a fire deep in your belly. 

“Fuck,” he whispered when the tip of him hit the back of your throat and you gagged softly. Your lips were beginning to burn, using your hand on the rest of him you couldn’t take further. 

He was a lot. A lot of man, and tasting him like so was like a gift. 

He hissed sharply, drawing your eyes to him, and when you made eye contact, he bit his lip and his hand clenched. His head lolled back, hips bucking and he stilled you, pushing your head, emptying on your tongue, whispered moans tumbling from his lips. 

You gulped him down, feeling your cheeks heat at the idea, but the feel of your swollen lips and your tingling throat all but made you feel... wanted. He lay there, panting, until he chuckled slightly and you shifted off of him. 

He reached for you. “Don’t go.” He pulled his joggings back over his hips and turned, bringing your head onto his chest. He kissed you and you reeled. “What?” he asked, voice turning to panic. “Have I hurt you?”

“No!” you said, chuckling. “I just thought that you - um - wouldn’t want to kiss me because, well...” you trailed off. 

He waved his hand. “I don’t know who has had you in their bed,” he said, “but men do not fear kissing the woman who has brought them paradise.”

Your cheeks heated and you put your head onto his chest, listening to the erratic sound of his heart. 

You fell asleep content, the roil of anxiety quieted for now, with Loki stroking your arm until sleep finally came.

I THINK YOU ALL WILL LOVE WHAT I HAVE PLANNED FOR PART FOURTEEN... damn, i really went all out with this smut, huh. more drama to come yall, but yes, happy ending ;)

TAGS:  @subtlemalice @yallgotkik @buckyandlokirunmylife @kaz11283 @legolas-bromance @shylittlemountain @tofeartheunknown @feelmyfckngsoul @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @caffiend-queen @tomhollandsslilslut @lady-loki-ren @nathan-no @rosaline-black @abundanceofcarolines @my-own-oracle @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @marvelouslovely @drbaureid @bored-as-hell-666 @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @theinfinitenerd @toe-vind-ek-jou @ink-and-starlight @blank-bakabane @sunshineonloki @holaamishamigos @palegoopbearlight @heyarely16 @pleaseexecuteme @athalahild @help-i-need-a-social-life @tapismyforte @coloursforyourportrait @celestialstarshadow @fukyouthink @lust-for-pan @thic-thor @winchescumberholland @morganmofresh @dazedkrosupreme @postsbyjenipeo  @copper-boom @jesuswasnotawhiteman

#loki #loki fanfic #loki fic #loki fanfiction #soulmate au #lokixyn #lokixyou #lokixreader #oneshot #imagine #smut #angst

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Built on a Lie

Prompt: I like the possible idea of Janus being a absolutely crushed to find Roman bleeding out due to a bruised ego in his room after pof was uploaded. After all most Sander Sides Fans hated Roman after he mocked Janus's Name.

Thanks for the prompt, babe! I hope it’s what you wanted!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: arguably roceit i guess??? it’s just focused on them, can be platonic or romantic if you want. same with LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR

Warnings: sympathitic janus even if it might not seem like it, sympathetic feral protective remus, roman is a hurt boi

Word Count: 5010

The wedding is tough.

After the wedding is an ordeal.

After after the wedding…hurts.

The Mindscape is all but deserted. No one wants to come out to the common areas for risk of running into someone who they had…disagreements with or getting swept up in a painfully awkward conversation. Patton lingers in the kitchen, Virgil almost never opens his door, Logan works, and Remus, well…Remus is the only one still behaving as normal.

Janus is grateful for his consistency.

In all honesty, and oh, the irony, he doesn’t enjoy this. He doesn’t enjoy the others walking on eggshells constantly, nor does he thrill at how they seem to jump at everyone, not just him. His point was made. That is his job.

But he’s not so sure he fully anticipated the cost.

At the very least, Logan seems to get over their troubles first. He approaches Janus a few days after the wedding and offers one of his philosophy books. Janus accepts it gratefully and by the time he’s finished it, Logan starts talking again. It’s not the greatest thing for the Mindscape that Logan is willing to talk to the others again.

Patton comes around next, simply because he’s the kindest. Janus pities him a little for it. But sure enough, the common areas start to ring again, drawing Remus out from the depths to cause his chaos.

Virgil appears next, summoned by the repeated calling of Remus’s antics and Janus’s exasperation. And sometimes, well, sometimes it seems like they’re back in their hallway, with Patton and Logan looking on with the air of some bemused anthropologists.

All the Sides reemerge and start trying to figure out what’s going on except for Roman.

Roman is nowhere to be found.

“He…he just needs some more time, I’m sure.”

“Roman is prone to fits of dramatics. It is unsurprising that he chooses to have a repeat performance.”

“Princey’s a bit of an asshole, it’s gonna take him a while to own up to what he did.”

“Catch!”

Janus grunts and staggers under Remus’s weight, eventually getting them both with their feet back under them on the floor. He adjusts his hat and looks disapprovingly at the amount of slime Remus has managed to get all over himself.

“What were you even doing?”

“Exploring the precise relationship of viscera to ventricles inside the heart of a blue whale!” Remus shakes his sleeve. “They lied about how bit the veins and arteries are.”

“How did you—nevermind,” Janus sighs, “I don’t want to know. Now, will you answer my question or not?”

Remus shrugs. “Dunno. Not paying attention.”

“…Roman’s not or you’re not?”

“I’m not!” He flicks some slime at Janus’s hat. “But you should be!”

“Yes, well, when slime starts to emerge from every corner again, I’ll chase you down.”

“Ooh, promises, promises.”

Janus doesn’t hurl some of the slime at Remus as he sinks out.

Roman still hasn’t appeared and the others are starting to notice. Thomas isn’t exactly in a position to do a whole lot of things, but at the very least he’s not doing what he perhaps should have been capable of. Logan notices and at first, chalks it up to the fact that they are in a pandemic; lapses in peak physical and mental performance are not unexpected, but it quickly becomes clear that it’s a little more than that.

The Mindscape grows dimmer, more sluggish. Thomas doesn’t seem to want to do much of anything, let alone work.

“I don’t understand,” Patton mumbles one afternoon when they meet—sans Roman—to try and figure out what’s going on, “I know I’m having a few—um, it’s not Thomas’s feelings that are causing us problems.”

Janus doesn’t make a note of how Virgil quickly presses his arm against Patton’s shoulder.

“There are certain things that are to be expected under times of great stress,” Logan muses, “and certainly any pre-existing problems will be exacerbated, but…this was not anticipated.”

Remus cranks the chainsaw and sets about carving up a new slice of…whatever he’s working on. “We’re in a pandemic, Spectacles!”

“I am wildly aware.”

Virgil stares at the chainsaw—which is fair—then up to Remus. “You ever been in a pandemic before, Remus?”

“Nope!”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Okay, so that makes sense. But L’s right, this feels…weird. Like we’re missing something pretty big.”

In unison, they all look towards Roman’s seat.

The room falls as quiet as it can with Remus’s chainsaw still in the background.

The big, red, overstuffed armchair looks…different, without Roman lounging in it. The blinds aren’t drawn but it looks like the coloring has faded significantly, as though it’s been out in the sun for far too long. The seams look as though they’re struggling and there’s a dark imprint on one of the arms.

It’s not a shock to Janus to discover he’s never really looked at the chair before.

“Has anyone heard from Roman,” Logan asks quietly, “since the wedding?”

Virgil shakes his head, glancing around. Patton looks down at his chest.

“You think this is Roman.” It’s not a question.

“HIs tantrums do not normally last for this long,” Logan continues, adjusting his tie, “and whilst I admit that perhaps our circumstances have contributed more than I anticipated, I do not believe that is how Roman feels.”

“Princey has been away for a really long time.”

“Thomas is starting to get hurt by it,” Patton mumbles, laying a hand on his chest, “I can—I’m starting to feel it a little.”

“So we need to get Princey’s head out of his ass again.”

Logan sighs. “Most likely.”

“I didn’t want to rush it,” Patton says, glancing at Janus, “but you guys are right. I think he’s being selfish now.”

At the word ‘selfish,’ Remus freezes.

The chainsaw splutters and dies to the floor with a heavy clunk.

“Remus,” Patton scolds, “be careful with the…”

He trails off when he notices what the rest of them have.

Remus is standing completely still—an impossibility for Remus—his head tilted back, eyes fixed on a point in the ceiling. His nose quivers, almost like a bloodhound.

His nose twitches.

His lip curls up into a snarl.

His morning star appears in his hand with a growl as he tears off toward the stairs.

“Remus? Remus!”

“Wait!”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Remus!”

Janus closes his eyes, reaching out to see if he can tell where Remus is going. His eyes shoot open.

“Roman’s room. Now.”

Virgil grabs Logan and Patton and sinks out.

Janus tries to appear in Roman’s room only to hit something burning cold. He hisses and flinches away from it, only to realize that he hasn’t materialized properly and is stuck. The burning cold reaches further, further, into his scales, digging under them, until Janus yanks himself away and appears, panting, in the hallway outside Roman’s door.

Virgil appears too, still holding the others. “What the fuck was that?”

“Did he block us out?”

“None of us have the ability to do that, other than Thomas.”

“Did he get Thomas to block us out?”

“I don’t know!”

A loud crash jerks their attention to Remus. He raises his morning star again and drives the spikes deep into the bright red of Roman’s door.

…that isn’t nearly as bright as it should be.

Remus snarls again and wails against the door. The wood starts to creak and buckle under the onslaught. He hefts the weapon again and shatters the door with a thunderous crack.

The morning star is hastily flung aside as Remus claws at the splintered wood, yanking it away from the hole he’s made.

The door groans and yields.

Remus rushes through, Virgil on his heels. Patton and Logan attempt to follow only to run smack into both of them.

“Why’d you stop, kiddos, we can’t—“

“Let us through, why did you—“

When those two fight their way through and into silence, Janus sighs and gingerly steps through, nudging Logan and Virgil aside to look at what’s got them so shocked. Roman in the middle of a sobbing mess of tissues, probably, or an empty room signifying he’s gone off on some quest in the Imagination, or even a pouting Roman glaring at them for ruining his door.

He gets around Virgil’s shoulder and his blood runs cold. Burning cold.

If they weren’t in Roman’s room, he’s not sure he’d be able to recognize this as Roman.

His pristine white costume is stained an ugly brown. The gold trimmings fall limply off, hating on by barely a thread. His hair sticks to the floor in horrid, matted clumps. His hands are speckled and stained with more blood, some congealed and crusted from the puddle on the floor. His legs bend at awkward and uncomfortable angles. One of his arms is stretched away from, reaching for something.

Or anything.

They dare not move. They dare hardly breathe.

Remus takes a step forward. Then another. Then another. He circles the body on the floor, not caring about stepping in the blood, crouching down on the far side. His face is drawn, paler than Janus has ever seen it go, he looks sick.

If…if Remus looks this bad—

Remus looks up at the others. His face darkens.

“Explain,” he whispers, his voice low and soft and dangerous, “now.”

No one can find words to even try.

When no one says anything, Remus crouches down and, with a tenderness that shocks Janus, lays his hand on Roman’s side.

“Roman,” he whispers, almost inaudibly, “Roman, can you hear me?”

“...Re?”

“Yeah, Ro-Bro, it’s—it’s me.”

“Wha’re you…here?”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Remus growls, looking up at them again, “maybe no one was.”

“’S fine.”

“Roman, it is about the furthest from fine that it could be.”

“…’ve had worse.”

“…okay I was wrong. That is the furthest from fine it could be.”

Judging by the way Roman’s body slumps, his eyes must fall closed again. “You c’n go. D’n’t have to stay.”

“Not on your life.”

“’S fine, Re,” Roman slurs, “the others will…wonder where you are.”

Remus stiffens. His hand tenses on Roman’s side.

“No,” he says softly, “they won’t.”

Roman twitches, his head rolling up. “‘M sorry, Re.”

“What the absolute fuck are you apologizing to me for?”

“Thought they’d…care.” Roman’s head waivers and drop back down. “‘Bout you.”

Patton can’t stifle his whimper.

Roman twitches again. “Wha…”

“They’re not gonna wonder where I am,” Remus growls, “because they’re here.”

Roman’s going to panic. He’s going to freak out and they’ll have to reassure him. Or Roman’s going to be angry and they’ll have to stop him from hurting himself. Or he won’t believe Remus and that…that might be the worst.

…Janus should really stop thinking that.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’re they here, Re,” Roman mumbles, his body sagging to the floor again, “‘m I late for s’mething?”

Remus snarls and Roman flinches.

“Don’ be mad, Re, please, ‘m sorry—“

“I’m not mad at you, Roman.”

“But you’re mad.”

“No.” Remus stares at them, his voice still even and soft. “I’m enraged.”

Before they can say anything, Roman hisses and jerks. Remus’s hands instantly flit to Roman, searching for whatever’s hurt him.

“What’s happening, Ro,” he growls, “whose ass do I need to kick?”

“You can’t,” Roman wheezes, “can’ stop it.”

“The hell I can.”

“No, you—you actually can’t,” Roman says, reaching for Remus’s hand, “help—help me sit up?”

“Ro, you’re—I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“’S fine.”

“I don’t think it is!”

“Please?”

Remus sighs, gingerly wrapping his arms around Roman’s bruised and bloody body. “Come on then.”

Roman’s costume clings to the floor and his back as they sit up, the stain darkening and drying on the belly of his tunic. His head lolls against Remus’s chest, breathing heavily for a moment before he finally looks up.

Oh, his face…

It’s an absolute mess. Blood and salt and other things Janus couldn’t hope to figure out cling to every scrap of skin they can as he squints at them.

“You broke my door.”

“You were in trouble,” Remus replies easily, hoisting Roman to sit properly.

Roman sighs, his breath rattling. “Did I miss a meeting?”

“We…” Logan swallows. “We just came from one.”

“Oh.” Roman closes his eyes. “I’ll…gimme a minute, I’ll—“

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“I gotta do the meeting, Re.”

“The hell you do.”

“You—you don’t have to worry about the meeting, Roman,” Logan says firmly, taking a step closer, “we—what happened to you?”

“What d’you mean?”

“What does he mean?” Virgil explodes. “Roman, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Roman hisses again. “Don’ have to shout, Virgil.”

“Of fucking course I have to shout! Look at you!”

“I believe that might be more of a reason not to shout,” Logan says quietly. Virgil huffs, balling his hands up into fists.

“What the fuck happened, Roman,” Virgil repeats, “and don’t pretend like you don’t know what we’re talking about.”

Roman sighs again, something whistling, what happened to him?—and sits up away from Remus. “I can’ shout, come closer.”

Logan and Virgil immediately walk forward, crouching down a respectful distance away. Patton takes a moment longer, creeping forward and reaching out a trembling hand toward Roman.

“K-kiddo,” he mumbles, “I’m so—so sorry, I didn’t know—“

“’S okay,” Roman slurs, leaning back against Remus, “’s okay, Pat.”

“Patton?” Logan turns. “What do you know?”

“Yeah, Patton,” Remus growls, “why don’t you tell us.”

Patton shrinks back. “I—I—“

“Shh,” Roman mumbles, clumsily patting Remus’s hand, “don’ do that, ’s okay.”

“No, Roman, it’s not.”

“...kiddo?”

Roman nods.

Patton takes a deep breath. “You guys know that—how Roman gets hurt sometimes when Thomas does something that, uh, doesn’t turn out great?”

“We all get hurt, Pat,” Virgil says, “that doesn’t explain this.”

As if on cue, Roman hisses again.

“No, no, Virgil,” Patton mumbles, “it’s—Roman’s the only one who gets physically hurt when this stuff happens.”

Logan’s eyes widen as he looks at Roman’s injuries. “Of course…”

Despite everything, Roman smiles tiredly up at him. “Figure it out?”

“You’re the Ego,” Logan mumbles, “and thus it follows that you would get…bruised.”

“Wait, that’s a literal thing?”

“Apparently so.”

“Jeez, Princey,” Virgil mumbles, “you coulda told me.”

“You were busy, didn’t wanna give you anything else to worry ‘bout.”

“That’s not—Roman—“

“But Thomas has been inside,” Logan interjects quickly, “alone, he hasn’t—we haven’t done anything since the pandemic began.”

“It’s a pandemic, Lo,” Roman says, “no one’s doing much of anything…besides staying inside, reading things, watching things…”

“So how is this happening to you, Roman,” Patton says, wringing his hands, “what—what’s doing this to Thomas?”

“Fuck,” Virgil says, burying his hands in his hair, “Princey has this been happening to you since the wedding?”

“Mm,” Roman hums, leaning heavily against Remus.

“People are watching the video,” Logan whispers, “and they’re—well, they’re talking about it.”

“Are they—are they still saying Thomas should’ve…” Paton gulps. “Done something different?”

Logan shakes his head. “I’m sure they are but Thomas…Thomas hasn’t been looking at the comments from the video, not really. Virgil and I have specifically told him not to.”

“So then why is Thomas still being hurt by it? Why are people still attacking Thomas?”

“Not—“ their heads all jerk around to look at Roman— “not Thomas.”

He waves a hand at himself.

“Wouldn’t be like this if it were them attacking Thomas.”

“Then what—“

“They’re attacking you?” Virgil’s eyes go wide as they scan over Roman’s injuries. “Directly?”

“Mm.”

“Oh, kiddo—“

“Princey, what the hell—“

“Why didn’t you tell us? We could’ve—“

“What for?”

In response, Roman’s eyes raise slowly, and look at Janus.

Everyone else follows, looking back toward the door, realizing that Janus hadn’t moved closer with the rest of them.

Roman’s gaze isn’t cold, but it makes him feel cold.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“My name,” Janus breathes, “it’s…they’re mad at you because of me.”

“Told you,” Roman slurs as his eyes close again, “gotta come closer. Can’ shout like this.”

Janus swallows heavily, his throat dry, clutching his cloak tightly around him as he edges closer. Roman mumbles to himself until Janus is close enough to hear him.

“There we go…” He cracks a bloodied eye open. “You’re right. They’re angry at me. Rightfully so, but…yeah.”

“Because you made fun of my name?”

They all rush forward as Roman keens, his hand flying to his gut and hissing.

“Fuck, Princey, is it—is it still happening?”

“Mhm.”

“How do we—how do we stop it?”

“Can’t,” Roman mumbles, “wasn’t lying. Nothing you can do. Not until it’s over.”

“It’s been ages since the wedding, Roman, how much longer is this going to go on?”

Roman makes a vague noise of ‘I don’t know.’

“But—but—“ Logan looks frantically back and forth between them— “surely they can’t all be angry at you, that would be—“

“They’re not,” Roman mumbles, “not all of them, but it’s—it’s most of them.”

“How is that possible?”

“Some of them really don’t like me—“ Roman hisses again— “some of them really like J-Janus or Remus or…or Logan, or Patton—“

“What?”

“What does that have to do with—“

“And some of them just think that it’s—what I did was—“ Roman stifles a whimper, biting his lip— “really bad.”

“But then why…why aren’t the rest of us being affected like this?”

“You’re not the Ego.”

Remus snarls again as Roman jerks, a new bruise blooming on the underside of his neck.

“…ow.”

“We have to get you cleaned up,” Logan mutters shakily, trying to stand.

“Not much point right now,” Roman sighs, absentmindedly nuzzling into Remus, who tightens his grip protectively around Roman, “‘m just gonna get all messy again.”

“Not if we stay with you,” Logan promises, “not if we help.”

“…don’ have to.”

“What the hell are you—“ Virgil shakes his head. “Of course, we’re gonna help you, Roman.”

Roman just looks at them and closes his eyes.

“Ro—kiddo,” Patton says, reaching out for him, “why don’t you believe us?”

“You haven’t exactly…done that before.”

“We didn’t know!”

“You did.”

Patton’s retort dies in his throat. He looks desperately around for something, anything—

Janus is in shock.

Roman…oh, Roman…Janus knew Roman was the Ego, but he didn’t—he hadn’t—

Fuck, were the bruises from what he said still there? Not—not just that awful, awful thing about comparing Roman to Remus, but…from before?

How many times had Janus hurt Roman…and hadn’t cared?

“…I’m sorry, Roman,” Logan murmurs, breaking the silence, “will you let me help now?”

Roman looks up at him. “I’ve been awful to you,” he mumbles, “you don’—don’ have to apologize.”

“Yes, I do,” Logan says, “because you’ve been wonderful to me too…and I am not blameless in this either.”

“But they don’t know that.”

“I do,” Logan says firmly, “and they will.”

The smallest smile tugs at the corners of Roman’s mouth as Logan stands up to go fetch the first aid kit.

“Princey, I—Roman,” Virgil stammers, “fuck, you—oh my god—“

“I’ve been awful to you too, Virgil.”

“And I’ve been fucking worse right back!” Virgil squeezes his hands tight. “And I—you’re the only one who gets yelled at for it. Fuck, I’m—I’m so fucking sorry, I’m gonna—can I help too?”

“…if you want.”

“I’m gonna go help Logan get the shit,” Virgil mutters, getting to his feet and tearing out after Logan.

“…oh, kiddo…”

Patton’s eyes begin to tear up.

“I thought—I thought you needed more time—“

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Pat,” Roman manages, “it’s not fun, trust me.”

Patton’s laugh comes out more like a sob.

“I won’t hold it against you, and you can—“ Roman hisses again— “help if you want.”

“Do you think you can drink something?”

“…I’ll try.”

Patton’s gone in a flash.

Janus looks at Remus. Remus glares at him and pulls Roman closer.

���…we should…try and get some of that off,” Janus tries, “so we can see what, um…”

Remus’s stony silence as Roman starts to drift again cuts off Janus’s words.

“…Remus…”

“You are very, very lucky,” Remus whispers, cutting him off, “that I’m not about to leave my brother’s side for a long time.”

Janus nods.

“Start on the buttons,” Remus says, “at his wrists. I’m not sure how much of this we can save.”

He immediately sets to work, trying to communicate how sorry, sorry, sorry he is with every gentle brush of his fingers against Roman’s skin. Remus summons something for them to lean Roman against as they start to gingerly remove the tunic. It’s worse than Janus thought.

Roman is one big pulsing wound, little nicks here and there and varying shades of purple, red, green, yellow, all coming from one massive sore in the center of him. As they watch, more injuries appear, little bruises that make his breath hitch, and occasionally a small swipe along his ribs. As Janus works the cuff over his wrist, one of his fingers blackens and swells as it breaks.

“Oh, Roman…”

“Sit up, Ro,” Remus whispers tenderly, peeling and unsticking the tunic from his back, “okay, there we go. Are most of them…up here?”

“They all look to be coming from…that,” Janus says, indicating the giant wound, “so…”

And indeed, as they watch, Roman keens again and the wound deepens, more blood beginning to trickle out.

“Are all of these—“ Janus indicates the injuries littering Roman’s body— “comments?”

“Mm.”

“Then what—why is this one…?”

Roman’s eyes drift closed and his head lolls back.

“’Oh, Roman, thank god you don't have a mustache.”

No.

No.

“’Otherwise, between you and Remus—‘” Roman winces as the wound digs deeper— “‘I wouldn't know who the evil twin is.’”

…no…

Janus reaches out a trembling hand and lays it next to the wound. It’s…it’s warm under his touch but…wrong.

A snarl jerks his hand back and he looks up to see Remus glaring at him.

“Remus—“

“Save it.” Remus glances toward the door. “The others will be back in a moment anyway.”

Sure enough, Logan and Virgil bust through the broken door, their hands full. Logan immediately sweeps his gaze over Roman and kneels down, reaching out.

“May I touch you, Roman?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you.” Logan slots a hand gently behind Roman’s hand. “We’re going to try and get the blood off of you first, alright?”

“Mm.”

“This might sting,” Logan cautions, starting to rub an antiseptic towel down Roman’s arm, “my apologies.”

Virgil takes another one and carefully cleans Roman’s other arm, mindful of his broken finger. As they work, Patton reappears, holding a bottle of water and a glass of juice.

“Come on, kiddo,” he says softly, taking Logan’s place behind Roman’s head, “drink this for me?”

Roman manages a few sips of each.

“Good job, kiddo, there you go…” Patton glances down. “Does it seem to be stopping at all?”

As if it can hear him, the wound starts to bleed again.

“Oh, Roman…”

Logan glances between the wound and Janus, his brow furrowed.

Please, Logan, for once…don’t be so smart.

The way Logan’s eyes widen and narrow say that it’s too late.

“This one seems to be the origin,” Logan says instead, turning away, “all the others seem to stem from it.”

“Okay,” Virgil mutters, “so what’s that one?”

Janus’s mouth runs dry as Logan turns to him expectantly.

“Well,” Remus growls, “go on.”

“I don’t—what if it just makes it worse?”

“That didn’t stop you before.”

“I didn’t—“

“Oh, shut up,” Remus cuts him off, “you knew. You knew.”

“Remus—“

“You wanna know how I know that?” Remus draws away from Roman just enough to clench his fists. “Because I found you after the wedding. You were all curled up on the floor and you were so upset.”

Roman stirs. “…Re…”

“And I asked you why, and you said it was because Roman made fun of your name,” Remus continues, “and I thought: ‘huh, that feels a little weird. Where have I heard that before?’”

Patton shrinks out of Remus’s line of sight.

“Then I remembered! The courtroom,” Remus continues, a manic smile on his face, “and your little plan to make sure Roman felt like he had no idea what was going on.”

“…J, what is he talking about?”

“Oh, he’s not going to tell you,” Remus says, “but I will.”

“Remus—“

“You said that you knew Roman,” Remus says, talking right over him, “and you knew that if you pushed him in the right direction, you’d be able to get him to listen to you easily.”

Even Logan pauses.

“Do you remember what you said, Janny?” Remus’s eyes bore into Janus’s mind. “Do you?”

“…Remus, please.”

Remus’s grin drops.

“You said,” he whispers, “that if you just fucked with his name, he’d be in the palm of your hand.”

And he was.

"Conveniently, everyone seems to have forgotten that. Forgotten what you did. Or they don't care."

Remus tightens his grip on Roman. 

"But not me."

Guilt presses hot and thick against Janus’s throat. Unbidden, huge, fat tears start to form in his eyes as he stares at the wound on Roman’s gasping chest. Distantly, he thinks he can hear the others muttering but all he can think about is how much of this is a lie.

Roman isn’t the evil twin.

Roman isn’t Remus.

Roman isn’t stupid.

Roman isn’t worthless.

Roman isn’t a toy or a puppet or a tool.

Roman isn’t selfish or greedy or arrogant.

Roman is hurt and scared and Janus is so, so sorry.

He lets out a growl of his own and presses his hand hard to the wound.

Lie. Lie.

This is a lie.

Truth is hard and unyielding and painful but nothing is more painful than knowing that all of this is built on a lie.

Janus grits his teeth and concentrates, his hands trembling as he presses it against the wound, searching, searching for—

There.

He closes his fist around the lie and yanks, pulling the words and the hurt and the ache out of Roman’s chest in a bright flash.

When it’s gone, Roman’s chest is heaving, bruises still littering his torso, but the big wound is nowhere to be seen.

Panting, Janus clenches his fist until the lie shatters into pieces, the shard disappearing into harmless puffs of air.

He looks back.

Logan and Patton are staring at him open-mouthed. Virgil has his hands bunched up in his hoodie. Remus just stares at him, his face unreadable.

And Roman…

Roman looks up at him, panting too, but it doesn’t feel quite so wrong anymore.

“I can’t promise that this one won’t hurt you ever anymore,” he vows, “but I can promise that it will never have that much power again.”

Roman reaches out a hand. Janus lets him pull him closer.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

Janus huffs. “I can also promise that you’re not nearly as sorry as I am.”

They let their eyes fall closed as Janus’s hands steady Roman, landing lightly on his sides and just resting there. Roman tips forward and his forehead lands against Janus’s.

For a second, the room just breathes.

“Can we clean you up,” Janus whispers, “the rest of the way?”

“L-Logan?”

“I’m right here, Roman,” Logan says instantly, “what do you need?”

“Can I—wanna sleep.”

“I don’t think you’ve got a concussion, so that should be alright…” Logan glances at Patton. “Let’s have you drink a little more and then you can rest, hmm?”

“Okay.”

“Come on, kiddo,” Patton coaxes, “here we go…”

As Virgil and Logan set about cleaning again, Janus runs his hands slowly over every injury he can, plucking out what little lies there are and sending them away. He can tell by the weight of Remus’s stare on him that he’s not in the clear yet, but the way Roman starts to sag slowly makes it easier.

“Alright,” Logan murmurs after a while, “I think that’s all we can do.”

“…sleep?”

“Yes, Roman, you can sleep now. Would you like us to help you to your bed?”

Roman blinks, his hand reaching out for— “Re?”

“I gotcha, Ro-Bro.”

“Re…” Roman mumbles sleepily as he all but collapses into Remus.

“…yeah I’m okay with that.”

Logan jerks his head towards Roman’s mattress. Together, they drag it down to the floor and help Remus get Roman onto it. Logan murmurs that he’s going to go put the first aid kit away, but that he’ll be right back. Patton gathers up the glasses and leaves with the same promise.

Virgil glances back and forth between Remus and Janus.

“…you guys remember that this is about what Roman needs, right?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay good.”

Virgil reaches out to brush a little of Roman’s hair out of his face.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I.”

Logan and Patton reappear at the door and slot themselves in around the mattress. Remus looks at Janus.

Janus deliberately sits between Roman and the door, something he’s seen Remus do too many times.

Remus nods.

This conversation is far from over, but right now…

Right now, Roman mumbles sleepily and grabs onto Remus’s sleeve.

There is truly so much that they never see, isn’t there? Logan wasn’t wrong, the amount of Roman that’s never been on camera is truly staggering.

Janus has let that lie of omission cause too much damage for too long.

Right now, he’s got work to do.

General Taglist:  @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious  @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @private-snippers @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist let me know!

#sanders sides #dragonbabbles #fic #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #lamp #dlamp #dlampr #roceit

[crackinwise]

Partly sick of Taka's lectures about law and safety--at one time, complete with a slideshow of police photos of motorcycle accident injuries--and partly wanting to make his boyfriend happy, Mondo finally gives in to get a helmet and riding gear. He lets Taka drag him to a place that sells secondhand, because he can't rationalize spending too much on something he's hoping to weasel out of. He leaves his gang jacket behind, hoping he doesn't get recognized.

Mondo stays more toward the textiles than real leather, and keeps veering for comfort despite Taka reminding him safety is what's important here. The armor options intrigue him--because saying you have armor on sounds badass--and he knows he has at least a few gang members who wear armor under their jumpsuits, but one change at a time. He leaves it for now and goes to try on the gear he picked out.

He hates it. It feels so restrictive compared to his normal clothes. His ankles alone feel confined in the boots. With the clothes on he doubts he'll be able to feel the wind at all and the dangerous sense of freedom it gave him. Plus, his hair is already ruined by being stuffed into the half helmet. At least he likes the black and white gloves. Maybe he can ride once in everything to please Taka then pretend it was all stolen in an ambush?

Sighing, Mondo steps out to model for Taka, who'd been anxiously tapping his boot the whole time. The tapping stops immediately, leaving a long stretch of silence.

"...Bro?" Mondo pushes up the visor on his helmet. "Does it look that fuckin bad or...?"

"La-language," Taka reminds him because they're in public, but his voice sounds funny. More like a squeak than his usual bold tone.

It makes Mondo think Taka is trying not to laugh at him. He should know Taka would never, but habits die hard, and his temper ignites.

"THIS BLOWS! I LOOK STUPID AS HELL! THIS WAS A FU-FRICKEN WASTE A' TIME!" He roars, hilariously curbing his vocabulary once like it made a difference.

Another customer that had been inside quickly finds the door, and the employee waiting at the counter looks like she wants to follow.

Mondo has his helmet off, pompadour falling free, and is about to smash it into the floor before Taka latches onto it.

"BRO! MONDO!"

The biker glares down at him, huffing.

"MONDO, YOU LOOK SO GOOD!"

The huffing becomes a surprised inhale. "Huh?" That's when Mondo actually takes in Taka's expression. There's definitely blushing, and Taka's eyes are roaming all over him, pupils blown. "Ya... like it?"

"YES! Erm, yes," Taka struggles to reign in his enthusiasm. "It, uh, hugs your frame nicely. And the BOOTS--the boots look s-sturdy."

Ohhh, Mondo gets it now. Taka liked uniforms; Taka liked order, and this is as well put together as Mondo had ever gotten. He even wore his school uniform casual. It kind of amused him Taka would have a thing for others in boots too. He wonders...

Holding up a gloved hand, Mondo asks, "What about these?"

Taka swallows hard as he reaches out to trace along the material on Mondo's hand. "They're... practical. And dashing," his voice pitches up again on the last word.

"Babe," Mondo starts, and Taka's eyes go slightly wide at use of the name in an unfamiliar place, "are ya gettin hot for this sh-stuff?"

Embarrassment makes Taka's face go crimson and he suddenly looks around for any witnesses, but the employee had wisely gone into hiding somewhere. Mondo's gloved hand gently grabs his chin to bring his attention back, making him quietly whimper.

"You do look v-very," Taka's eyes scan down Mondo's outfit to the riding boots again, and he whispers like his confession will bring trouble, "sexy."

"YO, LADY, CAN I CHECK OUT OR WHAT HERE!?" Mondo had sprinted right for the counter and was repeatedly pressing the service bell like an asshole.

After paying, they'd been asked politely to never come back.

[gear I used for reference under the cut]

BILT gloves I went for light weight and flexible. They have an all-black style too.

Joe Rocket Superstreet Boots Mondo ain't dealing with mid-calf boots like Taka; I think he'd scream. There's also a shorter slip-on style here.

Couldn't decide between some random PURPLE jacket I found and a rated one in dr colors called "the Carlo". Okay, I lied, I really want Mondo in that purple one.

Simple half helmet instead of a ¾ or full one. Mondo is used to a lotta wind and his ears uncovered. Probably a reason he's loud af. This is Gmax HH65

And you all know what motorcycle pants look like; they're all pretty plain unless custom. If you're curious, I didn't want leather but idk of Mondo would tolerate denim, so I looked at polyester & mesh pants w/o armor.

"Why didn't you go with all black?" I dunno, kinda boring? I looked for dragon designs but couldn't find much affordable. You're absolutely welcome to imagine any motorcycle gear on Mondo you like for the fantasy.

#ishimondo #mondo oowada #kiyotaka ishimaru #the gang will bust mondo until he brings taka with his slideshow in #danganronpa

[rikalovesrice]

Brother

A ficlet inspired by this thread on Twitter, some “Douxie During Trollhunters” stuff I was working on a while back, and my love for Douxie and Jim being best bros UwU

@aaronwaltke and @biancasiercke if you guys ever wanna give this a read (Absolutely zero pressure! Just sharing💙)

Also a big thank you to my good friend @nikibogwater for proofreading for me! ^_^

Please enjoy!

~ ~ ~

Douxie still remembered the day a seven-year-old Jim Lake Jr. came through the door to Benoit’s, tugging his mom in after him by her hand. His big toothy smile when he exclaimed that it was his mom’s birthday and that he was paying for all of it, even the drinks.

“Are you now?” Douxie asked, handing the pair of them menus. They’d chosen a two-top right next to the windows, the backdrop of Arcadia under a soft orange sunset in full view. 

“I helped mom clean,” Jim said. “Like a lot. So I have lots of money.” He crossed his arms, throwing his mom, Barbara Lake, a cheeky grin. His black hair was on the long side and messy, sticking up and flopping in various places including over one of his eyes, though it did virtually nothing to hide his pride and excitement.

“Can you believe he wanted to spend his whole allowance on me?” Barbara said.

“Uh yeah! You’re the best mom ever!” Jim leaned towards Douxie, feigning a whisper. “She’s the best mom ever.”

Douxie chuckled. “I’m sure. And it looks like she’s got a great son to match.” Jim beamed, though a hint of shyness bloomed on his face.

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” Barbara asked.

“Oh, quite alright. You can call me Douxie. I’ll be your server tonight.”

“Well thank you, Douxie.”

“Mom, can I get a milkshake?”

“Why are you asking me, little man? You’re the one paying.”

“Oh yeah.”

One shared entree of well done steak, a milkshake, and two free slices of cake (accompanied by Douxie’s acoustic guitar and a birthday song) later, Jim caught Douxie by the hem of his jacket after he’d set their receipt down. 

“Wait, Mister Douxie I uh…” Jim dug deep into his pockets, rummaging with a look of determination.

Douxie smiled, kneeling down beside him. “What is it, little man?”

“Um, wait, wait I need to...Oh!” Jim smiled big as he pulled a single coin out of his pocket. He held it straight out to Douxie, his eyes seeming to sparkle. “This is for you! Mom said that you should always tip people.”

Jim placed the coin in the center of Douxie’s palm. It was a nickel, a small bit of rust darkening ol’ Tommy’s profile. Douxie glanced over at Barbara, who was gazing at her son with an expression nothing short of pure endearment, glowing with pride. Douxie closed his fingers over the nickel and held it to his chest.

“A fine tip, indeed,” he said with a soft smile. “Thank you very much, Jim.”

Jim beamed. Then he was springing out of his chair, giggling as he gave Douxie a hug. How long had it been since he’d been smothered by someone who wasn’t Archie? Maybe long enough, because Douxie’s brain stopped working at the gesture, as did his arms. It registered more with every second that passed, the feeling of Jim’s small arms wrapped around him and his head on Douxie’s shoulder. Even without seeing his face, Douxie somehow knew Jim was smiling into his jacket. Something welled up in his heart, warm and touched. Douxie hugged Jim back, one hand on his back and the other gently holding his head.

“You’re awesome Mister Douxie!” Jim said as he pulled back, his hands still on Douxie’s shoulders. “Mom was really happy.”

“Hey now, I’m not the one who bought her dinner tonight.” Douxie ruffled Jim’s hair.

“Alright, Jim, Mister Douxie has to go back to work,” Barbara said softly. Jim’s expression fell and he began to wring his hands.

“No worries.” Douxie gave Jim’s shoulder a squeeze, tilting his head to look Jim in the eyes. “Chin up, buddy.  Next time you come in, I’ll still be here.”

Jim beamed. “Cool!”

“Go on, then.”

Jim hopped to his mother’s side, taking her hand. When he was distracted by one of Douxie’s co-workers wrestling with a malfunctioning blender, Barbara reached into her purse and pulled out a bill. She slipped it into Douxie’s hand, silently mouthing a thank you. Then the pair were off, stepping back out onto the streets of Arcadia under a pleasant evening. 

Douxie unrolled the bill.

Twenty dollars.

His eyes shot to the window in disbelief, catching Jim giving him one last wave goodbye. A deep breath turned into soft chuckling. Douxie waved back.

See you, little buddy.

~ ~ ~

The morning Archie reported Kanjigar’s death, they’d booked it to the canal. The last thing they wanted was for the Amulet of Daylight to wind up in the museum or in some kid’s backpack. Douxie would pick it up and then head right back to Arcane Books. So a brisk ten minute walk later, they were peering down the deep slope of the canal and spotted what must have been the remains of the Trollhunter. A heap of broken stone, just out of reach of the shadow of the bridge. Douxie closed his eyes, taking a moment to honor the fallen Protector of Trolls and Man. Wondering if, somehow, Merlin was doing the same.

“Alright Arch, let’s go — “ Before they could take another step, what looked like a boy on a bicycle suddenly launched over the other side of the canal, suspended in the air before diving back down and landing on his wheels. The boy skid to a halt and turned to holler behind him, up from where he’d come.

“Jim?” Douxie whispered, recognizing that head of black hair and those skinny legs. “A bit late for school, isn’t he?” Then Douxie felt a pinch of panic seize him. He prayed the kid would stay away from that odd pile of rocks.

“Come on Tobes!” Jim hollered.

And not a second later…

James...Lake.

A deep, echoing voice rumbled out into the atmosphere, buzzing in Douxie’s ears. Shock and disbelief struck Douxie like a manticore’s tail. He and Archie shared a look. The panic spiked.

Douxie watched, his heart beginning to pound harder and harder, as Jim faced the stone rubble, slowly removing his helmet. Another familiar face, Toby Domzalski, came struggling down the canal, falling onto his face as Jim passed under the bridge and approached what was left of Kanjigar.

“Do you think he heard the voice?” Archie said.

“No...It can’t be…He’s not…” It couldn’t be. Jim wasn’t a troll. Jim wasn’t a troll. And yet —

James Lake.

The voice rang out again. Jim yelled and fell backwards in surprise. 

“That pile of rocks knows my name!” Jim exclaimed, scrambling closer on his hands and knees. Douxie stared, mind still suspended in shock but gut starting to sink with dread as Jim dug around the rubble, eventually unearthing the Amulet of Daylight, its distinct soft blue glow ever hard to miss. 

Everything in Douxie wanted him to somehow swipe it from Jim’s hands. 

Because not him. 

Not Jim.

But Douxie also knew better. 

“What should we do, Douxie?” Archie asked. They ducked behind a tree when Toby started shouting for someone to reveal themselves. Made sense he would think it was a trick. Only magical beings or the chosen could hear the Amulet.

Only magical beings.... Or so Douxie had thought. Jim slipping the Amulet into his bag was a nail in the coffin.

“Well...we can’t take it now,” he said, eyes still trained on the boys. “The Amulet... seems to have made its choice….”

In the distance, the school bell of Arcadia Oaks rang out. Jim and Toby hurried back to their bikes, quickly mounting and taking off. When they were long gone, Douxie stepped out from behind the tree without a word, sliding down the canal and standing over the pile of stones. He stared off in the direction the boys had left, his mind reeling like nothing else, trying to comprehend what he’d seen and what it meant. 

Why it had to be Jim.

Archie joined him, climbing up on and inspecting the rubble.

“I know...the Amulet doesn’t make mistakes,” Douxie said quietly. “But...a human Trollhunter? And he’s only a child…” His voice quivered, pangs of worry and dread striking his heart.

“It’s...certainly a first,” Archie said, leaning a paw on Douxie’s leg. “I’m not sure what to make of this myself.” There was a long beat of silence before Archie spoke again. “What do you want to do, Douxie?”

What could they do? Was there anything to be done now? That and there wasn’t anyone he could discuss this with, at least who would know more.

If only you were here, Master… Douxie thought, one hand balling into a fist. He stewed in his thoughts for a moment longer before scooping Archie up onto his shoulders and heading back up the slopes of the canal.

“Douxie?” Archie said.

“We’ll keep doing what we’ve always done,” Douxie said. “Watch...and protect.” He didn’t have any answers. But it was done. The new Trollhunter had been chosen. 

Something stirred in Douxie’s chest, growing stronger as he remembered the smiling face of a seven-year-old boy who’d tipped him a nickel. Stronger still because Douxie knew. He knew what it was like to be so young and have so much, far too much, thrust upon him. Having his hand and the growth of his strength forced. The secrets that had to be kept, even from the ones he loved most, for their own safety. Pain he hadn’t known was coming. 

The loss. 

The loneliness.

The weight of the world.

When Douxie retired to his cot that night, he approached the small shine of silver on his nightstand. No, he didn’t have a clue what any of this meant. But what Douxie did know was that he’d be Jim’s greatest ally.  

He picked up the nickel and held it tight, a promise burning deep within him.

I’ll protect you.

~ ~ ~

Author’s Notes :

So I imagine that Jim and his mother ended up not frequenting the diner as much since Barbara was always so swamped and Jim was learning how to cook more at home. So Jim eventually just forgot about his first meeting with Douxie. But Douxie of course still continued to look out for him as best as he could. And I believe this is why Douxie saw Jim as family, even though he seemed to have only known him for a short time. In reality, though, Douxie always loved the kid💙

God bless and thank you all so much for reading!💙

#rika tries to write #tales of arcadia #Big Bro Douxie #douxie #hisirdoux casperan #jim lake jr #barbara lake #toby domzalski #tales of arcadia headcanons #this was fun heehee #this is my favorite bromance ever i swear lol #is so precious how can you not love them #can't wait to see my boys again #21st OF JULY LET'S GOOOOO

[get-shiggy-with-it]

#1 Victory Royale

✧ pairing: college student!spinner x student!afab!reader

✧ word count: 4.4k

✧ warnings: college au/no quirks, light angst, mostly soft/fluff, smut, could be hate fucking if you squint, afab reader but no pronouns, this is pretty tame, by like my standards, I wrote this at work, not really a warning, but it felt like you needed to know that

✧ summary: relationships suck and Spinner is starting to think maybe he does too

✧ ao3 mirror

✧ a/n: Hey y'all, welcome back to more college au bs from me. This is set in the same universe once again as all my other college pieces. A very sweet anon asked if we'd ever get to see more of Spinner, so here he is! Also with another cameo from shiggy's bitch (endearing) cause I can't help myself.

“Ughhhhhh….”

Spinner’s groaning echoed through the tiny apartment, the heavy sound of creaking couch cushions under his weight following.

“What?” his long-suffering roommate shouted out their bedroom door, rapidly shoving clothing and a toothbrush into an overnight bag.

“Uggghhhhhhh!”

He let out with another, louder dying animal wail. He’d been like this since they woke up—wallowing in some strange concoction of self pity and Red Bull on the kitchen floor when they walked in for water two hours ago.

“Motherfucker,” they mumbled, tossing their bag to the floor and marching, more than a little disgruntled, into the hall. “What do you want?”

Spinner was sitting upside down on the couch now, feet up against the wall tapestry and cotton candy hair splayed out on the floor. He stared blankly as his friend came into view—arms crossed, frowning at him from the end of the hall—and opened his mouth once more, letting out another garbled grunt that had one of the neighbors pounding twice on the wall to shut his dramatic ass up.

“Dude seriously, are you gonna tell me who pissed in your cereal or are you just gonna scream until the guys next door kick a hole through our wall?”

They almost felt bad as he looked away, sniffing and letting himself slump farther off the sofa until he was sprawled completely on the hardwood and staring, glassy eyed, up at the ceiling.

When he finally spoke a full sentence, his gaze was locked on the water stain above him from a year ago when the upstairs neighbors flooded their apartment trying to make jungle juice in the bathtub.

“I don’t know, I’m just in my feels as the kids say,” he sounded so dejected—strange for someone who was perpetually energized to a frustrating degree—that their shoulders immediately slumped from a hardass square to a softer, more sympathetic angle

They padded over to join him on the floor.

“Care to elaborate, oh roomie of mine?”

There was a pause and Spinner tapped his nails against the hardwood idly before responding.

“I guess I’m just feeling, like, fucking I don’t know,” he sighed, knocking his head against the dusty boards, “left out I guess? That’s not quite right, but it’s just Magne mentioned last time she came to The League meeting that Jin was seeing somebody and it just got me all introspective and weird…”

“Hm,” his roommate hummed thoughtfully and studied the way the textured white ceiling gave way to the rings of brown water damage, like a dead and dying flower, “I thought you and Jin weren’t ever that serious?”

“We weren’t,” Spinner groaned again and rubbed his eyes. “We went on like, one date a year ago and I haven’t thought about it really at all since then. I’m not sure why hearing he’s got someone else now made me so fucking...jealous I guess.”

“I mean, maybe you just never really gave yourself the time to process it?” they asked and received only an annoyed huff and accompanying groan. “Sorry, should have asked if you were looking for advice or just wanting to rant. My bad.”

“No, it’s fine. I think it’s just…”

Spinner trailed off and they shifted as the hard floor bit at their back and made it ache. The muscles were sore already as it was, and Tomura blowing their fucking back a few times a week wasn’t really helping. They’d created some kind of perpetually horny monster, but something told them cracking a joke about it wasn’t really going to help the situation much. Thankfully, Spinner found his way to filling the silence a minute later.

“I don’t think it has anything specifically to do with Jin. Yeah I liked him, we’re still really good friends and I don’t feel like I need him to be more than that. It’s just that—and this is gonna make me sound like a massive asshole—but with you and your new fucking boyfie and now even Jin finding someone to date I just keep seeing reminders everywhere of how motherfucking isolated I am.”

“Oh,” they felt their face burn a bit, guilt frothing as they were forced to acknowledge the fact that in all the time they’ve spent holed up with Tomura, Spinner had been discarded like an old Steam game, bought impulsively on sale and never played again. “I’m sorry I haven’t been prioritizing you—”

“No, no, no shut the fuck with that,” he waved his hand to cut them off and pushed himself up on his palms. “I know I’m not being fair about it, and I really am happy for you guys, but idk man….I just feel like I’m never gonna find that you know?”

Beside him, his roommate remained sprawled out on the floor like a homicide tape outline and was just as deadly quiet.

“I just,” he continued, running an angry hand through his hair, “I know I could be such a good partner. Like I’m funny and I’m not a fucking creep, which is actually a plus to most people.”

He shot a side glance down and they rolled their eyes, sitting up and knocking his shoulder roughly till he toppled back to the dirty floor and they stood above him.

“Fuck off,” they chuckled.

His roommate watched as the laughter seemed to infect him like a bad cold, creeping down the back of his throat and shaking in his chest.

“No I’m serious, I would be such a fucking great boyfriend. I give goddamn top quality cuddles and I actually know how to do laundry, what more does one need truly?”

“Damn bro, you’ve known how to fold your own clothes this whole time?”

The giggling spread into the quiet space, rocking through both their shoulders and leaving the air feeling light—fresh like the first nights of Spring. When it finally petered out into friendly silence, they were both far lighter.

“I just like the way you fold my t-shirts, the sleeves don’t get those weird creases when you do it,” he muttered and stood, doing his best to fix the wild pink locks that stood on end from his fidgeting.

“Yeah I’m sure,” his roommate rolled their eyes and turned back down the hall.

When they left for the night to stay over with their boyfriend, Spinner tried not to acknowledge the way he subconsciously glared at their back as they walked out the door, skipping yet another League meeting to swap spit with that guy from their English class.

He tried even harder not to think of how their bed would be warm and their legs would have legs to tangle with, their chest have a chest to lay against, while he heated up instant noodles in the microwave and fell asleep alone on their living room couch.

Not to mention that tonight was the big tournament with that new group on campus. He was really banking on his bff (best fucking friend as they were always sure to clarify) and him teaming up to crush those assholes from The Commission or whatever they called themselves.

Fucking lame as shit name in his opinion.

In any case, he’d have to settle for Magne again, and she was such a loose cannon they were sure to get their asses handed to them. She was a great fucking tank, he’d be the first to admit, but strategy was not a strong point of hers and they desperately needed that tonight.

He could feel the sinking weight of failure rolling in the pit of his stomach already even as he dragged himself into his room to tug on an old pair of jeans.

It bothered him way more than it should, the idea of losing some gaming tournament that, by all means held little to no actual significance.

Spinner knew the stock he’d started placing in games was growing to an unhealthy degree.

He knew that.

But self awareness rarely did anything to alleviate the irrational fear of failing at one of the only remaining consistencies in his life.

It stung worse when the tournament kicked off and by the third round, Spinner was the only remaining League member in the brackets.

“Fucking shit…” he muttered to himself, the small basement room alight with the blue glow of the monitor and the sound of frantically smashing controllers.

Behind him on the couch—stolen long ago from the theater building—Magne held him by the shoulders as he grit his teeth and leaned into the movement of his avatar on screen.

“You got this babe,” she shouted, cheek pressed up to his ear. “Make ‘em eat shit for me!”

“I would if you stopped distracting me,” Spinner hissed back.

Really it wasn’t Magne’s aggressive and somewhat bloodthirsty style of encouragement that shook his focus so badly.

It was his opponent.

The fucking president of The Commission sat, thighs spread and pressed to his, resting your weight on your elbows and snarling beside him in the couch.

Your face was split in this heart stopping grin as you quite deftly dodged all his attempts to get a hit in and managed to land a few of your own in the process.

And you looked really hot doing it.

Which was definitely just a side effect of the punch he (didn’t) drink and the body heat fueled temperature of the room—sweaty skin against sweaty skin making his mind wander against his will.

The shifting in his seat was absolutely just to illogically make him move faster and had nothing to do with how tight his pants now seemed.

So much for not being a fucking creep.

Your teammates were gathered in a circle behind you, enraptured and exuding the kind of smug confidence that said quite clearly The League was fucked from the second they walked in.

Not even two minutes later your hands were thrown up, punching the air and your team piling over the back of the couch to drown you in a sea of celebratory limbs.

Spinner felt himself deflating even as he was toppled off the couch by your screaming members and The League collectively cursed in the background.

Truthfully he’d known the chances of winning were slim.

Ever since his roommate started getting busy with classes and clubs that ‘looked good on their resume,’ The League had gone downhill rapidly. It was a problem since long before that Shigaraki guy swooped in and stole them away, but Spinner couldn’t stop himself from lowkey holding that against him.

The League had consumed so much of his life in college, functioning as a haven where he was finally respected and belonged to an extent he’d never experienced before.

The stink of failure and loss, not of the game but the only space he’d ever really occupied without complaint, burned his face and made the room feel more suffocating than usual.

Magne looked as though she wanted to give him one of her signature—and admittedly very comforting—hugs, but the deadly look of disappointment on Spinner’s face must have made her think twice.

The rest of his team seemed to read this sudden downward shift in the room as they began to filter out, climbing the steps onto street level and away from the suddenly stuffy, uncomfortable meeting spot. Normally everyone would stay and finish off the drinks snuck past the janitorial staff, eating Doritos until well past midnight. This time they couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

He couldn’t really blame them.

The multimedia building was a strange place after hours. Once Spinner might have called it something rare and liminal, now it felt more like a prison.

He stood, packing up the consoles a bit more roughly than necessary when someone cleared their throat behind him.

He turned to see you, standing alone with hands on your hips and scowling like you were the one who just got their gaming reputation ruined.

“Dude what the fuck was that?”

Spinner bristled at the knife sharp point of your tone.

“Really?” he asked incredulously. “You seriously waited around to rub your win in my face?”

You rolled your eyes and took a step closer around the couch. “I’m not talking about the fucking game dumbass. Why the hell are you pouting like I stole your fucking candy or some shit? You ruined the vibes man.”

“If anyone was ruining the vibes, it was you and your cocky ass team.”

Spinner felt himself stepping closer too, pulled in by the celestial weight that accompanied any kindling argument.

“Me?” you pointed to your chest and scoffed, “Wow, I was really hoping you’d actually possess a bit of emotional maturity, but if this is how you get after a loss I’m not shocked your fucking club is bleeding members.”

At some point the two of you had gravitated close enough that he felt the puff of your last breath on his cheeks. Two comets, ready and willing to collide.

“I’m not being the asshole in this situation, you know that right?” Spinner glared down his nose at you, heart pounding in his ears. “Maybe you shouldn’t make fucking unfounded assumptions about people you don’t know.”

“So then why are your panties in a twist over a fucking game?” you retorted.

He was peripherally aware that your eyes had taken on the same laser focused quality as they had during the last round. Determined and locked onto him without sparing a glance to anything else.

It was this same undivided attention that he’d envied in you as you played, and as Spinner felt it trained on him, his pants once again felt uncomfortably restrictive.

“It’s not about the fucking game okay!?” his voice came out hoarse and far more petulant than he’s been aiming for.

Though he quickly felt the embarrassment give rise to a secondary heat as you both breathed each other’s air and searched the face across from you.

“Then what is it about?”

That strange, unexplainable, inexplicable rush of potential filled the small gap that remained between your bodies—the kind of tension Spinner was beginning to think he’d never feel again.

He’d kissed plenty of people. Almost more than he’d like to admit, or that they’d like to admit more accurately.

But when his flickering eyes found your hard stare still and unwavering from his, it felt incredibly natural to lean in and press his lips against your fading frown.

It was slow going, the few centimeters that separated you seemed like miles as he moved slowly, never breaking eye contact until his mouth was finally slotted over yours and you weren’t pushing him away.

There was still a bit of lingering confusion, as this was decidedly not what either of you appeared to be expecting from the prior conversation. That coupled with the fact that Spinner wasn’t entirely sure he remembered your first name made the feeling of your tongue prodding at the seam of his lips all the more startling.

When he gasped, you slid your hands up his chest and licked into his mouth. Tongue tangling between breaths, Spinner felt himself getting lost in the familiar and coveted taste of another mouth, another body, another hand that grasped, that desired, that wanted him.

***

Your knees dug into the cushions on either side of Spinner’s thighs as you bounced in his lap. He fought to keep his eyes open against the pleasure of his cock sinking into you over and over again, so he could watch the way your head was thrown back and your chest heaved with the exertion.

He dug his hands into your hips and let his head hit the back of the couch, feet planted on the floor to help his hips thrust up into you, earning him some of the prettiest, stifled moans he’d ever heard.

Truthfully, he had not expected to fuck you. He figured you might be down to just make out for a bit until the cleaning staff came and booted you from the building, but both your pants had quite quickly and naturally found their way to the floor.

Neither of you spoke much, which he was thankful for. That would have been far too complicated of a conversation, especially considering you really didn’t know each other all that well.

Spinner usually liked to do a bit of ‘getting to know you’ type activities before he hooked up with people, which he did with surprising frequency for somebody so starved for a long term thing. Sex just fucking felt good and it was this eagerness that was his downfall. Most people he’d fucked around with seemed to read the urge to get into their pants as a diminished interest or emotional attraction and Spinner ended up with more friends with benefits than actual friends...or benefits.

Regardless, it was fine by him that the only form of communication passing between you for now were scattered groans of pleasure and the wet slap of your ass against his thighs.

He’d nearly forgotten how fucking amazing pussy felt.

For no particular reason, Spinner had always found himself fooling around with bodies more similar to his own. Not that he had any real preference, though the lack of experience often made him a bit nervous in the whole ‘pleasing your partner’ department, despite many helpful lessons from his roommate.

That was all to say that Spinner was incredibly thankful you reached down to guide his hand that had clumsily begun rubbing circles on your clit. That is until you simply knocked it away and went back to riding his dick like a fucking champ.

Then he did speak.

“Wanna make you cum,” he mumbled and really did sound like he was pouting this time.

You peered down at him, slowing your pace so you sat flush in his lap, grinding his cock deep against your walls. Spinner keened as you clenched around him, pussy so deliciously warm he felt himself near to drowning in the feel of you.

“Mm fuck,” you panted, leaning in to steal a few more messy kisses from him before lifting up and enveloping him in the slick heat all over again. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No,” he nipped at the column or your throat, careful not to leave any lasting marks just in case. “If I’m finishing, you’re fucking finishing.”

You pulled back and stared at him for a moment. He felt you purposefully tightening around him just so he would squirm under your curious gaze. After a moment you smirked and rolled your eyes again, taking his hand and guiding his fingers back to that little nub just above where his thick length was seated inside you.

Spinner was proud of his dick, it was hefty but not so long that it was a hassle to fit—just enough to reach all the important bits. He was sensitive as hell too most of the time, so just about any pressure felt amazing. But the best part of it was watching whoever he was fucking fall apart on his goddamn perfect cock.

So when you whispered, “Like this,” and showed him the rhythm and motion you liked, he pulled himself back from the brink to pay attention, speeding up until that look of cooled control slid right off your face.

“Ahh, yes fuck...” the words tumbled from you freely now. “Shit, yeah just like that—”

Spinner could get fucking drunk off the low groan that left you as he planted his feet more firmly and bucked his hips up. He must have hit something good by the way you choked and moaned boarding on too loud, though he had neither the heart nor self control to stop you.

“Feel good?” he grunted, picking up the pace and force he thrust into you, so that you had to loop your arms around his neck and hold tightly as he speared you on his cock.

“Fuck...yes..” you whimpered into his shoulder which did wonders for his ego.

Spinner kept up his rubbing frantic patterns on your clit and feeling the gradual constriction of your walls around him—the coil growing tight and ready to snap. He nudged your cheek with his until you pulled back a bit to face him.

“I want to see you,” he murmured, sucking your tongue into his mouth for a moment and tearing himself away so he could watch as you came undone around him.

You gave him a strange, soft look and pressed your forehead to his, eyes zoned in on only him.

The rest of the room, the whole fucking basement and campus melted away under that stare.

Your nipples peaked through your shirt, brushing against his as you were jostled into him by the movement of your hips. As you reached your peak, words devolved into increasingly breathy gasps. It took Spinner an incredible amount of concentration not to fucking paint your insides then and there.

Your pussy was so goddamn tight and warm and milking him just right, it was a fucking impressive feat to remain staunchly at the edge of his peak as your mouth fell open and your fingernails scratched at his back when you finally came—the telltale spasms around his cock and the near sobs coming from you more than enough indication.

He lost himself well and truly then.

Lost in the false sense of intimacy that came with being allowed to see you fall apart, this person he barely knew yet made him feel immensely important in that moment. Your breath and spit was in his mouth, the smell and feel of you soaking his length pushed him beyond the realm of conscious thought.

There was only a deep and burning need to be closer to you. So, so much closer.

His hands moved of their own accord, hooking under your thighs and flipping your bodies so your back hit the cushions and he hovered above you. The angle allowed him to slide deeper, pulling out and thrusting his hips in fast, hard strokes that hurtled him towards release.

Spinner couldn’t keep himself quite now either, panting and moaning and gasping unashamedly with his eyes screwed shut as you took his cock so unbelievably well.

It wasn’t until your hands, softer than he’d imagined, cupped his jaw and pulled him down to meet you that he was brought back down from whatever higher plane of existence his impending orgasm whisked him too.

Your lips weren’t nearly as frantic as the rocking of his thighs, the slap of his balls against your ass. The sweetness was an odd but welcome contrast.

“I’m gonna—fucking mm...” he tried so hard to get his tongue to form the words but he could feel himself slipping further as you started clamping around his length again.

“I know,” you breathed against his lips, faces pressed together and unmoving eyes steady on his own. “Ahh, inside if you want.”

He did want.

Oh fuck did he want nothing more in that moment to stay sunk in your warmth and pump you so full, but the last few remaining logical braincells reminded him that was not a great idea. Not without a more in-depth conversation neither of you was in a state to have.

“Shouldn’t...” he groaned and moved to pull out but your ankles locked around his ass and forced him back down.

“It’s okay,” you huffed and rocked into him, squeezing around the sensitive head of his dick just once, just right and that did him in.

It was something in the way you looked at him, so that he could feel nothing but secure—nothing but safe wrapped up in you. Something about the way you pressed him closer, in the movement of your thumb on his cheek.

It scratched some deep seated, lonely itch in Spinner.

Made it feel like this meant a hell of a lot more than it probably did.

In seconds he was blowing his fucking load right into you, milking himself in your heat until he was spent and overstimulated. You were kind enough to pull him to you, turning your bodies so you laid side by side on the coach, his softening cock slipping from you in a gush of release.

For a minute or so, neither of you spoke, just stared, long and comfortable at the stranger you’d just fucked on the gaming club couch.

Well.

Fucked wasn’t really the word he’d use at that point to describe what you’d just done, but anything more than that felt presumptuous.

You broke the silence as he nuzzled into your palm.

“You really needed that didn’t you?”

Spinner couldn’t help the familiar, infectious laugh that rattled in his chest. He liked the smile it earned him, far more genuine than any others you’d worn that night.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

You hummed, nodding in response. “Mm, me too.”

And somehow, for no real logical reason, Spinner knew you understood. That you felt the same isolation, the same starvation for love, for holding weight in someone else’s world.

That the games were just a placeholder, a way to fill the space, to get lost in other lives, in other stories where he did matter. Where his actions had foreseeable and measurable worth. That’s why it hurt to lose. Not for the glory, but for the destruction of the only remaining diversion from how empty his reality felt.

Even if it wasn’t really.

Even if there were friends and benefits and friends who offered both. His roommate could let him rest his head in their lap on movie nights or sleep in his bed on occasion when the heat went out and he got cold too quickly. But none of that quite filled the hole like you now, holding his face and knowing the struggle without him having to explain it.

Nothing like you pulling him in and kissing him too familiarly for someone he’d only known a day.

Magne used to say something about shit like this. Something like how people bond in train cars when there’s a rat eating a slice of pizza and you all watch it happen. Some weird camaraderie forged in the shared experience of life being a little fucking freaky a lot of the time.

That was how it felt when you slipped your leg between his and brushed your lips together again. Content to lay, half naked in the media building basement, making out with some guy you beat at Smash and fucked right after.

Reveling in the brief but meaningful feeling of mattering in some small, strange way to someone else.

Of holding weight.

Of being held.

#spinner x reader #shuichi iguchi x reader #spinner x y/n #spinner x you #college au #mha angst #student!reader

[hyunderwater]

fairy dust 02

pairing: jay x jungwon (enhypen) warnings: swearing, some mentions of baking but no real food mentions, minor sexual language and pet names genre: romance, heavy fluff (its jaywon what else would it be) a bit of pining summary: jay has caught the feels, but theres no way the blush on jungwon's face is because of him wc: 2.1k

ao3 link<-

01-02-03-04-05-06

Jay slumped over Jake’s bed, burying his face in Layla’s soft fur as she panted enthusiastically. “Guys, how do you know if you’ve caught the feels?” Sunghoon scoffed. “What are you, a Twice song? Wait.” He sucked in a loud, almost comical gasp. “JAY. Do you LIKE SOMEBODY?? WHO IS IT???” Jay felt his face heat up. “NO. Well.”

Sunghoon had bounded over towards him before he even had time to get out another word, plopping his body on top of Jay’s back. Jay swore he could feel his spine crack underneath the weight of the other boy. He mumbled into Layla, “Ouu feed tmo ret orfm meh.” Sunghoon, through magical 02z mind reading powers, managed to understand Jay’s incoherent words. “No, Park Jongseong, I will absolutely not remove myself from you until you tell me who, when, where and how.” Jay sighed into Layla, then lifted his head up a bit so he could speak more clearly. “Is this an interrogation?”

“Yes.” Jay groaned. “Is there any way to get you to shut up and get off me?” Sunghoon shook his head so vehemently that Jay could feel it through his perch on top of him. “JAKE!,” Jay yelled suddenly, shocking both of the others. “Jay, wh-”

“DEAL WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND.” The statement was received with silence. Jay swore he could feel his ribs collapsing underneath Sunghoon. “Please?” Sunghoon’s eyes rolled audibly. “Park Jongseong, there is absolutely no way I am letting you go until you say something about this mysterious person you’ve got the feels for or whatever.”

“Something about this mysterious person you’ve got the feels for or whatever.”

“I sweAR TO FUCKING- JAKE GET ON TOP OF HIM, WE’RE BECOMING A TRASH COMPACTER.” Jay let out a strained chuckle. “Sick burn, bro.” He heard the bed creak as Jake moved closer, and suddenly talking didn’t seem too bad. “Fine, I’ll tell you, but I’m not gonna tell you the whole story cause you’ll think I’m on drugs or something.” Sunghoon slid off of Jay, finally giving him room to breathe, letting his screaming ribs rest. “The way you said that made it seem like you actually want us to know.” Jay silently cursed the world for giving him friends that could read him so well. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Jay inhaled a deep breath. “Do you guys remember when we lost the football in the forest, and you made me go get it?” Sunghoon slapped the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically. “JAKE. YOU SAID HE WOULD BE FINE. YOU SAID IT WAS JUST A NORMAL FOREST!” Jake snorted out a laugh. “Sunghoon, he’s literally telling us about the person he has feelings for. I don’t think that it has anything to do with magic.” That sentence was all it took for Jay to abruptly double over laughing, his lungs aching. “THAT’S SO FUCKING FUNNY BECAUSE HE’S LITERALLY A FUCKING FAIRY,” Jay wheezed, flopping over onto the bed. “WHAT?!” Sunghoon’s screech was so loud and shrill that Jay could swear he heard glass break somewhere. He laughed even harder, his body shaking from the exertion. “JAY PARK I SWEAR TO WHATEVER IS UP THERE, IF YOU DON’T STOP LAUGHING AND TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN THE NEXT TWO SECONDS I’M GONNA-” He scrunched his face up, searching for a suitable threat. “I’M GONNA STEAL ALL OF THE BUTTON-UPS FROM YOUR CLOSET AND CRUMPLE THEM.” Jay sobered up immediately, sitting up and taking Sunghoon’s cold hands in his own. “I am so incredibly sorry, Your Highness, I will tell you everything you want to hear.” Sunghoon chirped, “You better!” at the same time that Jake exclaimed, “Stop trying to steal my boyfriend! You have your own person!” Jay chose to respond to Jake. “I mean… does a fairy count as a person?” Sunghoon lost his mind again. Burying his face in the pillows, he let out a strangled scream. “You’re serious?,” Jake asked, his dark eyes widening. “Yeah.” Jay cocked his head to the side, watching Jake mimic the movement. “You look like your dog.” Several emotions passed across Jake’s face before he settled on just plain confused. “...my dog?” Jay waved his hands ungracefully in the air, drawing a wide circle around Jake’s face. “Yeah, you look like a confused little puppy.” Sunghoon, who seemed to have recovered from the initial shock, reached out to pat Jake’s head. “Yeah, you really do look like a puppy.” Jay felt a wave of disgust with just a bit of jealousy. “Um.” Remembering his presence, Sunghoon ripped his hand off of Jake’s fluffy hair to point it accusingly in Jay’s face. “Stop distracting us! How the hell did you end up getting a crush on a fairy?” Jay laughed sheepishly, nervously adjusting his shirt. “I wouldn’t really call it a crush…” Sunghoon leveled him the kind of look one gives a person when they are so incredibly done with their bullshit. “Jay. Spill.” Jay exhaled, focusing his eyes on the corner where the wall met the ceiling. “I smashed his berries.” Jake and Sunghoon exchanged glances. “I...is that some kind of fairy sex slang?” Jay choked on air. “Wha-NO! I literally stumbled and went hands-first into his wheelbarrow! I’m not joking!” Jake giggled. “Bro, that still sounds-”

“I KNOW HOW IT SOUNDS. That’s literally what happened though. He got pissed and made me promise to come back and help him with something else to repay him and... I’ve gone to the forest twice since it started.” Sunghoon lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. “Hasn’t it been like a week? How long are you planning on doing this for?” Jay shrugged. “He has this bake-off with his friends in a week, and he made me promise to help him with it. I don’t know if he’ll even want me around anymore after that.” The other two had perked up at the mentions of food, clearly enticed. Sunghoon batted his eyelashes, pouting in a way that he (and Jake) clearly thought was adorable. “Do they need any judges?” Jay scoffed. “You’re just in it for the free food.”

“Duh. But we do also want to meet your little fairy boo.”

“Who the fuck says boo anymore?”

“Me, boo.”

Jay knew he had to broach the topic of inviting his friends to the cookout with Jungwon, but he had no idea how to start. The fairy had noticed how tense he looked, barely paying attention to the bread he was making to practice for the bakeoff. “Jay, what’s wrong?”

“Hmm?,” Jay hummed, still not fully there. Jungwon huffed in frustration, snatching the bowl of dough Jay was kneading away from him and catching Jay’s batter-sticky hands between his own. Jay looked down to where his hands were now curled around Jungwon’s tiny ones. He vaguely registered how soft and warm the fairy’s delicate hands were in his own slightly calloused grip. Snapping back to attention, he directed a confused look towards Jungwon. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna make your hands dirty.” Jungwon just tsked softly. “Jay, what’s wrong with you today?” he asked, his tough voice and the iron grip he had on Jay’s hands a stark contrast to the rosy blush that had appeared at the appearance of the now-familiar pet name out of Jay’s mouth. Jay shook his head wordlessly. Jungwon frowned, his cute nose scrunching up and his full lips diving into a pout.

It was like Jungwon’s cuteness was a bullet heading straight towards the carefully built boundaries around Jay’s heart and mind, and it hit just right, an arrow in the ankle of Achilles. Jay shattered. Before his common sense and self-control could catch up, his finger was lightly tapping Jungwon’s adorable nose, spotting it with a bit of floury dough, and the word “boop” left his traitorous mouth. It was almost funny how fast Jungwon’s mouth dropped open, like his nose was a button crafted to easily open it. Jay’s self-preservation skills had apparently still not caught up to the rest of him, because before he could stop himself, he had leaned over and popped one of the exotic, magical fruits of the forest into Jungwon’s wide open mouth. They stared at each other for a seemingly endless amount of time with neither of them moving an inch, Jungwon’s mouth frozen around the lavender fruit. Deciding to take advantage of Jungwon’s temporary statue-like state, Jay blurted, “Can some of my friends come to the bake-off? They offered to help judge, and they want to meet you, so.” Jungwon chewed thoughtfully, a million different things flashing behind his eyes. “Yeah, of course they can come, but do they know I’m a fairy?” Jay laughed sheepishly, a little guilt trickling in. He hadn’t even thought about how Jungwon might feel about Jay blabbing everything to his human friends. “Um, yeah. Sorry.” Jungwon tilted his head in confusion. “Wh-no, I’m actually happy you did. It can get… complicated. I once heard a story about someone’s human’s friends actually kidnapping the fairy.” Jay’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh my- My friends would never ever do that, don’t you worry your pretty head, sweetheart.” Jungwon blushed, shaking his head softly as if to dispel the words. “I think that they just wanted to see them up close, and I think that they’re fine now.” Jay smiled tensely, mentally attempting to close the little warning window that had popped up inside his head, blaring “JUNGWON IS ADORABLE” in all of its brightly colored glory. “Either way, you shouldn’t worry ‘bout that. My friends are too stupid to pull off something like that, and too nice to do anything to something that cute.” Jungwon heaved a sigh, planting his hands on his hips. The position made him look like a frumpy grandpa/teenage girl, and Jay couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him at the sight. Jungwon sighed again, a little louder and more drawn-out than last time. “Get back to work, Jay.” Jay laughed. “Okay, Wonie.” Jungwon was quite obviously caught off-guard, and Jay took that opportunity to swipe his thumb across the smear of dough on Jungwon’s nose, bringing it to his lips before realizing what he had done. He grimaced at the taste, scrunching his face at the tang of the raw flour. “Shit, I forgot what raw bread dough tastes like.” Jungwon had previously been just staring at Jay with a horribly concealed gay panic raging through his brain, but at the proclamation from Jay, he broke into laughter. “You’re so stupid, what were you thinking?”

Apparently, there’s a little thing inside Jay’s brain called a brain-to-mouth filter. Jay wants a new one. This one sucks.

“I was thinking that you look pretty when you’re flustered.” Jungwon’s expression was almost unreadable save for his eyes. They were the largest Jay had ever seen, and they were searching his own like they could find the answers to all of his questions inside of Jay’s irises. Jay thought he caught a hint of desperation climbing up inside of the dark pools of Jungwon’s eyes, the same ones he always caught himself diving into when he should be listening to Jungwon’s very important lectures about scavenging in the fairy forest.

His soft, pleasantly cool hand found its way to Jay’s neck. The small fingers caressed the side of his neck and trailed up to his cheek, almost like the fairy was savoring the moment. He couldn’t be; Jay might not quite know how fairies worked, but he was sure there was no way whatever the hell he felt towards Jungwon was reciprocated. “Get back to work, please. You’re distracting me.” Jungwon patted Jay’s face one more time before his hand slipped off of Jay’s cheek and he turned to go back to his own work, unaware of the way his touch had burned searing paths across Jay’s skin everywhere it had made contact.

Jay could barely concentrate on his bread for the rest of the time, too busy reliving every moment that had just occurred. Maybe Jungwon is into you too! chirped the eternally annoying voice in the back of Jay’s mind that was starting to sound more and more like the familiar lilts of Sunghoon’s voice. He scoffed quietly, staring down at the dusting of flour on his hands. There’s absolutely no way...right? He chanced a glance at Jungwon, shocked to find the fairy already staring at him. Their eyes met, and Jungwon hastily cleared his throat and looked away, the familiar flower-pink blush rising in his cheeks. A sparrow chirped from a nearby tree, causing Jungwon’s face to split into a gorgeous, dimpled smile. Jay had the strange urge to poke a finger into them. Yeah. Absolutely no way.

<<<previous next>>>

#enhypen #jaywon #enha #idol x idol #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop boys #kpopidol #jungwon #yang jungwon #park jongseong #jay park #park jay #enhypen jay #sunghoon #jakehoon #jake enhypen #heeseung #sunoo #ni ki enhypen #niki #enhypen fic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fluff #fairy dust #kpop fic #kpop au

[emikmr]

I’m Right Here (Lip Gallagher)

season 4 spoilers

summary: when Liam is in the hospital and all the weight goes to Lips’s shoulders, she’s right there to help lift it off, even if it’s just a little bit

lip x fem! reader

warnings: mentions of drug use, mental health, alcoholism, angst, and let me know if there’s anything else that I missed!

“Lip...Lip...” He was staring blankly down at the hospital waiting room floor. She had been trying to get his attention since she got there a few minutes before. She gave up and sat in the chair next to him. She sat on her knees in the chair and wrapped her arms around one of his. She put her chin on his shoulder and looked at his face. She could see the pain and rage on his face. She always knew what he was thinking, feeling, just by looking at him. They could read each other like beginning chapter books. “I know you’re mad at her. I can see it.” She lightly whispered in his ear, her voice was a little muffled from her jaw not moving from his shoulder, but he understood every word she spoke. He hates to admit to even himself that she’s right. He glances at her through the corner of his eye. “I know you’re hurting.” He scoffs a little. “Hurting? I feel like a big rig filled with hot steamy shit just ran over me.” He finally looked in her eyes.  She gave a sad smile and leaned forward just a little to lock her lips to his in a shallow kiss. “I’m sorry, baby. He’ll be alright though. I mean come on, his Dad is Frank Gallagher. Frank’s not the only one who’s basically a cock roach. You all are, Liam too.” She reached her hand over to rub his cheek with her thumb and looked into his blue eyes while she spoke to him. 

“I don’t think I can do this.” She watched as his lip quivered and tears started to pool in those eyes she loved so much. She raced against herself to tuck him into her neck and wrap her arms completely around him the best she could. “Hey hey, don’t cry. Debs and Carl are right there and I don’t think they can handle seeing their favorite brother and role model fall apart.” She knew it was better for him to let it all out, but she also knew it was important for Debbie and Carl to have their big brother be strong. They needed him to guide them through the next steps. Their big sister who raised them just got arrested, they needed him. “Why don’t we step away, huh? Go for a smoke? How’s that sound, bubba?” She pulled her chin up onto the side of his face so he could hear her better. He pulled himself out of her neck to look up at her. “I can’t, I have to wait to hear about Liam. Closest thing to a legal guardian right now.” She sighed and looked to V who lightly nodded and took a deep breath. “We’ll call you when they come for Liam.”

Lip stood first so he could give his hand to her to help her stand, even when he was hurting he would always be a gentleman, especially for her. He’d do anything for her, actually they’d both do anything for each other. He held her hand tightly and as close to him as possible. They walked in silence all the way down to the elevator. When the doors finally closed he pulled his girl to him, completely wrapping his arms around her and his face pushed into where her neck connected to her shoulder. He took a deep breath in and inhaled her smell. She threaded her hands into his hair and pulled a little. “Baby, don’t do that right now please.” He finally laughed a little. She used her grip on his hair to pull his head back so she could see his face. “Excuse me? You love it. You know that in your sleep you force my hand there so I can pull on your hair. You take a big breath and snuggle close and...” She couldn’t finish cause he was tickling her sides. “You’re making me look less manly, babe.” He smiled at her. “Yeah? You think that makes you less manly? Why don’t I tell everyone about how when we shower...” He put his hand to her mouth and stared at her with his jaw on the floor, “You wouldn’t dare.” He spoke with a playful tone. They laughed a little  but it died down as he popped his own bubble and took another deep breath. “Okay, enough with the sighing, it’s fucking weird, bro. Just tell me what’s going on in that big, beautiful, way smarter than me brain.” She smiled and ran her hands through the hair on the top of his head.

“I don’t even know, Y/N/N.” His lips shook again, but he shook his head and pulled himself away from her and turned towards the doors. He put his hands on the top of his head so he could breath better. “I feel like I just ran a marathon. I can’t breath and I don’t think I’m going to be able to until I see his face again. He’s a baby, he-he’s my baby brother. I-I should’ve,” She stopped him by hugging his waist. “There is absolutely nothing,  I mean nothing, you could’ve done.” She let go of him for a split second when the elevator signaled that they had reached the bottom floor. She held his hand and only let go so they could put on their coats and hats and so she could grab the smokes she had in her coat pocket. They walked outside and sat on the steps. He pulled the zippo from his pocket and lit her cig before lighting his own. They sat in silence while they smoked. She finally rubbed her cigarette on the concrete next the her and began speaking. “You didn’t know she had coke, Lip. You couldn’t have known, this isn’t like Fiona. You know that. She would never do that on purpose.” 

At that moment, the dam cracked just aa little. He rubbed out his cig and finally let some tears fall. They made his cheeks a little more rosy from the cold. She knew better than to speak, so she just held onto his arm and let him cry. His tears didn’t last long cause he wiped them away and pulled himself together so he could look his girl in the eye. He had this weird thing about not letting her see him when he was weak. Crying in front of her was the biggest rule of his that he’s broken so far, he definitely couldn’t look her in the eye with tears in his. So once he pulled himself together he finally looked to her and gave her a small smile. He grabbed her face and smeared his lips on hers. He pulled away and smilded before pecking her lips once more. He was loking into her eyes when her phone beeped. She looked at her phone and smiled a little. 

“It’s V, their asking for someone for Liam.” He forgot to wait for her as he bolted inside the hospital. She got up just as quick and ran after him.

“We’re for Liam, Liam Gallagher!’ His words were rushed as she crashed into his back from the sudden stop of his feet. “Great, do you know when Fiona is going to be back?” The doctor asked. “Not soon. I’m Liam’s brother.” He seemed a little impatient and frustrated with her, but only she could know that casue he hid it pretty well. “Is there another parent or legal guardian available?” The doctor retorted. “No, is my baby brother gonna be ok?” He was starting to let his feelings show. “I’m sorry, I need a responsible adult present to...” He cut her off and threw words at her full force. “My moms a bipolar drug addict who split, my dad’s a drunk and the cops took Fiona off to jail, alright? I’m the only thing that passes as a responsible adult that you’re going to get right ow. Now, how is Liam.” She finally let up and told him how Liam was doing. If you were in the room you could probably hear the shattering of everyone’s hearts. The only one not completely fucked, the innocent kid brother that everyone adored, overdosed on coke. When they finally let Lip back in the PICU, he didn’t want to go alone. He took her back with him, saying that they were married, he needed her. 

“Y’know, don’t mean to be insensitive right now, but, I told you so. He’s a roach just like the rest of you.” She was laying on the bed next to Liam, petting his hair, and looking up at her boy. He chuckled a little and leaned over the bed to kiss Liam’s.” forehead and then her cheek.

“I love you too.” He sent a smirk her way before sitting back in his chair to watch them. He’s gonna have to make her his wife one day.

#shameless #lip gallagher #lip gallagher x reader #shameless imagine #liam gallagher #shameless season 4

[vodkassassin]

Hello supreme overlord, ruler of all, writer of the most amazing of sentances and of the nicest of words, could you please write SQQ and SQH interacting in public and forgetting where they are so they just share friendly touches (like touch-starved millenials do) which ppl see and loose their minds over? Like SQH casually throws his hand over SQQ's shoulder and the other just looks pleased youdon'thavetoifyoudon'twantto Ty <3

Moth babe I swear to god

Here’s some platonic cucumberplane for you guys! @overlordmoth

-

Shen Yuan has been in the body of Shen Qingqiu for seven months. Seven warm months of early spring, a beautiful, gorgeous summer befitting of a xianxia world, and a colorful yet mild fall.

He’s been so busy with worrying about the plot, about dismantling the OOC function, about what this exasperating, crazy world (or the System) would throw at him next, that he hasn’t really had the chance to concern himself with the smaller things, like the weather. Especially since those smaller things have been content to be rather wonderful and non-problematic.

Until now, that is. It’s the beginning of his eighth month in this ridiculous place, and it seems winter is finally here.

Yesterday, now that Shen Qingqiu has the belated gift of hindsight, he realizes that all the trees — usually so full of brightly colored leaves in warm tones of oranges and reds and yellows and even some pinks — they’d all gone completely skeletal, very abruptly losing all those final leaves at once. And, seemingly overnight, three feet of snow apparently fell to blanket the mountain sect — because it’s a mountain! Lots of snow! Who’s grand idea was it to build the sect high up on a mountain range? Fuck you, Airplane! — while Shen Qingqiu was asleep, and now….

Shen Qingqiu kicks the door that obstructs his way open with his foot, and Shang Qinghua flinches back in his seat across the room.

“I’m sorry! What? Oh! U—Um, hey bro, what’s —?”

Crossing the office, Shen Qingqiu takes a brief, self-indulgent moment to loom over his fellow transmigrator and watch him sweat, before he whips open his fan and presses the tip of one of its spokes to his mouth in contemplation.

“Scoot over.”

“What?” Shang Qinghua asks, and squeaks when Shen Qingqiu doesn’t wait any longer before plopping down directly beside him and leaning over to burrow into his side. “Sh-Shen bro—?!”

“It’s fucking cold,” Shen Qinqiu hisses, “and I am wearing silk. And I own nothing but silk! Who’s idea was that, huh, Qinghua?”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t make a sound for a few long seconds, but Shen Qingqiu can feel the man trembling. He can’t tell, however, whether it is because the man is nervous or laughing at him.

“I-I would have assumed it was Shen-shixiong’s idea, seeing as how it’s his wardrobe,” Shang Qinghua finally says, voice shaking, and clearly talking about the original goods, whose character and wardrobe he had written himself!

It sounds enough like mocking that Shen Qingqiu gives into his urge and snaps his fan closed, using it to jab his friend — yes, his friend — in the ribs. The shorter man yelps.

“Ow! Bro, c’mon—!”

“I’ll kill you.” Shen Qingqiu tells him in a stage whisper, lifting his eyebrows up to show how serious he is about it.

“You would never.” Shang Qinghua sounds so sure of himself. “You love me too much, bro!”

“Would you stop squirming?” Shen Qingqiu huffs in irritation as the other peak lord’s movements makes him slip off his shoulder and slide down to land in his lap instead. “Shang Qinghua!”

“I didn’t do it!” Shang Qinghua wails, nonetheless teaching out to wrap an arm around Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder and tugging him up a bit to rest against his chest instead. “There, is that better? You know, you interrupted me. I’m trying to work!”

“You can still write with me here, stop whining,” Shen Qingqiu gripes, and leans forward to shove his frozen nose directly against Shang Qinghua’s neck. The man jerks back and whines.

“Stop! You’re cold!”

“I know, that’s why I’m here! Order me a winter wardrobe right now!”

“I don’t have the right forms for that at my desk!” His friend says, a brush dripping ink still held aloft in one hand. “I’ll have a disciple hunt them down for me and do it later!”

“I’ll turn into a popsicle before then! Bitch, do I look like Captain America to you?” Shen Qingqiu demands.

“You ain’t nearly blonde enough,” Shang Qinghua huffs, setting down his brush and rubbing some warmth into his bro’s upper arm. The other sighs slightly and leans even more of his weight into him. Neither of them are very heavy, though, so it doesn’t make much of a difference. “You wanna borrow one of my fur-lined robes until I get you your own?”

“I could kiss you for that,” Shen Qingqiu admits. “Please.”

There’s a loud, strangled sound from the doorway.

Both of them whip their heads around to stare in surprise at the utterly befuddled Yue Qingyuan that stands in the doorway. Slightly behind the sect leader, a red-faced Luo Binghe stares at the two cuddling peak lords with wide eyes. A few seconds tick by in complete silence, before the boy turns away and flees.

“Uh,” Shang Qinghua says smartly.

Shen Qingqiu withholds a groan and smacks his friend on the shoulder with an open palm, burying his face into Shang Qinghua’s neck so that he doesn’t have to look at the still-staring sect leader. “Well, shit.”

“I—” Yue Qingyuan attempts to speak, but his voice fails him immediately, and the three peak lords are left in a stifling, awkward silence.

Shang Qinghua clears his throat. “M-Maybe sect leader should come back later?” He asks.

Shen Qingqiu is suddenly hyper-aware of the arm that his friend has wrapped around him, and the way he’s sitting across Shang Qinghua’s thighs, and mentally swears again. This is a little bit too much for ancient China xianxia sensibilities, isn't it? Fuck.

Yue Qingyuan tries to speak again, but no words come out. After a second, the man settles for giving them a sharp nod. He then turns on his heel and leaves without a word.

Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua stare at one another in silence.

“Awkward.” Shen Qingqiu eventually manages, burrowing even closer against his friend. Honestly, he’s just too fucking cold to be overly concerned about the consequences of this blunder just yet.

“I hate you.” Shang Qinghua says, reaching a hand up to hit him. There’s absolutely no power behind it at all. “This is your fault.”

“It absolutely is not,” Shen Qingqiu denies. “You’re the one who gave me an entirely silk wardrobe. Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself, you coward.”

“Please,” someone whimpers, and they turn to see Shang Qinghua’s head disciple cowering in the corner of the room, beet-red face buried into both his hands. “Please, stop.”

“Haha, whoops,” Shang Qinghua laughs nervously. “Sorry, A-Kao! Why don’t you take a break?”

“I’m never coming back,” the disciple says, emotionally. He pushes away from the wall and high tails it out of the offices faster than even Luo Binghe had fled.

The two of them are silent as they watch him leave.

“God dammit,” Shen Qingqiu sighs tiredly. He slumps even further against Shang Qinghua, and the other man adjusts his grip on him. “The System is going to kill me for this later.”

“Not if we kill it first,” Shang Qinghua says, a malicious light appearing in his eyes.

Shen Qingqiu looks up at him. “... I’m listening.”

They both ignore the neon red, flashing warning screens that only they can see.

#svsss prompts #scumbag system #cucumberplane #shen qingqiu #shang qinghua #yue qingyuan #luo binghe #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #overlordmoth